Why can't I remember the good times? All I remember are the bad. The abuse, the assault, the heartbreak, the loss, the pain. But what's worse is... sometimes I want it. Sometimes I want to be thrown again, to be shoved again, to be hit, to be choked so hard I can't breathe. Because it feels addictive. I want the pain, even though it hurts and leaves marks. And maybe, just maybe, he'll go too far and I won't make it. Then maybe he'll finally feel guilty. Maybe he'll finally get caught. Then maybe I'll finally have peace.
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