An Open Letter to Marlena

Dear Marlena,

I remember the day of my junior year of high school English, sitting in the back, slouching down hoping to escape the momentary glare of that popular bitch Tiffany and her Rat Pack, when I glanced over at you, Marlena. You were a stunning girl to say the least, and that day you pulled back your dark locks and I saw a deep purple rim had accosted your beautiful face. It spread under and over your eye, into the cracks that should be tinted with sleep deprivation only. Marlena, how could you let someone do this to you? We were less than children and less than prepared emotionally to understand. I wanted to reach out to you, I wanted to tell you to run, but it seemed so obvious to me that one should. I didn't understand then what I do now. Why there are so many reasons you would stay. I didn't understand how he made you really feel that you deserved it, how he probably told you how bad he truly felt, how he would rather die than hurt you again, how he would die if you left him. Did he tell you the process of his descontruction Marlena? How you had the power to damn or to save? Did he tell you that Thursday he'd be blue, Friday he would start smoking pot, Saturday he would be drinking, Sunday he would be an alcoholic mess, and Monday....

I am older now Marlena, and so are you, but in my mind you are still 16, and every time he hurt me, I saw your face and I understood. Every time he screamed my name when I said it was the last time, I heard you cry, I heard you sigh, I saw your fingers grasp the door knob, your shoulders slouch, your feet grow heavy. I saw you walk through the door, only it was my own reflection in the glass.

Oh Marlena, I wish that I didn't understand. But you do. And I do. You feel the undeserved shame and embarrassment that you let this man into your life. That you let him call you a cunt until the syllables blissfully lost their meaning. That when he stopped you from walking out the door and his fingers slipped like a noose around your neck, that you believed that it was an accident. And the day you broke down, uncontrollably on the bedroom floor. The day you collapsed and watched yourself break into a million little pieces because you couldn't take the screaming anymore, that you deserved it because he only wanted you to feel, you icy bitch.

You finally did leave. I finally did too. No one understands the pain they cause though do they? At least you had something visible. No one understand the depth that a word can cut, but you do, don't you? They look at you, us, and cast the blame our way for staying. I don't anymore Marlena.

I'm sorry.

Amber