I watch him hit you “playfully” from across the table after you said something to offend him. I watch him threaten to do it again later, making you flinch and quickly stutter to take back your words laughing to hide the fact that you were afraid. I watch him give you a death glare while you try to look away but can’t.
I watch and try to look down at the table, onto my laptop screen, somewhere else but it doesn’t hide the fact that it was happening right in front of me.
“Stop it.” I stated coldly directly at him. He stopped. But the next time he hit you was harder. Damnit.
I couldn’t pin him on the wall and snarl at him to stop like I’ve imagined doing; I knew he was stronger than me. I couldn’t stand up and pull you to your feet and drag you away from him; I knew you wouldn’t go and if you had it would just make you get into even more trouble with him. I couldn’t stand up to him for you like I wanted to; I knew what he has done and still am not sure what he is fully capable of.
This was the same three years ago. We parted for three years. Something in me hoped that your life would’ve changed. When you told me you don’t talk to him anymore, I was so glad. When you told me you rarely see him anymore, I had thought you had gotten out of his grasp. But here we are, with you coming whenever he calls, listening when he talks, scared to upset him, begging when you don’t want to do something, etc. He still has such a hold on you. Nothing had changed.
No, wait…I have.