• She leans against the wall weakly, her face bruised and bloody. He towers over her, his chest heaving.

    Waiting.

    She remembers a time when it wasn’t like this, when they could laugh together freely.

    Is it safe?

    She remembers the first blow, more clearly than their first date, their first anniversary, their first- everything.

    Is it over?

    She remembers when her friends first found out, their exclamations of dismay and horror. Their advice:

    Leave him.

    She remembers her response.

    I can’t.

    She remembers when she first met his friends, their joking remarks.

    Why do you treat her so?

    And his response, the only thing that kept her going.

    Because she can take it.

    Now a shadow moves, a disturbance in the light above her. He swings.

    She doesn’t move.

    Because she can take it.

    She holds desperately onto the emotions she read in the blankness of that remark, what she perceived when there was nothing to understand.

    Because she has to.

    She needs something to hold onto.

    Or she will fall, drifting lower and lower,

    like your eyes on this page.

    Down.

    Down.

    Down.

    But she won’t.

    Because she can take it.