"Honor Stolen, not Avenged"

  He had humbled me, taking my honor from me, declaring me his wife.  Taken from me my virtue, my obedience, taking my reason and even my will, nearly my life.  When I could withstand the pain no longer, and cared not whether I lived or died, as he said I would, I cried out.  Not to his God, but to my teacher, a woman of valor.  Now, five years later, he had seen me, telling me he forgave me for ruining his life, and putting his arm around me, told me that he wanted me back.  That I was still, and always would be, his.  Destined to have his children.  Destined to obey him.  I said, feeling the stiff collar of my uniform, that I had always only wanted this, his arm around me, his affection, this was all I ever wanted.  And he sneered, pushing me away, anger and punishment written in his face, as when he pushed my head toward his manhood, ordering me to put my mouth where I would rather have vomitted.  He had pushed me then, too, away, but then fallen atop me, not stopping until the pain was all I could see.  Now, the pain was emotional, rejected by the one person who had taken my honor, and now derisively denigrated me, refusing even to respect the rank I wore, so hard earned, on my sharply creased Class A daily dress uniform.  My status as an officer meant nothing, as had my pain, my wishes, my belief in his promises, his prophecies, my obedience, to him.  My faith, never enough, was now entirely broken, symbolized by the officer´s rank on my uniform.  I straightened my posture, lifted my head, as I boarded the train, and he watched, leering.

   Now, five years later, in a library, where I had always thought myself safe, here he was.  Appearing out of nowhere, advancing toward me, demanding to be heard.  I fled his angry eyes, his voice, that same tone, the same smell as each time he would grapple me to the floor, my face still stinging from his slaps, pressing the breath out of me as he reminded me never to question him, the pain beginning afresh, grating as he tore in, once again, to where he hoped to force my body to bear him fruit.  I ran to the stairs, my books thrown in my bag hastily over my shoulder, as I prayed he could not follow before I found shelter, reliving the feeling of his weight crushing me into the floor, searing my birth canal, now forever closed.  I fled, humiliated, vowing to leave even at the cost of losing a scholarship that had granted me life, not knowing how I would survive now, not halfway through my studies.  This scholarship had given me hope, purpose, a way to live.  Now, the monster who was to protect me, get me out of the frying pan and into school, putting me into a caldron of his own instead, had returned, for me.  How many times would he return, seeming more angry each time, and why now, when I was nearly on track again, steering my course to a life of meaning, succeeding and planning to live.  To give back to the community, contribute and make others proud.  Where could I go that he would not find me, again advancing upon me?  Not in a uniform, this time, I felt lost, as I ran, without any cover, source of strength to fall back upon, to hide from this disgrace.