I don’t know why I’m afraid of him. I don’t know why the phone ringing reminds me of him. He can’t hurt me I keep telling myself, but I realize he already has. I cry myself to sleep every night now. Half of the time I don’t sleep because I’m afraid of the next day. My dad says words don’t hurt you. I used to agree with him, even though I’m a writer and have wielded words. I agreed with him until now. He said so many awful things. He’s far away I keep telling myself, but it doesn’t fix the damage already done. I write to save myself, and to show others that life is survivable. He writes to kill me, he writes so he can carve crimson trails across my wrists. What did I do to deserve this? Did I really hurt him this bad when I left?