The circling pattern spoke, convincing her, she must have it.
How could she let him stop her from getting it.
There it was, at rest on the side table next to her bed.
Vibrant colors, unique, hers.
She strived for something to be hers.

The complaining began.
Roaring like a giant, repeating himself
TOO EXPENSIVE, TOO EXPENSIVE

Placing her warm, sweaty hands over her nervous face
Crying
“Please,” she said, “Please.”
Too late.

She awoke, blinking over and over.
Foggy, blurry, blind?
Looking in the mirror, black and blue, her eye was swollen shut. Bruise.

The rest of her reflection did not show.
She could see right through herself
Like she was nothing

Packing her things
Looking over at her bed
There it will remain, the lampshade that was hers.