Running Away

She was running again, running through the downpour and running through the pain but mostly running away, away from him and his lies and his wonderful words and the way he caressed her cheek and breathed her name and the way he broke her in half. Her lungs burned from the effort of running and hatred. Her throat burned from the effort of holding back the tears. And then, as suddenly as they started, her feet stopped and her body lurched from the abruptness. There was a park bench a short two steps away and so she staggered towards it and sat, heavily, as if all of the burdens weighing her down fell onto the bench with her.
And then the tears came. Again, as they always did. There was always this fighting and this running and this crying and the eventually return and acceptance. She would apologize like she had done something wrong and he would graciously envelop her in his arms as if he was the kindest, most forgiving person in the world. He would never apologize. Why should he, when she came crawling back, sniveling and wretched every time. And he claimed acceptance, gracious acceptance, to love such a hideous creature as she. And she was so grateful that he loved her, because no one else would.
Not this time, she resolved, hot, angry tears mingling with cold, angry rain. She was filled with so much self-loathing that it burned and fueled her determination. Her small sense of self-worth found purchase in her absolute disgust with her neediness and ballooned into something substantial.
This time would be different.