It Was Him Or Me. I Chose

You Think My First Instinct Is To Protect You. Because You're Small, Or A Girl, Or A Stiff. But You're Wrong." He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife? My Skin Tingles At The Point Of Contact, Like He's Transmitting Electricity Through His Skin. "my First Instinct Is To Push You Until You Break, Just To See How Hard I Have To Press." He Says, His Fingers Squeezing At The Word Break. My Body Tenses At The Edge In His Voice, So I Am Coiled As Tight As A Spring, And I Forget To Breathe.

How Have I Never Realized Before That For All The Strong, Kind Parts Of Him, There Are Also Hurting, Broken Parts?

At Home I Used To Spend Calm, Pleasant Nights With My Family. My Mother Knit Scarves For The Neighborhood Kids. My Father Helped Caleb With His Homework. There Was A Fire In The Fireplace And Peace In My Heart, As I Was Doing Exactly What I Was Supposed To Be Doing, And Everything Was Quiet. I Have Never Been Carried Around By A Large Boy, Or Laughed Until My Stomach Hurt At The Dinner Table, Or Listened To The Clamor Of A Hundred People All Talking At Once. Peace Is Restrained; This Is Free.

Who Cares About Everyone? What About Me?

Which Means That In Order To Defeat Her, I Have To Think Of A Way To Defeat Myself. And How Can I Be A Better Fighter Than Myself, If She Knows The Same Strategies I Know, And Is Exactly As Resourceful And Clever As I Am?