My Last Bit of Control

Of course, it couldn't last. He finds the phone. I'm expecting the usual storm,

the yelling, the accusations. But there's nothing. Just silence. A heavy,

suffocating silence that's worse than any shouting. He looks at the phone,

then at me. His eyes are cold, empty. Then a single sharp sound.

Crack. He snaps it in half with his bare hands. The two pieces fall to the floor,

the screen dark forever. It's not just a phone he broke. It's my escape route,

my connection, my last little bit of control. I should leave. I'm tired of the

bruises, but he helps me get well.