I didn't start loving him of my own choice.

I didn't start drinking of my own free will.

I didn't start gambling away my everything because I wanted to.

I didn't start slipping away from what I stood for of my own volition.

It was all him. Every bit of it.

The one thing I chose to do was hating him.

I'm not sure exactly when it started, only that it did and my hate was only a puddle. Even a napkin of kindness could've soaked it up.

He didn't even try. He just kept cheating. And beating. And berating me about everything.

"Girl! Why isn't the bed made?"

"Goddamnit, I work the whole damn day and come home to a shithole?"

"You have one job. I ask nothing more of you."

And goddamnit he didn't. He almost sounded reasonable when he phrased it like that. But I knew better. He was never satisfied. And asking him to loosen up a bit was out of the question.

"It's not impossible. It's entirely doable. You're just being lazy."

And I just turned my anger elsewhere. To beer. To cheap wine. To gas station rosè. And it helped.

For a while.

Then even that wasn't enough. I started to think again, about why this wasn't working and why I should escape before I couldn't and how I could just leave.

But I really couldn't. It was a terrible way to live, but I understood it. I knew what was going to happen. And predictability is a far safer high than the rush of the unknown.

So I tried to conquer that fear with a game of risk. Gambling.

It was like Russian Roulette but with money and sex and more bullets. And it felt wonderful. This, finally. It didn't bore me, but it was safe and I still got that rush.

Gambling, like everything else, gets stale after a while. You either make money or you lose it.

So I started betting on things that would thrill me either way. That rush of the risqué? It's real, and it threatens to drown you when you're caught in it.

Strip poker. Strip blackjack. Strip go fish. I didn't care, so long as my pants came off and so did yours.

Then, he started noticing. The drained accounts. The drained bottles. My drained willingness to acquiesce to him. The pants over the lamp, the heels knocked off by the door, the bra on the dresser. He noticed, and he sure as hell wasn't happy.

The bruises. The broken bones. And the pains, the aches, the screaming that I never gave way to.

Then, I needed a stronger distraction. I looked into drugs, and dismissed them. Lust and drink and risk were fine, but drugs? Drugs could ruin my life.

But then again, wasn't it already ruined?

I deliberated carefully and with great thought.

Oh, who am I kidding? I dove headfirst into a pile of cocaine and loved every minute of it. It was fun, but I controlled it. At this point, control had turned into my favorite trip. Even more than coke. Even more than heroin. Even more than acid, though they were neck-and-neck at this point.

So, of course, I took a pill or two after those trips.

Duh.

And once more, he took notice. This time, he was dead set on keeping me far away from those pleasures that he reveled in nightly.

So he tried to kill me.

Sounds reasonable, right?

He took a knife to my neck. I thought he was just threatening me, trying to scare me into being an obedient housewife.

So I laughed. I wasn't scared. He was just trying to make me afraid of the possibilities.

And he didn't like that. Not at all.

He slit my throat. Truth be told, it's not a very good way to go out, the blood staining your dress, your jugular pumping out that red liquid faster than it can fall down.

And I, of course, tried to scream. It sounds like that would be painful, no?

And nothing came out. Not a sound. Not a peep. Not even a whimper.

He looked at me with shock and just a hint of disdain. I've gotta say, I've always been a sucker for the emotionally distant. I think I can save them, bring them closer to me. It never works.

Hey, at least I'll never try again, right? I can't exactly seduce a demon. These asses barely let me out to eat, much less get in their pants.

Oh, who gives a shit? I'm dead, and it's better than living. This world is fucked up, and here I at least have the comfort of knowing that I can't be killed.