Hate

I remember placing the bottle of medicine on his counter top. I caught him looking. He looked over as I grabbed a glass of water. Looking until my hands untwisted the top. I caught him looking at my fragile hands before he could look away. He didn't say a word, just turned away. Till this day I still ask myself why he didn't ask why I was taking medicine. I wish he would have. To tell him that its cause of him, I was taking those pills. Tell him that when the doctor asked me what could have caused a heart problem as such at such a young age, I only thought of him, I blamed him in silent. Tell him that when my arm got weak, when my heart palpitated, when I looked over to my mom and told her that my heart hurt, she grabbed my hand and prayed, I only thought of him, I blamed him in silent. How could I have let him kiss me on the forehead,  place the fan in front of me as I laid exhausted on his bed after what he did. I thought that if I tried a bit harder, to show him that I wasn't just beside him, but show him that I was there, I've been there...then maybe he would stop. Every night, I would lay beside him, look over and pray for God to give me the strength to lift up his arm and walk out his door. But I didn't. I wasn't ready to let the man that I wanted him to become him  go. I wasn't ready to stop loving his potential, even as the man he was, was killing me softly and slowly.  The only way to  to not lose myself in him, was to run away. Run away from his hold. I remember how he held me in his arms, with such a tight hold, before I got in the car to leave He would call to tell me he would visit, he may move in with me. All I thought to myself was, "you'll make my heart worse, I will surrender in your arms all over again, I can't anymore." I left myself with him. I left with him the person I was before. I hate him for holding me down, for taking advantage of my naivete, for placing himself over me. I hate him for not hating him sooner than now. I hate him for not blaming him out loud. I hate myself for not walking out his door when he needed me most. I hate  that I drew the reflection of his potential on the mirror for him to face, over and over again. I hate him for licking my wounds as he kept filling me up with venom.  I hate him for the fact that I now run away, because he was one of the two men that have held me down against my own will, my own good..all for his own good, their own good. 

I'm getting past the past, without running away. I can't hate that.