The Glass Eyes

My boyfriend's fists left bruises I couldn't hide, and I was too terrified to leave. Then, the quiet man next door gave me a stuffed bear. I knew the eyes were glass cameras, and I knew he was obsessed with me. I played my part. Every night, I wept to the bear about the beatings, whispering how even a simple slice of chocolate cake or a warm cup of tea felt like impossible dreams. Last night, my boyfriend beat me again and stormed out. I cried into the bear until exhaustion pulled me under. I awoke in the dark to a strange silhouette standing over my bed. There was a wet, rhythmic *drip, drip, drip* hitting the hardwood floor. Yet, as the figure reached out in the darkness, I didn't scream. I closed my eyes, feeling completely safe.