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literature
Why Are You Still With Him?
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Literature Text
In the dead hours of the early morning, Joseph sat impatiently on his sofa, frequently checking his watch to count the passing seconds. Clear irritation and anxiety frowned on his face. His foot pounded viciously against the hardwood floor. Then, the soft clicks of tumblers reached his ears and the front door slowly creaked open.
A girl fumbled inside, clearly striving to muffle her own movements as she closed the door behind her with a soft thud and tiptoed her way towards the stairs. Joseph switched on the lamp next to him, eliciting a startled yelp from the girl.
"Do you have any clue what time it is?" Joseph nearly bellowed at her, digging his own fingers into his arms to sustain his rousing anger.
The girl whimpered at the force of her father's bludgeoning inquiry. Her hand masked the left side of her face, and her right leg pivoted in a way so that it just barely hid in the shadows behind her.
"It's late, I know." She said, just barely sealing away the gates of her own panic.
Joseph rose from his sofa and approached his daughter, clear indication of anger plastered on his face, but his eyes sprouted another emotion: pity. Gently, he removed her hand and lead her out of the shadows. What he saw warranted a disapproving shake of his head and a deep exhalation.
"Why are you still with him?" He asked, examining the hideous ribbons of welts and black bruises on her face and leg.
His daughter pushed him away a little too forcefully then she intended. "It's nothing, dad. I promise."
"No, it's not nothing." He objected. "When will you see that you're miserable? When will you stand up to this boy and tell him enough is enough? Why do you knowingly put yourself through this?"
"Stop it! Please!"
The girl, buried alive in a coffin of her own pain, sank to her knees and wept. Her father knelt down and took her face in his hands.
"Look at me," he ordered. She revealed her bruised face again to her father, sobbing away all her anger and pain in fresh torrents. "I can't bear to see you like this anymore. I love you too much. Break up with him, please."
"I can't." She cried.
"Yes, you can."
She cried bitterly and buried her face in her father's chest, enveloping him as if afraid to let go. Through the streams of her tears and sobs, two words escaped her burning throat, floating into her father's ears like a faint whisper.
"I'm sorry."
Joseph hugged her tightly, a glistening tear trickling down his cheek.
A girl fumbled inside, clearly striving to muffle her own movements as she closed the door behind her with a soft thud and tiptoed her way towards the stairs. Joseph switched on the lamp next to him, eliciting a startled yelp from the girl.
"Do you have any clue what time it is?" Joseph nearly bellowed at her, digging his own fingers into his arms to sustain his rousing anger.
The girl whimpered at the force of her father's bludgeoning inquiry. Her hand masked the left side of her face, and her right leg pivoted in a way so that it just barely hid in the shadows behind her.
"It's late, I know." She said, just barely sealing away the gates of her own panic.
Joseph rose from his sofa and approached his daughter, clear indication of anger plastered on his face, but his eyes sprouted another emotion: pity. Gently, he removed her hand and lead her out of the shadows. What he saw warranted a disapproving shake of his head and a deep exhalation.
"Why are you still with him?" He asked, examining the hideous ribbons of welts and black bruises on her face and leg.
His daughter pushed him away a little too forcefully then she intended. "It's nothing, dad. I promise."
"No, it's not nothing." He objected. "When will you see that you're miserable? When will you stand up to this boy and tell him enough is enough? Why do you knowingly put yourself through this?"
"Stop it! Please!"
The girl, buried alive in a coffin of her own pain, sank to her knees and wept. Her father knelt down and took her face in his hands.
"Look at me," he ordered. She revealed her bruised face again to her father, sobbing away all her anger and pain in fresh torrents. "I can't bear to see you like this anymore. I love you too much. Break up with him, please."
"I can't." She cried.
"Yes, you can."
She cried bitterly and buried her face in her father's chest, enveloping him as if afraid to let go. Through the streams of her tears and sobs, two words escaped her burning throat, floating into her father's ears like a faint whisper.
"I'm sorry."
Joseph hugged her tightly, a glistening tear trickling down his cheek.
A very personal, on the spur of the moment, story. My sister's first boyfriend was very abusive to her and no matter how strictly we made our case neither me, nor my mom, or my dad could convince her to break up with him.
After a year, we finally convinced my sister to break up with him, but he left his share of scars. She suffered from nightmares, self-esteem issues, and thoughts of suicide to the point she had to be hospitalized. My sister is happily married now to a loving and caring man, but the cruel reality of her experience will always remain dormant but never gone.
I don't tolerate abuse in any form. A real man will NEVER raise his hand against a woman. I could care less of your opinion on the matter. That's how I was raised and that's how everyone should be raised.
After a year, we finally convinced my sister to break up with him, but he left his share of scars. She suffered from nightmares, self-esteem issues, and thoughts of suicide to the point she had to be hospitalized. My sister is happily married now to a loving and caring man, but the cruel reality of her experience will always remain dormant but never gone.
I don't tolerate abuse in any form. A real man will NEVER raise his hand against a woman. I could care less of your opinion on the matter. That's how I was raised and that's how everyone should be raised.
Comments41
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"I don't tolerate abuse in any form."
THANK YOU. I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one who feels so strongly. It's comforting to know that there are others out there who share my rage at the kinds of people who treat others this way.
On a related note, this piece is beautiful, if sad. Thank you for sharing it with us.
THANK YOU. I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one who feels so strongly. It's comforting to know that there are others out there who share my rage at the kinds of people who treat others this way.
On a related note, this piece is beautiful, if sad. Thank you for sharing it with us.