Broken, Chapter 2 I scream as his fist hits my jaw, sending a jolt of pain through my body. He hits me, again and again. Harold punches me in the gut which knocks the wind out of me. Then he pushes me hard in the chest, tripping me, and I fall to the floor. My head smacks the tile of our kitchen and black dots cloud my vision. "All...your...FAULT!" he yells, between punches. I am sore and bruised, all of which make the pain much more excruciating. I scream and cry and sob, but he doesn't care. We are in one of the bad times. This time, it's worse than usual. I wish it was a good time. I like those because they are full of smiles, laughs, and gentle kisses. He's stopped punching me, but I stayed curled up in the fetal position. Now he slams stuff around and stomps about the kitchen. I close my eyes and wish that I hadn't come back. I wish I could never come back. But, I do. Because I love him. Because I love those good times. The good times are the things worth waiting for, and, until then, I just have to walk on egg shells and not get into trouble. Harold confronted me when I got home. He's still confronting me. "You're so STUPID!" He shouts, and I cringe beneath him. "You have to be CAREFUL!" I start to shake, and I hate myself for it. I also start to sob again, which draws even more attention. "Why can't you be quiet! You told the POLICE!" He starts kicking me again and each time his foot makes contact with my side, my vision flashes black. "It wasn't me!" I sob. "I swear! It wasn't me!" "Then who was it? Huh? Who was it!" He screams and starts punching me over and over and over. I'm a blubbery mess and my head kills. I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep and get away from this bad time. "You are WORTHLESS!" With this he picks me up with his strong, caring arms that protect me and throws me down onto the tile. As soon as my head makes contact with the floor, I black out.