I covered my face in my hands and took another deep breath. It didn’t help. Nothing helped anymore.

I felt my hands clench and my fingers begin to hook into my face as if a savage yet slothful hawk had settled and wished to forcibly remove my face. My nails bit and I could feel my heart smashing painfully against my chest, while my face felt nothing.

I took another deep breath.

My fingers would not obey so I forced my hands down to let them grip the desk before me. More injuries to my face would only prolong my captivity. Cabin fever had long ago driven me to pace the rooms of the house, unable to leave while bruises bloomed and split skin scabbed.

His stink was all over the house, and wherever I stood I was assaulted by it. Brewed coffee and aftershave; leather and clean clothes. Not unpleasant for themselves, but for their association. Even alone I couldn’t escape his presence.

I wished it didn’t take me so long to heal, otherwise I could have left to buy groceries. To see a different view, if only for a moment, and told my friends about my latest illness that forced me to avoid them again.

Makeup wouldn’t do the job, but I was leaving. To keep looking at the same walls hour upon hour, watching the shadows wander further than I could – I’d had enough.

My nails stopped grinding into wood, caught unaware by the new direction.

Leaving. I was leaving.

I almost laughed in relief at the peace that flowed through me. The decision was now made, and I knew that was it. It didn’t matter what else happened now, as mentally I was free.

The house had been cleared of sharp objects, but I was resourceful and found my old Stanley knife in the stationary cupboard. His efforts were now in vain, and that amused me greatly. I laughed as I left. Free now. Free to leave, even if not physically.

Constructive criticism welcome. © 2009 Damian Herde