My brain bleeds. I am confused. He has transformed again. From lover to abuser. This morning I laid my head on his chest after our lovemaking. This evening I have locked myself in the bathroom. His hard words echo in my head.

A tiny thing. A misplaced word. An uncensored comment. A misjudged action. The eggshells break. Anger explodes. His voice is raised. His words are cruel. His vitriol spews. The floodgates are open.

His features contort. I no longer know him. If I am quiet I am ignoring him. If I argue back it gets worse. If I cry I am scorned. If I reason I am ridiculed. If I try to leave he will physically force me to stay.

I wait. I try to fix the right expression on my face. Listening. Contrite. But no! I am not contrite. I am angry too. I don’t deserve his rage. My punishment does not fit my crime. My anger must hide because it is smaller than his. Weaker. Unworthy.

He is loud. I imagine the neighbours. Raising eyebrows. Turning down the TV to better hear my pain. My silent witnesses. They only see his happy face. His angry face is an invisible ghost behind the wall. Maybe like me they think they are overreacting.

We will pass each other in the street tomorrow. He will smile. Crack a joke. They will smile. Glance at me. I will hurry to my car. They know. I ashamed. Embarrassed. They know I am weak. I am a powerless victim. He is a bully. All us not as it seems.