Circles By Jessica Leilani Vasquez

I always seem to end up here, same hospital, same

room, different reason. It never used to surprise me to see

him here, but this time it did. Why is he here with me?

Why can’t he just let this go and leave me alone? I hate

him for this, but I guess this time I hate myself more than

him. He walks over to the side of the bed, slowly, as if to

give me a chance to realize he was actually there and it

was not a nightmare. He was large in stature and that

always makes me cringe. His hands dirty and rough from

god knows what. His face expressionless. He brings his

hand up and I flinch. I can’t move. Every bone seems to

ache, every rib feels broken, every muscle feels sore. All I

am able to do is try to control my breathing and hope this

won’t end badly. He brings his hand to my face, lightly

brushing the hair out of my eyes with the tips of his fingers.

He smiles. Oh, how I hate that smile.

He traces his fingers down the edge of my face to

the top of my collarbone as I started to breathe heavier.

His hand falls down my arm until he reaches the IV in my

hand. All I can think is that whatever is coming next is

going to hurt, but his fingers just trace circles around the

needle and tape sticking out of my pulsating vein. I want to

cry. I want to scream, to thrash about and swing at him. I

want to get away from him, far away, but I can’t. I have to

concentrate on my heartbeat as to not tip the monitor off.

I can’t let him see that yet again I’m afraid of him and he

has all the power. He seems so calm and almost even

“Get well soon, my love,” he says with a smile.

 

© 2014 Jessica Leilani Vasquez

Jessica Leilani Vasquez is an aspiring writer who loves how dark poetry and fiction can be.

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