Pacing. I’m pacing. There is an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel it frequently, it is a tenant of my body, it doesn’t pay rent, it claimed squatters' rights some time ago.

The corridor is narrow and dim. It feels like a claustrophobic tunnel with the entry and exit blocked. The overhead lights flicker, they emit a soft hum and crackle, it’s barely audible but echos in the chasm. It’s quiet, so quiet, but still it deafens me.

There are blue doors along the walls; some are unmarked, what is behind them unknown. I need nothing from behind them; I know where I need to be. Calm. I need to calm, I must not draw attention.

My mind races, my heart beats frantically like a drum. My little hands try the handles. These doors used to be pink. These doors used to be open. I used to be able to explore. They are closed to me now.

They didn’t slam shut. Slowly, methodically, purposely, they were locked. One by one. I blink frantically. My eyes glaze over; vacant. I need to flee; escape. I must find a way out.

I hear the echo of volatile footsteps approaching. They rumble through the corridor. I need to hide. I need to find sanctuary.

He tells me he is scared. I don’t believe him. I doubt each syllable he speaks now. Previously, I never questioned a single word.

He tells me he is busy. I don’t believe him. I know time appears when his need grows. Previously, I accepted being used at his command.

He tells me it is only me. I don’t believe him. I know if I were special, his presence would be consistent. Previously, I accepted being a hobby plaything.

He tells me I make him soft. I don’t believe him. I know he’s hard. I know he would give me what I needed if he weren’t so selfish. Previously, I accepted my needs being disregarded.

His words. He twists them. He manipulates them. He makes me doubt my heart. He makes me doubt my soul. He makes me doubt my mind. But I know who I am. I know my name. My name is mine. It doesn’t shift. It doesn’t change.

Frantically, I rattle the handles. A solitary door opens. Behind a sink, I take shelter. I pull the towel rail from the wall and hold it like a sword of steel to protect me, to shield me. The air thickens around me, it is heavy, and my breaths claw in oxygen desperately trying to fill my lungs.

The footsteps are louder now, my eyes fixate on the door, praying he’ll pass, praying he’ll walk on by, like a ghost that only appears when he chooses to haunt. Throwing me breadcrumbs of hope, enough to tempt my starving soul. Always on his terms, his timelines, rigid and inflexible. Kind and steady one minute, cruel and cutting the next. Exhausting.

I feel small, I feel stupid. Like a used little puppet on the floor. In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my feeble form, and shame flows through my veins. How did I arrive here? How did I sleepwalk into this pit of perversion, this dungeon of disrespect? How did I sink so low? When did I forget how wonderful I am?

The echoes of steady friends ring through my mind. Their reassurances, their reminders, their observations, their thoughts seep into my subconscious. They see me, they trust me, they love me, they value me.

The door opens. He’s here. The black shadow of him looms, my heart and mind start their warlike waltz. What my heart desires, my mind knows is dead. My heart clings to hope, my mind dismisses the delusion. My heart yearns for love, my mind analyses the facts. We cannot go on? Can we?

Towering above me, yet so small, his eyes fix on me. He does not blink, his face is expressionless, it shows no warmth, but yet shows no cold. His presence is undeniable, yet present he is not. As I furl, still, under the sink, my fists grip the rail and cling to it like a sword of safety.

He steps forward and pulls the rail from my hands. He moves fast, and the surprise prevents my steadfast grip from holding. I am exposed now, unprotected. Is he dangerous? I just don’t know any more. Was I ever safe? Was he ever safe? Was that an illusion we created in our minds to secure our shared sanctuary?

He strikes me, a stinging slap across my cheek. I suck in breath and my eyes water. He expects me to cower, to yield. I’ve always yielded to his will before. However, his will presented, I moulded myself to fit. Silly girl.

My hand reaches for my cheek, the heat spreading across my face. Will it leave a mark? Mark. The irony isn’t lost on me. He arrived as a Mark. The deception started day one. Lies; so many lies. If only he knew how many I’ve exposed, how many I’ve uncovered. Quietly held to myself.

He looks down on me, thinks he knows me. My eyes glaze, my jaw tightens. I feel the familiar wave cascade across my chest. I used to fight it, the rising tsunami of strength and power that flows through the current of my veins. You can’t hold back a tide; time and tide wait for no man. No man.

Man! I scoff at the thought. A sniggering laugh starts to rumble from my throat. This is no man. I look up and meet his eyes. I see the confusion cross his cortex. I’m done being little, I’m done being feeble. I’ve been slowly rising for months. He has no idea, a woman’s heart is an ocean of secrets. She will only share what she chooses, when she chooses.

I start to rise, I don’t look pretty down on my knees. It’s not a position I am supposed to hold; I am supposed to stand tall. I’m bold and brave. I can’t be suppressed. I can’t be tamed. I can’t be controlled. I know my worth, my value, my truth.

I stand before him; his mask is useless here. I see beyond his false self; I don’t see anything remarkable, I don’t see anything special, I don’t see anything grandiose, I don’t see anything powerful. All I see is his inferiority, his anxiety and his hapless inadequacy. Power doesn’t always look powerful.

Without a word, without a touch, he is disarmed. He is powerless. He is weak. He is impotent. Echos of his manipulative mumblings fade through the air. Once so thunderously loud, they are barely audible now. I raise my finger to his lips to mute his mendacities. I lean in, my final whispers settle by his ear.

“Your thoughts of me cause me no suffering.

Your opinions of me cause me no pain.

Your mistrust of me is a fallacy.

Your inability to make me happy is your failure.

Your incapacity for love is your ruin.

You know my name, but know me, you don’t.

You are not the one. You are not my one.”