Hope does funny things to people.

That innocent combination of four letters toppled me from joyful sunshine into jet black oblivion. I knew better. Of course I did.

An entire decade of being pushed and pulled between rays of light and soul consuming darkness had taught me that the bright white light at the end of the tunnel is quickly masked over by the presence of demons.

Yet, the sight of the ruffled red dress hugging my stick-thin figure was something I revelled in. The sleek fabric gliding against my skin made me feel like the treasured princess I often dreamed of being—even if just for a second. Turning from side to side, my reflection beamed back at me, giving me a boost of self-confidence.

"What do you think?" I asked Adam, my partner of ten years, and father to my eight-year-old son.

His dark eyes glazed over with a familiar hardness. He clenched his jaw. Bone scraped against bone. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

In that split second, my joy of the past few weeks being bliss between us popped like an overfull balloon. My moment of ecstasy faded away with the dying sunset, leaving me alone in the eerie land between light and dark.

"I don't like it," he said. His clipped tone constricted around my heart like a snake. "The colour doesn't suit you at all. Unless you want people to think you're some sort of hooker."

He lunged towards me.

I whimpered, biting down on my dry, chapped lips. A piece of cracked skin tore free from my bottom lip, making me flinch. Blood swelled to the surface, trickling across my tongue with a metal tinge.

He tweaked his mouth up in amusement. This was all he needed for my new-found confidence to slip back through my hands like grains of sand.

"Things have been so good between us lately, Louisa. Don't ruin it now."

"I'm sorry," I said, licking at my wound. "I'll change it."

He gave a curt nod and stepped back towards the doorway. "Trousers and a top will do just fine. A decent top."

I stared at the floor and nodded.

He walked away, leaving me shouting at myself in my head for the millionth time. How could I have been so stupid? The past few weeks had lulled me into a false sense of security, leaving me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could start to grasp onto parts of me again. Parts of me that were once so bold, wild, and untamed.

But this evening had stamped all over those dreams like a butcher braising meat.

Biting back tears, I peeled the dress from my body. Involuntary trembles took control of me. The sinking disappointment in my gut turned into a ball of churning nerves when the floorboards creaked with his return. I hurried to bury the only colour in my life in the depths of my wardrobe. Never would it see daylight again.

He stepped inside the room, his arms crossed over his chest. Glaring at me with scorn oozing from his entire body, he said, "Where did you get that dress from?"

The anger rolled off him in waves, hitting me with such force I broke out into a cold sweat. The radiating stare he burned through me ensured I didn't dare challenge his eye contact.

I focused on a flower in the carpet pattern and replied, "Mum bought it for my birthday."

"Your birthday was over six months ago. I've not seen it before." He paused—the effective tactic he knew would stop my racing heart dead. "I'll ask you again—where did it come from?"

"It's been in my wardrobe," I said, taking extra care to keep my voice low and quiet. "I've not had a chance to wear it before now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He slammed his hand down on the wooden dressing table next to him. "I ask you to come out with me all the time, Louisa, don't I? But you always turn me down." He leaned forwards and grabbed my arms, digging his fingernails into my soft flesh. "Why is that, hmmm?"

Tears sprung from nowhere. An act I'd learned made him feel like the 'winner'. "Because I'm boring. I'm sorry."

He was balancing on a knife edge. I knew placating him with recognition of my atrocious behaviour was the best, and least painful, thing to do.

"Good girl." He let out a breath, the rancid smell of rotting food washing over my face. "But we're going to work on that, aren't we?"

Yet again, I gave him the response he wanted and nodded. I needed to pull him back from his unbalanced footing.

"Excellent. Now, get rid of that disgusting dress. Do you understand me?"

I stared at the mole on his big toe whilst trying to stem my flow of tears. "Of course. I'm sorry I upset you."

"Get dressed." He released me, leaving me a shaky, apprehensive mess. "And I mean in something a lady would wear."

I opened my eyes, blinking several times to bring myself back to reality. Staring up at the bright white ceiling, I took a few seconds to regain control of my emotions before sitting up.

"How was that, Louisa?"

The round, smiling face of my therapist, Dr Strawson, eased me back into comfort.

Letting out a slow sigh, I shrugged my shoulders. "Like reliving a nightmare."

