Beach

He would put a chair in the kitchen and make me sit on it. If I refused, he would push me down and tie me to it.

He would make me tell him all the things I had done wrong that day. Then he would hit me for them.

If I couldn’t think of anything, he would call me a liar and lock me in there until I thought of something. I had to think of something even though I knew he was going to hit me.

I still remember that belt. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick.

He used to leave it in plain sight, moving it around so I couldn’t escape seeing it. I knew exactly what it meant – the consequences if I made even the smallest mistake.

I used to leave flowers in the window, like my own secret signal to the world. It felt comforting, like a silent message saying I was okay.

But on days when I forgot, I got scared. What if someone noticed the missing flowers and came looking? What would happen if she answered the door? She would find out what I was doing.

I still put flowers in my window now. Now that I am safe. I just want to let people know.

He hid my tablets, so I had to ask for them. Sometimes, I even had to beg. He knew how important they were for me.

Without them, I’d be in pain. It was like he had control over me. It made me feel powerless.

I wanted to apply for a job, nothing fancy, just working at the local shop. But he wouldn’t let me. He kept insisting that I should stay at home. All I wanted was to do something, to meet people, but he shut down all those possibilities.

It felt like he was holding me back from living my life, from being independent.

I kinda liked doing the dishes. It was like my secret hideout, away from her watching me all the time. I scrubbed away at those plates. The dirtier they were the better. I could take my hate and anger out on them.