I remember when you punched me out, and told me to 'Get over it'. Your fist had connected with my nose, and I panicked as the blood began to trickle down my lips. I could taste the copper-likeliness of it. It sickened me. To this day, I still cannot stand the taste.
I was a little girl, and you were so much bigger than I. Your eyes were cold, and hard, and all I ever really wanted was to be the one to soften them. But I hated you. Whenever I'd reach out for you, you'd pull away. Whenever I said something "out of place", you'd brand me with your hands. I wanted to run away. Or, at times, I wished you'd have stayed gone.
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