Abuse

ABUSE.


By D. Jonas Laurence



I guess he had always treated me bad.
Always forgotten about me.
Never thought about the harm he was doing me.
Never giving a moments thought.
Acting without conscience.
Doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.
Hurting me.
Battering me.
Bashing me.
Forcing me into uncomfortable situations.
Abusing me.
Everyday.
Abusing me.
Killing me.
Little by little.
Bit by bit.
One piece at a time.
One cell at a time.
One atom at a time.
Until, finally, I got up enough courage and left him.
I escaped, somehow, I escaped.
I got away from him.
Left him for good.
And for a while it was good.
For a while I felt better.
I felt alive.
I felt free.
My wounds began to heal over.
I began to think thoughts that I never could’ve before.
I began to plan for my life without him.
I had a future to look forward to.
A future unbound by abuse.
A future of infinite possibilities.
But, then, he came looking for me.
Like I had always known he would.
And I realised that I had been deluded myself.
I realised that he would always be coming after me.
He wouldn’t stop.
Not ever.
And he would always know where I was.
He would always have a sense for what I was thinking.
And I realised that I would have to outsmart him.
Outthink him.
Outplan him.
And probably, in the end, kill him.

II

Since a young age he had drank too much.
Partied too hard.
Taken anything he could ingest.
Mushrooms, l.s.d., ketamine, ecstasy, speed, cocaine, rohypnol…
Sniffed glue, sniffed aerosol cans, sniffed paint, sniffed marker pens, sniffed correction fluids…
Smoked hash and weed and resin and oil.
Got high all the time.
He crashed cars.
Crashed motorcycles.
Crashed bicycles.
Crashed parties.
Went days without food, without water, without sleep, without consideration…
And these constant binges hurt me.
Harmed me.
But he didn’t care at all.

We had been together for ever it seemed.
I couldn’t remember not being with him.
Although I think it was around the age of ten or eleven when we first noticed each other.
He killed a fantail bird and cried.
I just cried.
And I still cry.
I still cry.
We lived together in his parents’ house for a while
(his parents seemed disapproving of my ways)
before we moved into a small apartment of our own.
He worked mindless jobs for money.
I just dreamed and drifted away.
Then the abuse started getting worse.
Every night he drank or got high.
Every night he abused me.
And I put up with it.
For a long time I put up with it.
Like a stupid woman coming back for a beating.
I put up with it.
And then I realised that all the abuse was damaging me.
And I realised that I would have to get away before the damage was irrefutable.
And so one night as he lay sleeping, snoring, I slipped away.
And like I said before I was happy…
Until he came for me.

III

The night is cold.
I feel it on me like the breath of a demon.
The infinite stars shine like my infinite thoughts.
Each thought is a star in the darkness.
Dying in a blaze of light.
The dew glistens on the ground like glass shards of a wine bottle.
Things move in the bushes near by the train tracks.
Things can smell me.
Smell my fear.
He can smell me too.
I am like bloody ground beef to a shark.
He is a shark.
A dumb animal seeking its prey with instinctual cunning.
That is what it has come down to.
Instincts against intellect.
The body against the mind.

I remember how I used to talk to him.
How I would try to make him see the damage that he was doing.
How having me around should have made him stop.
But there were always excuses.
Always more parties.
Always more alcohol.
Always more drugs.
And I remember how I would try to stop him going, but he would always be stronger than me, and soon I wouldn’t have the strength to try and fight him.
Then I would just shut down and he would do whatever he wanted.

He is coming now.
I am sure of it.
The bushes and trees have gone quiet.
Like death.
In the distance I can hear the train coming.
It is the train of my salvation.
It is the train of my hope.
And now I hear a crack of a branch and kick of a stone.
And I can see through his eyes.
See the train tracks.
See the bushes in which I hide.
He is on the other side of the tracks.
The train is getting closer.
Closer.
Closer.
He is stumbling now, mindless, drunk probably, coming closer as well.
Closer.
Closer.
The train lets off a blast of its horn.
The ground is shaking.
The noise is louder.
He knows where I am.
He has almost reached the edge of the tracks.
The train is just around the bend.
I hope that he doesn’t realise what I am doing.
I try to clear my mind otherwise he will somehow cotton on.
Somehow, in his mindless state, he will feel my plan.
And he is so close now.
And the train is so close now.
And, although I am scared to death, I must wait.
Wait until the last moment.
When the train is upon us I will show myself.
And if I have timed it right he will step onto the tracks just as the train comes.
And then I will be free.
Finally I will be free.
Free from the abuse.
Then I will be alone.
Then I will be able to live and dream and just be.
Alone with my thoughts.
My magical thoughts.
And he will not be able to kill me anymore.
I will just be.
A brain.
For that is what I am.
A brain.
And he is, was, my body.
And he always abused me.
But I escaped.
And I hope.
I hope the train kills my body.
Smashes it into a million pieces.
Then I can slide and crawl around the Earth.
With just my thoughts.
With just my pure, non-abused, thoughts.
And I will be free.
I will be as free as the stars in the night sky.
I will be free.



THE END.