I want out

He caught my eye, sitting at the other end of the bar, those come to
bed eyes locked onto mine with such promise and confidence. You came
and charmed me with that soft accent, i couldn't resist you. "My room
number is 237, see you in ten" you whispered in my ear and left me with
a wink. I was faced with the choice, do i go with this complete
stranger or do i go back to my broken home, and oger for a husband with
zero respect for me? I have to admit , it was tempting, but that magnet
drew me back every time, back to my house of hell. "Maybe next time" i
thought to my self and sighed, as i walked out of the hotel bar.
I got home, took off my silk pashmina, complete with my colour scheme
of bruises. Not even the soft glow of the telly comforted me from the
memories of what YOU had done to me.
Your meant to be back in under an hour, everything is as it should be,
dinner in the oven, beds made;but we know your drunken terminology will
degrade everything pure of this house.
An hour came and went, three times. I am woken by a drunken rabble at
the door. Whats it going to be this time on the menu? another broken
rib or another bruise to hide? making my way to the door i'm prpeared
for your ritual.
The usual abuse, i've heard every name.Twice. or more.
The picture fades....the sun hurts my eyes, everything is upside down,
then i realise i've been knocked unconscious and dried blood clings to
my face like an unwelcome frost.
"He doesn't care about me, what am i doing in this relationship?" i
explain to that same man at the bar the next evening, i expose bruises
to him and the tears clean off all make up on my cheeks to reveal
black, raw bruises. I cry and laugh with this man, not such a stranger
now, i've confided in him, now a part of me belongs to him .
"Remember room 237, i'll be there waiting for you, i can make it
better" deja vu of the night before, do i? don't i? but whats stopping
me this time......