Violent past...

She stood in front of the mirror, looking at her naked reflection. Black and blue, red and green, the marks stood out against her fair, almost white complexion. The marks were all over her body, though, thankfully, her face had been spared today.

Why, she wondered. Well, there was this anniversary she had to attend this evening. Her own third anniversary. The party she had meticulously planned, from the invites to the decor to the chocolates to be given to guests as return gifts.

Slowly dragging her feet, she willed herself to move on. She collapsed into the bath-tub, drowning her pain in the scented, soapy water. She scrubbed her body. Hard, very hard. Hoping that his hatred would just wash away, knowing that actually his love was here to stay.

All the while, her ears were pricked, listening to every sound in the house. Finally giving up on the loofah and scrub and believing that he had had his share for the day, she relaxed and let her tense muscles mourn.

Why did she take this kind of torture, she asked herself again and again. She could just walk out, could have walked out the first day he stubbed his cigarette on her wrist, or flung her across her bedroom on the glass table. She could have told her parents the truth about all the scars on her body, could have confided in her friends about the ones on her soul.

Why did she choose this silence? Did she really believe him when he apologised and bought her expensive gifts? What was she waiting for? The apologies had long stopped, also the sweet-nothings. All the remained were taunts and curses. Occasional slaps and shoves had turned into regular thrashings. The physical suppression was not enough, so it had to be reinforced with verbal lashings in public and various forms of mind-games.

Had she started liking it? Maybe, she felt that she deserved it. Maybe, she even revelled in it. She knew he drew his energy out of repressing her, got this unimaginable satisfaction seeing her helpless, dishevelled state. He knew she was his to play with, to possess and even to destroy. He needed her, in a way that only she could understand. Or so she thought.

The clinking of glassware and shuffling of furniture jolted her out of her thoughts. The help for the party was here. She quickly got dressed and moved out. She was amazed at her own resilience these days. All the anger, despise, disgust, sorrow that she used to feel was all lost now. What remained was quite submission to him, to her life with him.

So cheers to the three years of marriage gone by and many more to come. She would celebrate today, like she did every day. Every time that it seemed like she would not be able to live another moment more but then, slowly and surely survived