Memorial Day.

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You didn’t want me to go out to my family’s BBQ. I had to

beg and promise that it would only be a few hours. That I wouldn’t take long.That I would keep my mouth shut and hide the  

bruises on my neck. Make up became my new best friend.

I even offered to drop you off at your parent’s house even though they

never approved of me. White trash doesn’t take too kindly to a girl who’s 

 anything but the superior race.

If I hear you talk to anyone else, I’ll happily make sure you regret it. I’ll make sure to fuck you so hard that you bleed all over the sheets. Until tears run 

down your sweet, innocent face while I finish inside you. 

Because it’s not rape if I’m your boyfriend. No one is 

going to believe you didn’t want it. I know how 

rough you like it. No one’s going to give a shit about 

a fucking slut like you. 

No one gives a fuck about you except me.

You got out of the car but not before turning around and wrapping 

your hands around my neck, my hands clawing for air. You 

leaned in close to me, the stench of liquor filling my nostrils. 

Remember what happens to bad girls K. 

I drove away crying trying to force a smile on my face, 

one I’ve practiced a million times. 

Practice makes perfect right? 

Isn’t that how the fucking saying goes?

I can smell the lumpia from the driveway, 

making me sick. I haven’t eaten in days. 

You told me I had to earn the privilege to eat. 

I’m a fucking piece of shit. 

I haven’t been good enough. You 

like your girls skinny anyway. 

My mother pulled me close and I buried 

my face in her neck, holding back tears. 

You’ve lost weight Neni. Are you eating? 

You’re so thin. I tell her it’s just the weather. 

I’ve been sick with a cold. It’s May, that’s 

obviously a fucking lie. 

You make me a plate and I try to convince 

you I’m not hungry, that I ate before I came. 

You wouldn’t leave me alone until I took a bite. 

Just one bite Neni. I made it just for you. 

I cried as I shoved the lumpia down my 

throat before running to the treehouse, 

puking in the grass.

My body knew eating was wrong. 

What the fuck was I thinking? Two hours passed, 

and the cement smile I had plastered on my 

face was chipping away with every 

excruciating minute. My mother wrinkled 

her face every time I checked my phone. 

She didn’t understand why I had to 

always keep my phone on me. 

He’s going to check on me. 

He worries about me, you understand. 

I try to convince myself, 

but my mother isn’t fucking stupid. 

But she doesn’t know why I had to call you every 

hour on the hour, how I had to text you every 

half hour, or else. And I didn’t want to 

know what “or else “meant. 

I kept looking over my shoulder shaking, 

like you were going to walk around the 

corner at any moment and hit my face for eating. 

Good girls don’t eat without permission. 

Good girls wouldn’t dare to break the rules.

My phone kept vibrating in my pocket. 

You were yelling at me wondering why I wasn’t 

on my way. It’s been 2 hours and 15 minutes. 

I’m late. I always misbehave. I’m always 

so fucking stupid. 

I kiss my mother and tell her I have to go, 

he’s waiting, and I can’t keep him waiting. 

I know I’m being rude mother you don’t have to 

remind me. But I want to keep all my teeth, 

you understand right?

My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, 

waiting for you to walk outside. 

One look and I can already tell how 

tonight’s going to go. You’re obliterated. 

Tonight’s entertainment is me becoming your 

personal punching bag. Hope I brought a 

change of clothes. Good girls don’t dare 

fight back. Let’s be honest, I’m not that fucking stupid. 

You fell into the car; your legs don’t seem to 

work after 3 bottles of liquor. You’re 

already yelling and I’m not even out 

the driveway yet. I’m 30 minutes late. 

My mother is a cunt, she could have waited. 

It’s my fault for being so irresponsible. This isn’t new. 

You spend 90% of your time belittling me. 

This isn’t my first rodeo cowboy.

You threw a tantrum because I wouldn’t 

turn the A/C on. I tried to explain that 

I’m low on gas.

(you spent all our gas money on drugs and liquor) 

and I have to keep the windows down. 

But you didn’t like logic. You didn’t like the 

fact I opened my mouth. God forbid I used my brain. 

God forbid I used my mouth for something 

other than choking on your dick. 

I must be retarded because clearly, 

I can’t follow simple directions.

