The darkness hid your face from me and I was glad. I was spared from looking into the face of evil. I moaned as you shoved me back onto the bed. I prayed for protection. I begged God to free me.

You chuckled as you sat at the edge of my bed, acting as though you had a right to be there. You stroked my hair gently. Giving me the feeling of such fake protection.

You called me �bitch� and slapped my face.

I endured the filth of your mouth on my breasts. I endured your fingers and tongue penetrating my body. I endured your sweat dripping onto my belly.

Perhaps the agony would have been too much for me if I hadn�t discovered a place in myself where the Comforter dwelt. I might have screamed and struggled hysterically, driving you too worse measures. I might have mustered up the strength to kill you with your own hands. I might have willed myself to die. Instead, I entered the place that had been newly revealed to me and leaned into Holy arms. The tears rolled down my face, and my very soul wept, but I was safe. I endured.

I wonder what colour God used as he painted on your canvas in those moments. Did he swirl the crimson streaks into an ever- thickening blackness as you sought control of me.

I did not know that it was your arm that pulled me close. I did not know that it was your voice that soothed me. I did not know that I wept on the shoulder of the one who caused the pain. I knew only that I longed for comfort to replace my brokenness.

I was empty.