The clerk looked funny at me, half wanting to ask, half not really knowing if it was his place -- and it wasn't.

"To wherever it goes, when is the soonest flight that leaves?" I asked once again. I was loosing my patience and what little conviction I had gotten in the last hour.

The young man typed something in his keyboard and looked at the screen. "Our soonest flight is to Minnesota, leaves in forty minutes." His eyes showed some concern. At least the guy had feelings.

I sighed. "That's the soonest?" I could heard a couple of complains from the people behind me. Mind your own fucking business! I'm about to have a mental breakdown right here, right now, so I think I'm entitled to some question from my part, thank you very much.

"Yes Mr., that's the soonest." Once again I could see an unspoken question in his eyes. Sorry buddy, that's for me to know and for you to find out.

"Give me a ticket." Getting my wallet out of my back pocket, I was about to pick up my credit card when I thought better of it, so instead I retrieved the money from it and gave it to the guy.

"Have a nice day." He said with half a smile as he gave me my ticket.

I was able to give him half a smirk before leaving the front desk. If he only knew that those words meant nothing to me anymore.

With my backpack on hand (filled with only a couple of things, whatever seemed important at the moment -- right before leaving) I sat on one of those very uncomfortable airport chairs waiting for my flight. Now I'm sure you're asking why I didn't gave him my credit card? Easy, he could trace me.

You think I'm being paranoid? Well, you aren't paranoid if they are out there to get you. And let me tell you in my case, sure as hell there is someone out there to get me. Feeling totally uncomfortable in those stupid chairs and having the idea that everyone was looking at me, I stood up from my seat and half walked, half limped over to the bathroom.

Closing the door after me, I took one good look at myself in the mirror.

God, my face looked horrible! Welts rose from the surface, tainting my eye and half my cheek to a grotesque purplish color. My lips had a long crack snaked through the flesh, leading to a trail of dried blood that at one time had dripped the crimson liquid from my chin, already barely visibly after me cleaning it. Above my left eye was another gash, near my hairline, one that had not even one hour ago stained my dark hair into a dark red color.

Trails of dried red snaked down my forehead and over the swollen flesh of my eye. I couldn't believe I hadn't washed this before. Picking up some toilet paper from one of the toilets that stood behind me, I wet it and tried to clean the blood in my forehead. At least it had been covered by my dark and wet hair. Not wonder the kid had been about to ask me about it. Hell! He could have pretty easy called the police thinking I had been robbed or something.

I let out a sigh of relieve. Thanks God he hadn't said a word, I don't think I'd have been able to answer him. Answer him or anyone for that matter. God only knows what's holding my sanity this very same moment.

I felt a sting of pain as the cold water touched the cut on my hairline. After the blood had been washed, I threw the paper away.

I could feel myself burning in my clothes, but it wasn't as if I had another choice, did I? Wearing a long sleeves sweater and jeans in the middle of summer in Florida wasn't wise. But how else could I hide the rest of my bruises?

I could very easy bet my money that there wasn't a spot on me that wasn't covered with bruises. Lifting my sleeves slightly, I could see the marks of the rope on my wrist. When had this been? Oh yeah, two days ago. He thought it'd be easier with me being tided down on the bed. I didn't complained, it'd only made it worse. So I had shut my mouth and let him do whatever it was he wanted. And after kicking me and beating me up, and raping me of course, he had been done with me and left for the rest of the day.

Pulling my sleeves down, I looked at myself in the mirror. I lifted my sweater until half my chest, turning slightly, I was able to see a gash that carved down from my armpit to my waist. The blade had been inserted as deep as it could without bleeding too much. A thing reddish scab was forming on it, and even though it was gonna keep hurting like a bitch for at least another month, it didn't burn and itch anymore.

Lifting my sweater some more, there were welts and bruises marring the skin with colors that shouldn't be there, deep blues and purples, sickening yellows. It didn't hurt so much anymore either. There had been a time when every breath had been an agony, but not anymore. Most of them had at least a couple of days, some even two weeks.

I pulled my sweater down, no need to watch something I know by heart. The same way I didn't need to take off my sweater to see the matching bruises on my back and all along my arms. Or to take off my jeans to know there were even some more in my legs and thighs. Some of them too blue for me to believe it and a couple of new ones, some that weren't bleeding as they had just an hour and something ago. What hurt the most was my inner right tight. I had a very deep gash on it. Not knowing what else to do I had dumped half the bottle of alcohol on it. It had hurt like a bitch and I had almost bitten off my tongue while trying not to scream in agony. Yeah, oxygenate water would have worked and wouldn't have hurt so bad, but I didn't have and going to the closest drug store had been out of the question. It had been a miracle I hadn't bleed to death right there and then, I didn't want to push my luck. You wonder why I didn't go to the hospital? Too many questions.

