Choi Yuna

I lie there, my body a canvas painted with the cruel stones of his violence. Each blow, each bruise, a reminder of the agony I endure day after agonizing day. The memories flood my mind, drowning me in a sea of despair from which there seems to be no escape.

I once believed in love, in the fairy tales that sounds my childhood dreams. But reality has torn those illusions apart, revealing the harsh truth lurking beneath. My mother's marriage is perfect, isn't it? The perfect man, perfect husband and perfect father. My seemingly perfect marriage is nothing but a cruel facade, a mask concealing the horrors that lie beneath the surface.

His touch once tender and loving, has become a weapon, a tool with which to inflict pain and suffering. What began as whispered promises of affection has twisted into a nightmare of abuse, each blow driving me further into the depths of despair.

Divorce feels like a distant, dream, a mirage shimmering on the horizon just out of reach. Every attempt to break free has been met with brutal retribution, leaving me trapped in a cycle of violence from which there seems to be no escape.

As I lie there, broken and deafeted, I can't help but wonder if this is all I am destined for. Am I condemned to spend the rest of my days shackled to a man who sees me as nothing more than an object to be used and discarded?

When did all this even begin? I can vividly remember when he first layed his hands on me. I stood to believe he was angry and nothing more, but now it is a daily routine. When he has a bad day at work, It's my fault. When he is drunk, I'm the one he takes it out on. If I make a mistake, I am useless.

Was this the man I really fell in love with? Or was it me holding on to him when I was completely sure this would happen? It looks like I dug myself a pit —a deep one at that. One where nothing, even the brightest ray of light will reach the very end. A distant hope—one I can't hope to reach.

' Choi Yuna, what are you doing? '

I mumbled to myself....

Admits the darkness, there is still no glimmer of hope, no faint light to guide me through the darkness, no hand that will hold mine and tell me it's okay. There is only the crushing weight of despair, the suffocating embrace of hopelessness and the never ending loneliness that threatens to consume me whole.

And so I lie there in the darkness, my soul shattered, my will broken. For in that moment, I know with a bone deep certainty, that there will be no salvation, no angel, no protector, no escape from the endless torment that has become my reality

I have finally embraced my painful and cruel fate!

What did I do wrong today? Why does he keep lashing at me? Did I forget to prepare his things for work or did I forget to iron his suit for work? Speaking of iron, he has never burnt me before. Maybe today is the day, or maybe not. Did I forget his documents or did I mess it up?

I can hardly tell. Or is it because he is already back from work? Did he have a bad day or did he have a bad meeting? Is it because he is tired and didn't meet dinner served. Wait! Have I even prepared dinner? Did I buy the groceries? Well, he should better continue lashing away his anger because it looks like I forgot to do it. I forgot to even do anything.

" Yuna, get up and go and prepare dinner. Oh! And on your way prepare a bath for me", his voice cut through the silence like a knife, a cruel reminder of my servitude. He finally dropped his belt, taking off his clothes to prepare for a bath. After you finished lashing out on me with that belt of yours, you send me right back to work. I expect nothing less from him who treats me as tho I am a slave.

Should I beg for my life or should I run away? "The dead of night seems like the perfect time", that's what I would have said, but I don't have the energy to deal with the result of my disobedience.

" Get moving, you bitch! I don't have all day, stop wasting my time" , he spits, his words dripping like venom.

Accursed fool, son of a bitch, servant of the devil sent from hell, all you need is repentance. I might as well give it to you myself and gladly die in prison. I should also drown you in the bath as well, it is then that I would have peace of mind. But all this are just my unheard resentment.

Where is the bathroom again?

When will we visit my parents again? I should use there as my space of freedom. I so crave their embrace. Their warm touch on my hair and face, the sweet words of stories that I get to hear from them.

But even as I yearn for their touch I know it's nothing but a distant dream, a flicker of hope so far away I would ruin it if I invite it to my world consumed with utter darkness. And so I stand there staring at the knife I use to cut my vegetables, my heart heavy with resentment, will my suffering end if I use this weapon as my salvation? My soul drowning in despair. All I can ask for right now is for my parents to hug me, hold me tight and never let go, so I do not return to that world heavy with pain. They should tell me everything is okay and shower me with their warm smiles.

But in this world of pain and suffering, such simply comforts feel like nothing more than a distant fantasy.

When?....