Traces of Kisses

It’s my fault I didn’t think beyond the borders. It’s my fault I made wrong decisions without thinking. It’s my fault I got caged in here.

4 years ago I met Him and fell in love. Immediately, passionately. He was so gorgeous, kind and loving. We had a beautiful wedding ceremony, I was wearing a magnificent white dress and a wreath of roses. He said flowers look lovely on my head. We spend almost all our money to invite many people to a luxury restaurant. Our friends and all our relatives were watching and discussing how we looked together, how we behaved and what we said. They were expecting us to show love, so we did. I was the happiest person in the world.

We are still in love. I cook dinner for him, and if I do everything correctly, he praises me. It makes me happy. He sometimes makes ‘mistakes’ when he is tired or drunk, but he always apologizes after and gives little gifts. I can understand it and forgive it cause I know he is just seeking my support and love.

When I make him doubt my loyalty, wear too revealing clothes or make something dumb, he is angry. I know he is jealous because he loves me, so I try to make everything as he says. I understand that every one of his actions was caused by mine and it’s my fault if he leaves those traces of kisses on my body.

I don’t like them. I feel no love in them, and they burn my skin and my mind, but he continues repeating he is just teaching me lessons because he loves me. Loves me as no one ever will. It is always painful, but as if I could tell someone; all the relatives will know it, all neighbours will know it and that will be a SHAME. Furthermore, I deserved all of it doing stupid things, didn’t I?

We have a little cute daughter. I love her, so does he. She likes dancing, so he bought her a beautiful yellow dress on her birthday. That made her happy. Nothing matters, when she is out of harm’s way and feels happy. I will endure anything for her, even her father, because she needs to have both parents, doesn’t she? It’s hard to take it all, from time to time I want to take one great leap off the mine and run to safety, but I know the explosion will get me. And my daughter, as well. I can’t leave her and her father who professes so much love in his quiet moments of sorrow.

Yesterday I had to shave baldly. My long, black hair that I combed and braided for so long – everything went to trash, because of him. He took me to the lake a week ago and as soon as I got out of the water he attacked me with a knife. He was pricking my head with the tip of the knife, saying that flowers look lovely on my head. This time, I wasn’t happy. The terror that clawed up my throats and trembling of fear hands betrayed me, making self-defence impossible.

After the 23rd hit, he asked me if it hurts and I said yes it does when he started to cut the skin on my skull. On the 25th wound, I asked if he would better kill me anyway when he stopped and said that he doesn’t want me dead, he wants to see me suffer.

We came back home, my head bleeding and my bare feet aching from shards of glass in them. My daughter, my darling, started crying when she saw me and I hugged her, pressing to my chest.

“It will be alright, sweetie,” I told her. “I’m fine,” I said, my blood on her fluffy hair.

It’s my fault I didn’t think beyond the borders before. And now it’s too late. I loved him and was afraid of him. But there is nothing and no one who could help.