Today there are no marks left on my head. The bruises from last week have begun to fade to a disgusting yellow. No one would be able to know that it was his hands that marked my pure skin pallet. I was forced to grow up fast and face the real world. It was, and still is, a cold, dark, and God-forsaken experience. He forbade me to make friends and build relationships with both sexes in our town. Dear old dad was a hand and foot on my throat. Until the day all pressure was released, it was the worst day of my younger years. I convinced my heart, mind, and soul that he was still alive. Everyone said I was wrong; their words were pounding into my head like his hands used to. I miss the ache and the pressure, it was my constant and I somehow felt safe. He only hit me because he cared, right? That is what I kept in my mind as my body slipped in and out of the light. I wonder if he felt the same when I sent him into the light? Did he know that I struck his head because I cared? I wonder if he misses the ache like I did? Does he miss me? Will I see him when I go back into the light? The town tried to take him; they said he was gone and wasn’t coming back. No, no, no, he is alive. Yes, he is, he is upstairs sleeping. After three days of trying to convince the wretched town, I gave in. I replaced the desire for pressure with an impossible relationship. I am no one without him, I have no purpose. My life felt whole when he was with me, my Homer. I know he loves me in his own special way, even if he doesn’t show it all the time. I knew he was the one for me, so I asked him to be my husband. I bought him new clothes and a toilet because he lives with me now. He normally stays in his room and sleeps. I don’t understand what I have done to the ladies of the town, but they all pass my house and look as if I have killed their family. I feel as if I am the best version of myself that I have ever been. My house smells of roses, the love of my life lives with me, and I owe no taxes, everything is amazing. I always speak too soon, everything has fallen down. Homer and I have stumbled into an argument. He refuses to let me sleep in the bed with him, my heart is breaking. My heart cannot handle more of this; I won’t last much longer. I love you, Homer.