Her Silent Cry

One

Their argument crashed in angry waves against the door between us, slamming against the wood, pooling on the floor and slipping underneath where I could hear every word. Most of the time, I didn’t understand what they were saying or even why they were fighting. I only understood that she was about to get hurt; the silent way, or the screaming way. I was never sure which was worse.

No matter how badly he hurt her, she always found her way back to our room eventually. She’d lower herself into our creaking bed, hissing her breaths through gritted teeth, and reach for me. I learned to be very careful when I moved under the covers. Sometimes even the slightest pressure would make her gasp with pain. As gently as I could, I would curl my back into her stomach and wait for the trembling fingers skittering over my scalp to eventually fall into a slow, soothing rhythm.

I had so many questions, but I didn’t ask them. I didn’t want the man to hear me, to remember I was there too. When the ragged edges of her breath smoothed out, she’d let out a soft sigh that meant that she had reached a point where her pain was bearable.

“It’s okay,” she’d say. “It will be okay.”

She was always a bad liar.