The Great Escape

As she waited for the water to run, Jocelyn idly fingered the scar on her left wrist. She did this whenever she was deep in thought. It was an ugly reminder that her life was not what she wanted, and she had not become the person she so desperately wanted to be. In the first few months afterwards, when she was in therapy, she considered covering it with some kind of tattoo. But she decided against it. She liked confronting people with her pain. Especially Christian. He who had caused it all in the first place. She didn't think of herself as fragile. After all, she usually was able to land a couple of solid kicks or punches whenever they fought (she considered it fighting, even though she never started it and always lost). No, she wasn't fragile, she just liked reminding him of how much she suffered - because of him.

What she was was tired. Tired of pretending to fall down stairs and walk into doors and slip on ice. Tired of friends not taking her calls, as though by boycotting her, she would finally leave him. Tired of carrying the burden of Christian's guilt, which was even more oppressive than his fist against her ribs.

As she slipped into the bathtub, she heard her cell phone ring. The ringtone let her know it was Christian, calling from work. That should give her enough time, even if he was leaving right then, but still, she'd better hurry, she thought. She didn't want anything to go wrong this time. Like the old adage said: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.