I laid my head against the cold tile of the sink. It had all changed so fast. Why? Why couldn't it have stayed the it we had been? But then again life wouldn't be life unless something happened. And God hadn't it happened to me.

He had changed. He had changed so much in so little time that I never knew what hit me.

Literally.

We met about two years ago, back in Lexington, where I used to life. He was visiting some uncles of his and bumped into each other - literally bumped into each other - in the market. We got talking and then, since he was there for the summer from college, we kinda started dating. I was working on a respectable Law Firm back then, enjoying my life to the hilt. Sure, he was younger than me, almost ten years, but we just clicked right away.

When he had to come back to Florida, and I had to stay there in Lexington, it was utter hell to both of us. We had gotten steady over the three months from his summer vacations, so I did what anyone would have done in his right mind -- or what I thought was my right mind --, I asked for a transfer to Florida, where they had some offices. I was lucky enough and they accepted.

So only two weeks after he had flight back to Florida, I was joining him there. We got ourselves a very nice and comfy apartment close to both his college and my work. Everything had been paradise. Until about six months ago.

I have read about abusive relationship and had seen it in movies, but I was never ready to face what I was about to live. I always heard the same line in the movies: "It all started by just a slap, or a punch." I even thought it was silly of those people to stay there. I kept thinking, if they are hitting you, then get the fuck out. But it's not like that. It's not so simple.

And it wasn't.

I am about to use a line that I believe was pointless: it all started by just a slap. And it is true, that's the way it started.

I had work until 5.30pm while Nick had classes until 8.30pm. I was already used to the way things were between us, since he always had late classes, I'd make dinner. But that day I had to stay in the office a lot longer. We had a very difficult case in our hands and a couple more lawyers and me were in the work. By the time I arrived, almost ten, Nick was already there.

He was sitting on the couch. I walked over to him and placed down my briefcase on one of the armchairs.

"Sorry for being late I--" However I couldn't finish my sentence as he stood up in one quick motion and slapped my face with the back of his hand.

Saying I had been surprised would be an underestimated -- I was dead stunned. He had never hit me before. Sure, we had our shared of discussions, but we never even cursed at each other, and now this? I placed my hand on my right cheek out of instinct as he stood there, anger blazing through his eyes as he spoke to me.

"Where were you bitch?" His voice was cold and emotionless, so much of a contrast to the sweet and tender tone he'd use with me. I couldn't help but shudder at the way he was talking to me.

"I... I... I had to stay working, there was a case we needed to check. I didn't mean to be this late." I don't even know why my voice came out in an apologetic tone when it was him the one who should be apologizing to me. But it did. And now I know it was my first mistake. The first of an endless list.

"I was fucking waiting for you here and you weren't there. You say you were in your office, how can I believe you?" He took two steps forward and I could myself taking two steps back. I was afraid of him. I was literally afraid of him.

"Call if you want. They can tell you I left only half an hour ago. Mark was supposed to stay over to re-read the file. He should be there." I had always told myself that if I was ever hit by anyone -- man or woman -- I'd hit back and then left, specially if it was in my relationship. But I didn't do any of those things. I guess back then I thought it was a mistake, and that we could work it out. I had never been more wrong in my life.

He looked at me, his baby blue eyes looking for something in my green ones. I guess he found whatever it was he was looking for, as he crossed the little space that was between both of us and place both his hands in either side of my face, cupping my cheeks. I stiffed under his touch, and he left it. For a moment there I was afraid he'd hit me again, but I saw tears shining in his sky blue eyes.

"Oh God I'm so sorry!" Nick said as he started placing butterfly kisses on my face. It took me another moment before I actually ease in his touch. "I'm so sorry. I was so scared. I thought you had left me, you're never late and you didn't call."

He was right, I hadn't call and that was very not me. I usually would call whenever I was gonna be late or just for the heck of it, but I hadn't. I remember thinking that it wasn't all his fault, that I did have my share of fault in his fears. "I'm sorry, I should have called." My voice was barely above a whisper and I think my fear could be heard in it, as he kept apologizing to me.