She nodded, her short, permed grey hair bouncing forwards. "That's good. It means you're not repressing your memories. As horrible as they may be, burying them in the depths of your mind is just a recipe for future disaster."

I gave a weak smile and wrung my hands together. Looking down at my painfully bitten off nails, I scrutinised them for growth to nag off.

"Louisa—" I glanced up "—attention on me, please. This self-mutilation is all a part of your anxiety and your past. You need to be conscious of when you're doing it and make a concerted effort to stop it. By acknowledging that you are choosing to stop it, you are controlling your thoughts, your emotions, and therefore his hold over you. Do you understand?"

"Yes. It's just something I do when I feel awkward, when I need to distract my thoughts."

"I know, dear. It's perfectly normal, but we are going to learn some different techniques instead. Some pleasant methods."

Taking my hands from my mouth, an overwhelming sensation of being bare, naked almost, started to flood me. The silence in the room ticked on. I could feel her pale blue eyes watching me, observing my every movement to 'study' me. I glanced around the room, trying to busy my mind.

The large office I'd been visiting twice a week for the past eight weeks had a peaceful feel to it. The leather couch I laid down on today was so comfortable, I wanted it as a bed. Pictures of exotic beaches, beautiful woodlands, and cute animals lined the walls. Books were scattered around on varying shelves, and the fruit bowl on the pine table in front of me was always overflowing with fresh fruit.

"We have twenty minutes left. Do you feel you can cope with a few more minutes of regression?"

Feeling nothing but numb and emotionless, I nodded.

"Adam, please." My tears fell onto his weathered hand—the hand wrapped around my neck. "There's nothing going on. I promise you." He tightened his grip, making my final plea nothing but a breathless gasp of air.

A hug from my boss as we left my works Christmas party. He stood at the door, hugging and thanking everyone as they left. It had all been so innocent. But to Adam, it was something else entirely.

"How dare you. How fucking dare you. After everything I've done for you, you ungrateful whore!"

I knew what was coming before he did it. There were patterns in his ire that enabled me to pre-empt when I would be struck, and more often than not, where. Tonight, I'd merely angered him enough to warrant a 'telling off.' The dull thud from connecting his shovel sized hand with my eye socket echoed through my brain. The back of my head smashed into the cold bricks behind me. A familiar ache burst through my brow arch, spreading like wild fire down my nose and across my cheek. I guess that settled my make-up choices for the next few days.

The crushing hold on my windpipe made sure I remained silent. Once he crossed the barrier into physical assault, my screams only fuelled his anger further anyway. I'd learned to take my beatings behind a mute iron curtain.

He curled his top lip back in a menacing snarl. He looked nothing short of a rabid wolf. "Nobody touches you unless I say so."

I nodded, eager to show him I understood, but still taking care to avert his penetrating stare.

"And yet you still allowed it?" He spun me around and threw me down on the sofa. "Don't move."

My body quivered of its own accord. Ice was creeping across the landscape this evening, but it wasn't the cold, lacy vines bothering me. It was the long, bony fingers of Death, lingering in the shadows, just waiting to snatch my soul.

Adam returned, a wicked glint lining his dark eyes. With a grin only a psychopath would be proud of, he knelt in front of me. The sinister aura surrounding him was a familiar enemy to me. I knew agony was my dessert this evening. The evil etched into his tanned skin sent shudders down my spine. Switching my emotions off, I shrouded myself in a torturous tomb of impassivity.

He snatched at my left arm, burning my skin with his agonising grip. Boring a dead stare into the opposite wall, I waited for my flesh to be sliced, burned, bruised.

But that's not what came.

Dawning horror pushed me free from my crypt of silence. I couldn't believe there were depraved depths of Adam Wilson I still hadn't met.

I could do nothing as he slapped the sickening item on to my soft flesh. The handsome face that had once looked at me with such love and care now gave away nothing but an intense focus and a malicious smile.

A deep, guttural scream pierced the bitter night air. The excruciating, rough grit of sandpaper rubbed up and down the smooth skin of my upper arm. A river of tears drenched my face. Pleas and begs only deepened the gruelling, searing torment. Blood, flesh, and tissue mixed together into a coarse yellow mess.

Death smiled at me. The fear of his skeletal fingers finally closing around me was something I now welcomed. I wanted him to pluck my soul from this malevolence. At least then I might find some peace.