She Knew She Was a Bad Girl

After her ordeal and rescue she was offered too much prettiness Too fast, too much empathy, too much concern, too much kindness. She ran back to her abuser, trying to reattach her depressed self to him, Trying to rectify what she had begun to think was normal, promising love. When in fact, she was giving him less than that, accepting his terms. Because she did not deserve pretty, she did not deserve kindness. Immobilized, she knew she was a bad girl, she said and did the wrong things. She would be lucky if he took her back. He pretended he was not going to. She cried and screamed and begged, accepting any terms he set down. She ran inside, and they locked the door, locking the do-gooders out. Locking out her family and friends, who had finally gotten her to safe ground. She never again remembered that she had once been outgoing, and fun. She forgot about parties, and playfulness. She forgot how to laugh and smile. She was back in the devil’s arms, where she felt she belonged, Trying forever to resuscitate the forever-after she had expected long ago. The one she believed in for the rest of her life, the one that kept her prisoner.