Whenever I want.

The words were carved into her skin with a razor. The letters on her forearm were a constant companion.

He said it to her the first night she heard mom crying, sitting down on her bed. The words whispered in her ear like a prayer as he rubbed her leg.

It lasted for years, her body an aftermath of his sweat and her blood every time.

She has the razor now and watches him sleep, a rabid animal at peace.

The vein on his neck pulses, a quivering noodle she'll soon expose.

"Whenever I want." she whispers.