by M.J. Snow Sometimes she's numb, and its good. She laughs sometimes, and that's good too. She's almost forgotten what it felt like. Sometimes she cries, but sometimes she can't. Then she goes and hides, curled up in bed and dreams the dream again, and remembers ... She lay under him, on her stomach and watched the blood drip onto the clean white sheets. Otis Redding was singing in the background, 'These Arms of Mine". One of his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, bending her backwards, the other twisting her right arm behind her back. He would talk sometimes. She could hear his voice, deep and angry, but she didn't know what he said. Pain in her arm, her stomach, her ribs, everywhere. The pain drowned out his words and she crawled into it, hiding from him. You can't make me hear you. That was the only power she had and she embraced it.
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