Last Time

The door opens for a moment, and I know he's home.

I go to welcome him home.

But he has a bottle in his hand.

It's empty and made of glass.

Not again.

A smirk curves on his perfect lips.

Fear strikes my heart like a bullet.

"Welcome home."

He grunts, and gives me a sloppy kiss.

I don't want this.

His hands rub my thighs.

I don't love him.

He unbuttons my shirt.

I won't have it.

I push his hands away.

My face is numb.

The bottles half shattered.

Glass prickles my cheek.

I don't give any reaction.

He goes in again.

And I let him.

Last time I tell my self.

That's what I said yesterday.