"I shouldn't have hit you. I'm sorry." Nick lifted his hand from my right cheek at looked at it. It was probably red from the impact and, as he placed his fingers softly on the sensitive flesh, I flinched.

He gazed at me for a moment and I could see regret in his deep eyes. He was feeling sorry for what happened and I delude myself into thinking it had been just a mistake. Something we could work out and get through.

"It's ok." I said reassuringly. "It's ok. You didn't mean to." Were those words spoken because I actually believe he didn't mean it, or because I wanted to believe he didn't mean it? Even now, I don't know.

"I didn't. I swear to God I didn't." And as he took my hand in his and started kissing my palm, I knew I had fallen for his first lie. The first one of a long list of lies. Then, he pressed the back of my hand against his cheek and closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. Opening his eyes, he leaned slowly and captured my lips in a soft kiss. When he pulled apart, just enough to be able to look at me, he spoke. "I'm so sorry, please forgive me?" he begged.

And I, being the fool I was, believe him. Nodding, I answered. "It's ok, I know you're sorry. It's ok." I hugged him tightly, for a moment forgetting the pounding ache of my sore cheek.

And that was just the beginning.

I forgave and forgot that night. But it wasn't long before it all started again. Anything would set him off. Me being late, not buying something he had asked me for. Anything. He would get so furious whenever he thought I was checking another guy out. I couldn't be on the mall or anywhere with him, because he'd always think I was looking at the clerk or anyone passing by, and that would only mean he'd get mad at me when we got home.

As I was saying, it all started with a slap, then he got more physical. More slaps, a punch here and there. Then he even got imaginative. He'd tie me down and then beat me up, or use his belt against my naked skin. Whatever came to mind in that moment.

But he'd apologize. Yeah, he'd apologize every single time after he'd done it. Saying how sorry he was and how it had been a mistake, sweet promises of not doing it again and me - stupid as I was - believed him each and every one of his lies. And things would be wonderful after that. Just sheer bliss until the stormed attacked again. He'd surprise me in the office, or take me out. He'd plan a romantic get away for both of us somewhere far away and never imagined by me. Always someplace new and even better than the last one.

But it wasn't enough. It shouldn't have been enough for me to stay with him for as long as I did. And even now I don't know why did.

Then things got even worse, if that was possible. About a month ago, after one horrible fight - I can't even remember the reason for the life of it -, he started slapping me nonstop when he threw me against the wall and I slid down out of exhaustion. As I was sitting on the floor, trying to catch my breath, he picked me up once again and shoved me to the floor. Then, Nick proceeded to rape me. I didn't even considered it a rape, since he was my boyfriend, but I never allowed him to do that that night, so it is labeled a rape.

The day after that he apologized profusely with me, saying that he hadn't been thinking and was so very sorry about what had happened. Once again, I believed him. I think I wanted to believe he still did love me just as much as I loved him, maybe that's why I bought every one of his lies, trying to deceive myself. Not only did I believed it, but I wanted the rest of my world to believe he was a fine boyfriend.

More than once I had to go to the office with a black eye or a cut on my lip. A lot more than once. And every time I got there, my peers would look at me with sorrowful eyes, fully knowing what had happened. Andrew, the only other person I was close to besides Nick, asked me about my 'clumsiness', as I named it, more often that not. I mean, we are lawyers, we see domestic violence almost everyday in our cases, and he is good enough of a lawyer to recognize the proves when he sees them. And he saw them almost daily in me.

He talked with me, I have to give him that. At the beginning just not buying the whole I hit myself with the door or the floor was wet and I slipped. Then, after he met Nick, Andrew was more than sure it was him the cause for my usual visits to the ER. After all, Nick is one inch taller than me and about twenty pounds heavier. Not that I couldn't defend myself, if I actually wanted to, but he knew I'd never hurt anybody, let alone my very own boyfriend. Andrew begged me to tell him the truth, to accept that my boyfriend beat me up. I just couldn't. I couldn't say the words. I think I thought that if I said them aloud, then it'd become real and there'd be no way for me to keep denying it. So I didn't. I told him what I'd usually say: It was an accident.

How many times did I lie to protect him? Not only to my work mates, my friends, but to the doctors as well. I had to go to the hospital for that nasty cut on my side and a broken wrist about a month ago. Seeing the older bruises in my chest and back, they got the idea of what was going on. They asked me about it a couple of times, hoping for me to press charges against him, but I didn't. Nick got there half an hour after and played his role of worried boyfriend to the letter. He was good. The doctors, poor doctors, looked at Nick upside down then just left. I think they just saw it in him. Saw the fact that I let him hit me and I didn't even try to protect myself.

