She lay on the floor, unconscious and beaten almost to death.

Blood on her face running from her nose and mouth.

He’s gone, nowhere to be found.

Bruises are slowly forming on her arms, hand prints forming on her throat.

She awakens.

The only thing she is left thinking is “Why does he do it?”

She does nothing wrong.

She does all she can to keep him happy, but it’s not enough.

She knows he’ll come back and tell her he loves her, he didn’t mean it, and he won’t do it again.

Empty lies are all he speaks.

She asks herself again, “Why does he do it?”

He came home storming mad and began his pursuit.

Yanked her to him by the arm, hitting her in the face, choking her.

She can’t run, that’ll make him furious.

He throws her on the ground, out she goes.

She remains on the floor, thinking of what he’s done.

She’s cautious to move slowly and quietly, in case he’s still home.

She walks over to the mirror, horrified by the marks.

She cries.

“Why does he do it?” is all she can say.