Whore

‘Charmouta’ he whispered for only her ears.  The grip grew tighter under her arm.  Passers by only acknowledged a nice looking couple.  Downcast eyes, she prayed someone would hear.  Finding things to do.  Anything really to avoid the horror that hid behind the walls of the home.  Perfectly applied makeup concealed the sleep deprived shame in her eyes.  Strategically worn dresses hid the bruises that lined her body.  Fear of her own reflection, fear she would see herself through his dark, hateful stares. ‘Anbeh,’ he’d call her,  so only she could hear.  One day, she knew she would fight back.  His words may have ripped through her mind.  His fists may have left their scars.  His hate however, she never let it touch her heart.
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