She sat quietly with eyes cast down onto the floor. She focused and unfocused her eyes and counted the squares on the carpeting. She tried to escape his words with her imagination of things to come. From the innocent age of nine she was taught patience. This nightmare would soon end. She would get married and leave this torment well behind her. It took another decade to leave that hell. And it would take the rest of her life to cope with it all.
Her brothers had long since escaped and moved out on their own leaving her to tend to her mother and younger siblings. Barely a teenager she listened as he lectured her. She would fail like her brothers. She would follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a terrible, sinful human. She would be an obese drug addict that would never amount to anything.
She wouldn’t look up. She wouldn’t respond. She would never show any emotion.
She would never be like her mother. It was almost as bad as being like him.
He would continue for hours. Trying to poison her mind against her mother, her siblings, herself even.
She remained stoic. Whether with words or with his fists she would sit and stare at the floor as he beat her down. She would escape to her dreams of walking out of the front door and leaving it all behind.
Tears dry. Bruises fade. Wounds heal. But you cannot leave scars behind you. They remain.