There’s a pencil, half hanging off the edge of the counter. It’s me—teetering on the fine line between barely sane and on the brink of giving up. Perfectly sharpened on one side, and depressingly dull on the other. It’s me—putting on a brave face so he won’t ever know the fear that lies beneath.

There’s a noise at the door, a banging sound. It’s not Nathan—he’s not home yet. He’s always late, doing sluts at trashy bars. I don’t care so much about his cheating as I do the way he treats me. Like I’m just something for him to play with when he feels like it. When I’m not all his for sex, I’m making him food, or buying him alcohol or cigarettes. It’s time I fight back.

Nonetheless, the noise scares me, and my brain (on the topic of fighting) demands I grab the pencil and wield it as one would a sword. So that’s what I do—I pick up the pencil and hold it in front of me bravely, like I know what I’m doing. My shaky hand says otherwise.

But when I hear the door unlock with the twist of a key, and a few murmured curse words, I know that it’s Nathan. I just don’t know why he’s home so early. On a normal Thursday night at 9:45, he’s flirting with a provocative 23-year-old for whom he bought more drinks than you could count on one hand.

He spots me, his wide-eyed, clutching a half-sharpened pencil like it’s a lifeline, prisoner. He slams the door and turns to make sure no one is watching before he turns to me, surprised and enraged.

“Delilah,” he says slowly, “what in hell do you think you’re doing?”

I bite my shaking lip nervously, knowing that nothing will excuse this. Brave face, brave face, brave face. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t think you’d be home this early, and I figured it… it might be a-a kidnapper, or something… I’m sorry.”

He narrows his eyes, still staring at the pencil in my hand. “Then why are you still brandishing that towards me like you’re some kind of goddamn hero?”

That’s a good question. But I will never, ever tell him the answer. Because he’s right—I’m done being the victim. It’s my time to be the hero. “I don’t know, Nathan…” A pause. A deceitful pause. “I’m sorry.”

“What… what are you doing, Lilah?” He roars, every word a rise in volume.

I back away slowly, still holding the pencil in front of me. I grab my phone and wallet off the counter with one hand and open the back door with my foot. “I know this is a new concept to you, you shitbag excuse for a human, but I’m being the hero.”