Your palm connects with his cheek.  
     Not for the first time, nor for the last
          The slap is not unexpected, not undeserved either

Red marks bloom, the traces of fingers across his face

It stings
     Whispers of pain, fleeting
          Bringing sensation, awareness
Awareness of him
     His strength
          The power he holds over you

And suddenly the pain is gone and you brace for the next

Your breath comes hard and quick
     You can kill him
          He knows this

He knows this

The thought has crossed your mind
     But that's never your aim, never your goal
          (maybe it's his)
You only want to hurt him enough to make him cry
     If he sheds a tear, he's still useful
          Still human

Still yours

Sometimes your weapons are words
     Sometimes you hold back what he craves
          Long enough to break him

Tonight you come at him, with hands and fists
     And feet, working to sweep his out from under him

You land, hard, on your back
     Head crashes to the floor
          Hurts like a motherfucker
You see him, standing over you
     Waiting, willing you to get up
          Just so he can knock you down again
Last time, you barely missed the coffee table
     Catch your head on that
          And you're dead for sure

He knows this, the bastard

You haven't said a word
     Not like you have to
          The pattern remains the same

You watch his eyes.  One tear and you would leave.

You know what he wants  
     You could turn it on at any moment
          That part of you
               That has become so good at pretending

You know what he wants
     Just as you know what you need
          Fucked up as it seems, you need him to stay

You can't bear to be alone
     Not tonight

You wait for the onslaught and will yourself not to cry