Lengths of Trust [3]

(Kyle)

One powerful punch to my abdomen tells me he’ll do it again. He grunts and grits his teeth as his fist meets with my jaw –luckily it won’t leave a mark this time. He lands a punch to my stomach. I cringe and let out a slight groan. I almost topple over onto the wooden chair in the lounge.

He is drunk off the power he prides; he is angry at the thought of not getting his way; he is unmerciful at the suggestion of defiance.

I’ve done everything he’s asked me to –indulged in a life of crime to protect my own secrets and to protect the people I care about.

Nothing I do is ever good enough for him.

Nothing I do will ever be good enough.

“You fool,” he spites, panting, his breath is all alcohol, “Get to it, now!”