“You think you can just walk in here at all times of the day and night? What’s wrong with you?” Ricky yelled. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His hair was matted and messy and everything but neat. His sweat pants and undershirt both had raggedy holes and dirty stains on them. What’s wrong with you?? I wanted to ask. But I knew better than to say that.

“Sorry…I just lost track of time playing with the baby. She’s so cute.” I let a hint of a smile escape from my lips. A big mistake. But my sister’s baby was cute. And I had lost track of time…sort of. I took my time visiting Tara and the new baby because I knew that when I got home, Ricky would be sloppy drunk—just like he was.

He reached out before I could react and he slapped me so hard across my face that my flesh stung and trembled all the way down to my toes. The alcohol makes him stronger. He hits harder when he’s wasted. I stumbled backward and he snatched me by my shirt collar to bring me back close to him.

“You think this is funny? Making me stay up worried about you? That’s a joke to you?” Somehow, I doubt that you were up worrying about me. He grabbed me by my throat then and tightened his grip just enough around my neck so that I was afraid, but not losing too much air.

“Sorry!” I gasped. “Sorry!” He let me go and awkwardly threw me back against the kitchen counter. “Sorry.” I murmured. “Sorry.” I didn’t know what I was apologizing for. Wasn’t I seventeen? Didn’t I have my own life? Couldn’t I make my own decisions? Not when I had a controlling 19 year-old boyfriend, I couldn’t.

I want to say that night was the first time he did that to me. I want to say that I’m glad I moved out of my parents’ house at sixteen. I want to say that I don’t cry at night because I’m afraid the next time he might not be so merciful. But none of that is true…

Each morning, I have to look myself in the mirror though. Bruises, cuts, and all. I have to see myself and smile at myself and love myself and tell myself to Suck it up. Because if I don’t, who else will?