Stop. I loved you and I didn’t want to get beaten by you. I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t stop hitting me. You would slap me on my face. You would punch me on my arms. You would kick me when I was laying on the ground. You would belt me whenever you felt like it because you had a bad day. I came to think of myself as your personal punching bag. I knew you did this out of frustration. I knew you hurt me because of the pent up anger you felt at the world. The first thing I wanted from you was to love me. The second thing I wanted from you was to stop hitting me.