Like most nights, she struggled to sleep, still chilled by the sounds beyond her bedroom door. The sounds of objects crashing, the Her screaming and shouting, the Him cursing and then more crashing. Things would go silent for a while after she felt the wall against her bed rumble, and it was peaceful. The Him would sometimes walk into her room late at night, naked, with a bottle in his hand. You could hear his throat sizzle as he stood, taking obnoxious gulps here and there. By then the vomit on the corner of his lips had dried, and the sweat had evaporated over his burning skin. Like always at this time, she pretended to be asleep, and remained completely still. She pretended that she didn’t see the Him standing there, and that the Him didn’t see her. Once he left the room, she was able to breathe again without the voices in the back of her head saying, not now, please, some other time.
-- From "Ib, Mi, and Bo" by Connor Siladi, 16, in Corium Magazine
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