Night Terror

100 words about getting trapped in a recurring nightmare

The night ended as usual: thin arms flailing at his strong body, spitting, hissing, and the crash of a hard object shot past his head. He stayed still, thinking of this morning, the mornings before, and the mornings that would come next.

She woke having hardly slept, hungover and apologetic and quick to sweep the shards of glass from the kitchen floor before making coffee to bring him in bed. Then he went to work and she waited for him to return, bathing, and reading, and trimming her split ends, and—drunk when he arrived late—ready to start again.