I snuck in. The lights were always off and I had to tip-toe. I suppose he blamed the squeaky door on stepping out for a cigarette. I don't know if he ever had to explain the toilet flushing twice. His short fingernails. I was always the one with an agenda. Wake up, wake up. He threw the bottle out of my hand, told me I shouldn't end up like him. He said leave and I did. Obey. Submit, without an invitation to do so. Shaking hands. Clenched jaw. Stiff lip. Soft touch. I said, I will get you medicine. I will get you help.
One time I pressed my ear against the door. I knew better. Another day, I walked right in. That time was the fight. I couldn't breathe and my eyes were wide. I dug my nails into his side. I stood opposite him asking for the gifts I gave. "I hate you so much." The brink.
Breathlessness.
Darkness and light.
Pain and redemption.
