He said he loved me. He said he was sorry. He said he didn’t mean it, that it would never
happen again. But it did. It always happened again. He said it was okay, everything was okay,
but it wasn’t. It was never okay. I was never okay. Not after the lies. Lies my Lucas told me.

And day after day it hurt. Not only outside. It also hurt me inside. Because every time I
saw the bruises, the scars; every time I got out my makeup to cover it up so no one would see, I
saw him. And at first I saw the way he looked at me like he would always love me, but after a
while I couldn’t remember what love looked like at all anymore. He still gave me that look, of
course. Anything to keep me here. But that look no longer comforted me, it only hurt worse,
made my bruises, my scars, my very being pulse with anger and fear all tangled together. I
couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. And I think that was what he wanted. Total control. He had it,
too. I was terrified of him.

No matter how many times he hurt me, or how bad it got, I always stayed with him. I
always came back. Always. I felt it was my duty. Of course I see now that’s what he wanted me
to believe. It was my place, my responsibility to stay with him no matter what he did to me. I
wanted to leave, I really did. But I just loved him too much. And he loved me. Or at least, that’s
what he said. But he said a lot of things, my Lucas. And in the end, they were all just lies. Lies
my Lucas told me.