Brooke Vaughn

Leaving a Monster

I crouched in the corner with fear as I held my trembling hands up in a failed attempt to protect myself. He swiftly swooped down and pulled me up by a handful of my long hair. His breath reeked of beer. His twisted mouth spat on my face. Pure evil occupied his dark eyes; they lost their color and narrowed with fury. With my weak knees barely holding me up, I inched away from our daughter’s room, hoping to not expose her tenderness to the violence. As if he knew what I was doing, he dragged me into her room, held the back of my head with a fistful of my hair, and violently thrust my face into the crib where our precious, porcelain-skinned daughter slept. I closed my eyes, only finding solace that she didn’t wake.