Wood Slats and Tears

Staring up at the wooden slats underneath her bed, she listens intently to the sounds coming from outside the bedroom. Did she hear footfalls in the kitchen? Her palms are all sweaty and she can feel her t-shirt sticking to her back. "Please, please don't come in here tonight," she prays, but he usually does. Creeping in like some lion on the prowl to consume its next prey. That's what she was, his prey, something he could use and manipulate. If only I were stronger, she thought, then I could stand up and fight like men do.

She reached for her diary to write down her thoughts when the door to the bedroom opens. She freezes, tucks her legs up praying she was invisible under the bed in the darkness. A sickening feeling pools in her stomach and she fears she will vomit thinking of what will happen if he finds her. He's drunk and smells terrible. He comes closer to her bed and she can hear him touching the blankets trying to find her. Her heart is beating so fast she feared he would hear. Not breathing or moving a muscle she clings to her knees and closes her eyes as the man moves about the room, searching.

He was searching to destroy her, all of her. What could she do? She had to think. Think of something to use to fight him off when he found her. It was hopeless. She always fought but he would win.

He found her then, like he always does, used her up and left her feeling empty.Empty, a big zero, someone no one cared about.