Independence

He doesn't remember when he hits me.  The next morning I'm up, black and blue, and he's complaining that all the covers are in a heap on the floor.  He doesn't remember pulling them off me and forcing himself into me my scream. 
These bruises, on my thighs, my wrists- I joke about being abused and he laughs along enjoying the fun.  Such a game, such a fun sport of words and emotional perry and thrust-him never truly knowing what the stakes are. 
Last night, I sank into beautiful blue-green eyes.  They were soft and nervous and I was shaking and it was strange, so strange not to cower at the fingertips, to have them brush my back softly without my begging.  Oh, it was wonderful, being loved for such a short amount of time.
I have a permanent smile on my face and a skip in my step.
I'm free.
Free.
Free.

And somewhere, beautiful blue eyes (they were always blue) are waiting.