However everything ends at one point, and my trusting did too.

This morning everything was alright. I was getting ready to go to the office. Nick hadn't gotten home the night before, I didn't even want to worry about it. Really. Worrying would only made him madder, thinking that I was over protecting him, thinking he wasn't a man but only a kid. As I was about to leave the house, I heard his car parked. I wanted to get out of there, go to the office and by the time I got back home he'd feel better. But I couldn't. Before I could go to the garage and leave, Nick got into the house.

He was so wasted! I had never seen him so drunk. I'm sure he went out with a couple of his friends somewhere near the campus, something that had gotten common in him. He started yelling at me, calling me names and how he was sure I had been sleeping around.

I don't remember much after that. He beat me up, that's for sure, but I was half unconscious and my constant tears blurred my vision. I remember feeling so much pain. Not much physical, but emotional.

He is my boyfriend damn it!

I LOVE HIM!

And he was half killing me!

He... he got a knife... a kitchen knife at some point. Pierced it through my flesh so fast and hard, half my body went numb. He yelled some more. I don't remember the words. He kept yelling. His breath stinking with alcohol. His eyes lost with rage and anger. His beautiful blue eyes weren't the ones I had fallen in love with. He wasn't the man I had fallen in love with. He was someone else. Someone who wanted me death and was killing me bit by bit. So very slowly it hurt more than if he had shot me once and for all.

I remember seeing him take one last look at me, then left the house.

He just walked out of the house. Walked out of the house. I was bleeding so much from my leg and he just left. God!

Some voice in the back of my head told me that I better check that leg, so I did. Got the alcohol and just purred it on it. Maybe the pain wasn't so great. Yeah, it wasn't so great. You know what hurt more? My breaking heart.

After that, I just saw it. I saw the truth. He didn't love me. He probably never loved me. Or maybe he did, but something changed at some point. I don't know. I think I realized it was the end of us, or had been for a long time, when I saw that look in his eyes. That lost look. His eyes weren't the same, and neither was he.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, the sounds of the airport muffled by my memories. My eyes were blood shot from the tears I had long ago stop fighting. My cheeks tear strained. I had probably started crying a long time ago, I just didn't notice. I was even biting my lower lip to keep them from trembling, but I wasn't doing such a good job as everything in me was shaking already.

Everything hurt. Everything. I could literally feel my breaking heart falling into a thousand pieces all around me. He had left me. Not today, not this morning. But a very long time ago, I just didn't want to see it.

"God!" I was able to cry out as I slumped down on the cold bathroom titled floor. "Oh God!"

I let it all out.

All the feelings I had being bolting inside me for the past six months. All the frustration and pain.

I cried myself dry.

Hugging my knees to my chest, my arms around my legs, I rocked myself softly. Sobs were shaking my body as my emotions took the best of me and I felt my heart dying with grief. I had finally let myself face and accept what had happened and I couldn't stop it now. I couldn't stop it.

I don't know how long I stayed there, sobbing and crying my eyes out over someone who wasn't even worth it. After what seemed like centuries to me, I stood up and faced myself in the mirror.

My eyes were, once again, all puffy with my tears and my lips were shaking. I looked like hell. Looking at the clock I realized my flight was gonna be leaving in ten minutes. With a resigned sigh, I knew I had to leave the safety of the bathroom. I opened the tap and placed my hands under the running water. Cupping my hands like a bowl, I splash some water to my face, hoping to erase the unimaginable exhaustion I was feeling at the moment.

After taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I picked up my backpack and made my way out of the bathroom. Half walking, half limping over to my respective gate, I force myself to breath calmly. I was finally getting out of here. Finally taking over my very own life.

I saw the flight attendant at the gate and she half smiled at me. I tried my best to answer her smile as I gave her my flying ticket. Taking one step forward into the plane that was gonna get me out of this horrible place and into my new life, I heard a voice from behind.

"Kevin!!!" The distinctive voice yelled from between the crowd. I turned around, not really believing my ears, and saw as he made his way from within the mass of people and into the threshold of the gate.

My breath was caught in my throat as I saw him. His hair was disheveled from the running, his blond locks all messed up on his forehead. His baby blue eyes seemed a lot more focused than when I left, even a deeper shade of blue. His cheeks were flushed from the tiredness of running from the parking lot and into the furthest gate in the airport. His lips were dry from all the yelling and cursing he had to do to actually get some information on the passengers of the flights from the last hour and something.

