As soon as I took a sip, I realized that it was poison. Not the kind of poison that would kill me, at least not immediately, but the kind of poison that got me addicted to making the pain stop. The kind of poison that made me forget how his brown eyes turned golden when the sun shone on them just right, the kind of poison that made me forget how it felt when he would pull me close and whisper “I love you” in my ear, and the kind of poison that burned as I swallowed it, just enough to distract me from my bruised eye. I touched it and winced, another sip. It was my fault, I aggravated him, I egged things on, I couldn’t just shut up when he told me to, I was the one that called the cops when he started going on a rampage. I painfully blinked back a tear threatening to escape from my swollen shut eye. I took another drink, no longer caring about how quickly the bottle was emptying. I could hardly remember what I was upset about anymore. I could vaguely remember him flipping the kitchen table, yelling at me for coming home late, me telling him that maybe if he got a job I wouldn’t have to pick up extra shifts so that we had enough money to live. I could tell he was high, again. I looked back over at the spoon and lighter that he didn’t even bother to take off of the counter before I came home, I took another drink. He was yelling, and throwing things, I don’t even remember making the decision to call the cops, I just know that I looked over to the hole that he kicked in our wall and I was already dialing. I was scared, although I can’t really recall a time in the past 2 years that I WASN’T. It wasn’t always bad. On days that I came home and he was sober it was actually really good, at times. One day I came home and he had even made dinner and bought a bottle of my favorite wine for us, it actually felt NORMAL for once. That was the night that I told him I was pregnant. When the cops showed up, he looked at me with a fury I had never seen in him before. I tried to calm him down, to tell him that if he would just calm down and listen, nothing bad would happen to him. He didn’t care. He punched me, hard. My eyelid twitched, almost as if in response to the memory. I shuddered, drank the rest of the bottle, and rubbed my growing belly as I thought about the life I had just given up, and the life that I now had to begin. I finally let a single tear go as I let the poison burn through my veins, giving me one night of forgetting before I was forced to remember.