It stinks. My fear.I go about life wearing that confident mask I have moulded for myself over time. The one that throws people off the scent. That showcases how lucky I am, how poised I am. And of course, how happy I am.

I wish I could take that fake face off and point them towards my bruises, my hurt, my broken heart. To see the storm behind my poise.

Inside of me, I am just made of fear.

Sometimes I just want to shout.

Hey, do you see my particularly bright lipstick today? Well, thats to hide the tear in my lips. 

Hey, you envy my Prada sunglasses, do you? 

Well, that hides my black eye.

And oh you adore my husband, the outstanding citizen, the loving husband, the doting dad?

Well, news flash. He is a monster.

Because inside the imported Teak double doors of our mansion, within the expensively decorated bedroom, he does the unthinkable. The kicks and slaps, my shrieks and whimpers never reach others. They are swallowed, absorbed by those thick walls.

Though, sometimes I wonder if my five year old son hears my cries. He often looks to me, afraid of his father. And he is always so eager to please him.

But every morning, the monster turns human again-he apologises, without fail. He tells me how sorry he is, how much he loves me.

And then, I go about my day, being the efficient homemaker that I am.

I throw parties, I go to PTA meetings, I go shopping, I have lunches with my girlfriends.

I am sometimes amazed at how much of a fool I am making of the world. And myself.

For, inside of me, I die little by litte, each day.

Well, all this will not last long. I will soon free myself of the pain.
In my closet, the pills are ready. 

It is just a matter of time. Maybe next week.

He loves the pumpkin soup I make. Three pills should do it.

I don’t think prison would be worse than this hell.

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