HIS POSSESSION

Not anymore

I huddle up in my room, knees buckled. The door bangs loudly, the hinge threatening to break.

My husband's voice calls from outside.

"Tatiana! Tatiana, please open up," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotions, real emotions. But I'm not buying that today.

I'm not buying this performance, this sudden repentance.

I'm trying not to cry. My chest tightens, a familiar ache blooming behind my ribs, but I squeeze my eyes shut.

"TATIANNA, OPEN THE f*****g DOOR!" he thunders, the hinge groaning like a wounded animal, and then it breaks.

Alex appears at the doorway. He just stands there, eyes welling up with tears as his gaze falls on me.

I jolt up from the bed, grab the small stool lying by the wall, and smash it into the mirror.

It shatters, shards flying everywhere, but I don't flinch; I don't care.

"TATI!" Alex's eyes grow wide with panic as he rushes toward me.

I don't let him come near me. I quickly pick up a shard of glass and point the jagged edge directly at him.

"Stay back!" I choke out, my hand trembling. "Don't you dare come any closer, Alex. Just... just stay back."

He stops, hands raised in surrender. His eyes are so soft I could practically see "I'm sorry" written all over them. But f**k him.

A tear finally escapes, tracing a hot path down my cheek. "You're a threat to my baby... and I won't let you hurt him or me any further."

"Tati, please drop the glass. You're... you're scaring me," he says, trying to step closer, but I take a step back, the sharp glass a stark warning.

"Don't even think about it. One more step and I swear..." My voice cracks again, the threat hanging heavy in the air. "You hit me, Alex. You hit me again just because you can't control your paranoia—"

"I'm sorry." The word escapes too loudly as he runs his hand through his hair; a single tear flows down his cheek. "I'm sorry. I promised never to hit you again, but it keeps happening, and I... I... I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

He sounds sincere. He always sounds sincere. Right now, he looks just like the man I married, but when it hits me, he's like a man possessed by an evil spirit. I'm not into spiritualism and all, but sometimes I wonder if there are two people living in his body.

Silence falls. He's waiting for my response, waiting for me to run into his arms and cry on his chest like I always do. But not this time. Not anymore. I'm tired of this endless cycle of this toxic marriage. He doesn't want to see me near any guy; it was just a friendly discussion with one of his father's men. There was nothing intimate. But then he exploded when I tried to explain to him how wrong he was for hitting the innocent guy. He hates to be told off. He hates when I argue.

"Leave," I say, my voice steady, but the tears streaming down my face like a fountain betray everything.

He still stands as though he were a fragile egg that might break if I push him further.

"I said leave!" I yell, and he nods, walking backward until his back hits the wall, and he slides down, hands raised in peaceful gesture—movement so slow and cautious.

"I won't come any closer; I promise. I'll stay right here. Okay?"

The fight drains out of me. A part of me wants to walk up to him, slap him in the face, and drag him outside. I'm six months pregnant, feeble, and I can't rival in strength with a man weighing twice my weight.

I slump on the bed, the shard slipping from my hands. It's covered in blood. I didn't realize until now. I didn't register the pain because all I feel is helplessness, rage, hatred, and at the same time hope. That things will be better if I leave.

But to where?

Home?

Family?

I have none.

Alex picked me up from the street, after being beaten, raped, and on the verge of death.

The street was no place for the weak; unfortunately for me, I was abandoned, left for dead. I struggled all on my own, fed on scraps; I thought I was getting better at surviving until he found me.

He was kind then, a savior. He nursed me back to health, gave me a roof over my head, food in my belly. He called me his angel and said he'd cherish me forever. I believed him. I so desperately wanted to believe him.

Now, looking at him slumped against the wall, a broken man in a broken doorway, I see the monster that kindness masked. The monster that promised forever but delivered pain. The monster that made me believe I finally had a home, only to turn it into another cage.

"I know what you must be thinking, Tati," he finally stirs, avoiding my gaze. "You must think I'm a monster."

"You are a monster," I whisper, and his eyes snap at me.

Surprised?

He shouldn't be.

A man that can slap me in the face, even if it's just one slap on the cheek, shouldn't be so surprised I call him a monster.

"I'm going to get help," he declares. "A therapist, anyone. Even if I have to give you some space, maybe a few weeks till I figure out how to control myself, then I'll do it." He pauses, and I know what he's about to say.

I look away, facing the shattered mirror as he mutters the same words I'm used to.

"Please, don't leave me."

His plea, so familiar, washes over me like a stale wave. It used to tug at my heart. But not anymore. The countless promises, the fleeting moments of tenderness that dissolved into violence – they’ve cauterized that part of me.

I finally turn my gaze from the fractured reflection to him.

"A few weeks, Alex?" I repeat, my voice flat. "That's what you always say. A few weeks, a few months... and then what? Another broken promise? Another slap? Another night huddled in fear?"

He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"No, Alex. I'm done listening to your 'few weeks.' I'm done waiting for the man you pretend to be. The man I fell in love with is gone, lost somewhere beneath the surface of this… this thing that hurts me."

My gaze flickers down to my swollen belly, a silent testament to the life I need to protect.

"This isn't just about me anymore," I continue, my voice gaining a steel edge. "It's about our child. And I will not let you subject him to this. I won't let him grow up in a house filled with fear and violence."

I push myself off the bed, my legs shaky but my resolve firm. The room feels smaller now, the air suffocating. I need to get out. I need to breathe air that isn't thick with lies and regret.

"I want to leave, Alex, for good," I say suddenly, standing up.

His eyes widen, panic flickers across his face. "No, Tati, please! You don't mean that. Where would you go? You have no one!" His words are cruel. He knows my vulnerabilities, knows how isolated he has made me.

"That's not my problem anymore, Alex," I say, stepping around the shattered glass. Each crunch beneath my bare feet feels like a small act of defiance.

I move towards my closet, and he doesn't move, his eyes locked on me, disbelief gnawing at him.

I grab my clothes one by one, yanking them into my suitcase. I don't fold; I don't care. My heart is made up. I don't care where I go; I'll... I'll find a way. There's uncertainty and fear about my future, but I push it away.

Alex is silent; he lets me pack, but when I'm done, going for the doorway, he blocks my path.

"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be—"

"Get out of my way, Alex," I snarl, and he shuts his mouth. I bump into him, walk past, going for the stairs.

"Tatiana, wait," he calls behind me, and I don't answer, dragging my suitcase like it's a chain...

Just as I reach the stairs, he grabs me back.

"Let go of me," I rip his hand off with all the strength I can muster. Too angry to be rational, and I stumble back.