Phalanges

The hands have moved.

Or rather, another set has joined them.

There is still--and always will be--a pair around my neck.
Suffocating.
Strangling.
Killing.
"Love."

We were in his car and fighting.
Well, he was fighting. I was a shrinking.
If you know me, you know that one of the things I can't handle is being yelled at. It's almost worse than someone hitting me. I instantly shrink back into myself and become a small, terrified creature who can't seem to muster up an ounce of the bravery and strength she once had.

I need to work on that.

So he was yelling and I was shrinking. He screamed and I shrunk. His face turned red and his eyes watered and he was practically foaming at the mouth and I shrunk.
But then I grew. And I yelled back. And for an instant I wasn't shrinking anymore.
But he didn't shrink. He grabbed.
He suffocated.
He strangled.
He killed.

And in that instant those hands around my neck became permanent.

"Danger is inevitable, but fear is a choice."

At that moment I had no choice. I was afraid. I feared for my life and I ran.
I ran and ran and his car followed.
I ran with invisible hands around my neck that would never leave and became illuminated by oncoming headlights belonging to the arms, the body, the soul connected to the hands.
I stopped running and turned and was an inch away from taking my last breath.

And he stared at me. And grinned. For he knew that he had made his mark. He could see the hands. He could see the fear.

But now there is another pair of hands. And I cannot tell you their story because I have not heard it yet.
One hand is on top of the other. And they are both pressing on my heart.
They aren't squeezing. They aren't ripping or tearing or crushing.
Just pressing.

It turns out that pressing is more painful than suffocating.
And the uncertainty of the origin of these hands adds to the pain.

And both hands are permanent.

-Beaskie