I looked at him, and this time it was me the one who had the lost look in his eyes. What the hell was he doing here anyway? He was supposed to be wasted in some corner around the closest bar. What was he doing in the airport?

"Kevin, I'm so sorry. Please, you have to forgive me. I didn't mean it sweetie, I swear. It was a mistake, I was drunk and didn't know what I was doing. Please, don't do anything drastic. Come home with me and we'll talk about it. Please baby, believe me. It won't happen again." His voice was soft and tender, an apologizing tone all over it. He was rambling, something he did when he was nervous.

I felt my eyes begin to moisture over his words. He wanted me back? Saying he wouldn't do it again? "How many times have you said the exact same thing Nick? How many?" I questioned as I let the tears fall freely down my cheeks. People were starting to look at both of us and the flight attendants had this hurt look in their young faces, probably feeling sorry for me or hating him - not that I could blame them.

Nick looked around him, realizing they were making a scene. "Please honey, lets talk about this at home, lets not make a scene here, ok? Come with me baby." He said as he got a hold on my arm.

I shrugged it off as hard and fast as I could. "No." I said firmly. "I'm not going with you Nick and I truly don't care if I'm making a scene. I could start screaming and I couldn't care less. You lied to me Nick. You lied over and over and I bought each and everyone of your lies. I was stupid enough to actually believe you every time you said it was the last time." My breathing was coming out in short, sharp, painful gasps as I let my emotions take control over me. "I fucking believe you Nick. And you know why? Because I loved you. Because I love you. But you didn't. You don't. If you did, then you'd have never hurt me like you've done. And I'm not only talking physically, you hurt me here Nick." I said as I placed my hand on my chest, were my heart beat underneath. "You hurt me here." I whispered softly.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around from him and started my way down the hallway that was to take me to the plain. However I felt Nick grab my arm roughly and spin me around.

"Please Kevin. Come with me. I love you." Nick said in soft voice, so much like when we first started going out. His eyes sparkling like the boy he would resemble whenever he laugh at something totally silly. His pearl white cheeks slightly red, like when I'd tickle him after he had made fun of me. His gold blonde locks in his face, always in his face, as I had asked him not to cut it too much since I loved running my fingers through his velvet soft hair.

For a moment, he was the very same young boy I had fallen in love with the moment I saw him in the market. For a moment. Then that moment just went away and in front of me wasn't the boy I loved so much. He was different. Much more different. He was cold, manipulative, calculating, possessive, but most of all, hurtful. He wasn't the man I had fallen in love.

I looked at him right in the eye. His ocean blue eyes didn't endear me anymore, I wasn't fool by them. His blonde hair didn't made me want to breath in his unique essence, a mixture of his cologne and shampoo. His beauty didn't take my breath away. I let out a sigh. "I don't believe you." I said, my voice plain, emotionless, cold... dead.

Taking one last look at him, I turned around and walked down the hallway. And this time I didn't look back. I didn't look back as I heard him called out my name, asking me to come back to him, asking me to forgive him. I didn't look back as I heard the struggled between him and the two flight attendants. I didn't look back as he tried to yelled at them asking them to let him in, so he could talk with me. I didn't look back as he said he only needed one more minute with me, just one more minute.

No. I didn't look back. I wasn't planning on looking back. I didn't want to look back.

My eyes focused straight ahead of me, I only saw the door of the airplane as I walked through it. I only saw the numbers on the sides of the seats as I looked for mine. I only saw the compartment on top of my seat as I placed there my backpack. I only saw the window by my seat.

Outside, the sun shone brightly on the mid day sky. The clouds moving around slowly, so very slowly it seemed as if it was in slow motion. A soft breeze could be seen as the branches of the trees moved along with the soft air.

I took a deep breath as I let my senses take over. The air seemed fresher. New. I looked around and everything around me seemed somehow different. Better. The colors seemed brighter and the day seemed clearer.

Suddenly, I knew what it was. I was finally free. No more need to be afraid if I would say the right thing, no need to be careful with my words in fear he'd get mad at me. No more need to be afraid of him. Nick was gone. And for good.

After two years of a relationship and six months of believing a lie, I was free. I felt a smile coming upon my lips at the thought. I was free.

I had gotten out of my very own personal hell, and I had gotten out there alive. More than I can say for some people. Letting the smile on my face become brighter. I let that single thought run through my mind again.