You pulled my hair and gripped my arm 

so hard it started to bruise. I pulled into 

an empty parking lot thinking it would 

help you calm down. Plot twist: it didn’t. 

You screamed at me for what seemed like 

an eternity that you didn’t even notice you 

dialed my mother and she could hear every 

single vulgar word that came out of your 

fucking mouth. It’s ironic because she 

never answers her phone. 

Maybe God does exist after all.

I never felt so relieved in my entire life. But of 

course, happy moments are always 

short lived with you around. She called 

back asking if I was okay. You glared at 

me with pure hate, telling me to keep 

my mouth shut. I knew you were going to 

try to kill me. 

This isn’t my first rodeo cowboy. 

I swallowed my fear because this was a 

risk I was willing to take. I didn’t see 

any other way out. I started crying and 

told her where I was at, to please call my dad, 

please help me mom.

My hands shook as you yanked the phone 

out of my hands. I knew I fucked up. 

I knew you wouldn’t let me forget it. 

Before I could breathe, I felt my face burning, 

my fingers instinctively touched my face, 

running over the palm print on my face. 

You grabbed my hair, and dragged me out 

of the car, yelling how I was going to 

regret this. I was going to wish I was dead. 

Joke’s on you, I think about killing 

myself every fucking day. 

There’s a reason for my madness.

You smashed my face on the driver’s 

side window so hard it shattered in 

my face. Glass and blood pooled 

around my feet as you grabbed my hair and hit 

me again and again. I started choking on 

my own blood as I tried to crawl 

away. It was just a waste of time 

because you grabbed my throat and dragged 

me across the parking lot, punching my 

stomach, making sure I screamed as 

you slowly ripped out my belly button ring. 

Torture was always your thing. 

It always got you off.

I can feel my body go comatose 

as you pull me to the edge of the parking lot. 

Reminding me how I’m a fucking 

disgusting animal, a piece of shit, 

a worthless excuse for a human being. 

You don’t deserve to live. Let me do the 

world a favor because you’re a fucking slut.”

I felt you hold my head as you smashed 

it on the parking cement block, 

again and again until I’m begging God 

to please let me die. I can’t do this anymore. 

You were enjoying the fact I became 

lifeless that I could hear your pants unzip behind me. 

I went limp as you got on top of me, 

I didn’t have the energy to fight you off anymore.

You didn’t even notice the stranger running

across the grass towards you, but I did. What 

a kind stranger, a good Samaritan. 

I thought I was hallucinating but next 

thing I know you’re on the ground and 

he’s telling me to run, 

but I was already racing to the car, 

blind with blood dripping 

from my hair, covering my face. 

I stumble into the car, collapse in the 

drivers’ seat, and 

close the door before leaning my head 

against the headrest, closing my eyes. 

I call 911 but there’s so much blood 

in my fucking mouth I can’t even say anything 

except choking on the blood in my lungs. 

I’m so fucking stupid. 

There’s never going to be a way out.

I wake up to a flashlight shining in my eyes.

I wince in pain as I try to hide 

myself. My jaw is on fire and 

I can’t make a sound except a small whimper. 

I’m not fucking stupid. I’ve been through this before. 

This isn’t my first rodeo cowboy.

The EMT’s are relieved I’m alive, 

begging me to stay awake when all 

I want to do is sleep until the sun burns out. 

They’re asking me all sorts of stupid 

fucking questions that don’t make sense. 

What’s your name? Do you remember your 

birthday? Do you know what day it is? 

I try to keep my eyes open as 

they read over my report: 

3 broken ribs, 2 black eyes, 

cracked jaw, self-defense wounds, 

and a broken cheekbone.

I laugh inside. They’re so fucking stupid. 

Don’t they know this is how relationships work? 

That this is just another typical Saturday night for me? 

They’re obviously not doing it right. 

I almost feel bad for them. Almost.

I look to my left and see my dad, my uncle, 

and my brother on the grass, 

staring at me, blinking in disbelief. 

They watched as it took 8 cops to restrain you 

and put you in the cop car. I cried as they 

closed the ambulance doors, 

leaving my father to collapse on the ground, sobbing.

Guess it’s too late to say you’re not great 

with first impressions.

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