bare patch of skin

He told her yes she was right, he didn't respect her. He didn't have feelings for her. He did disregard her. He told her this many times, maybe with different words. She needed to hear it at least 28 times before she believed it. She needed the abuse to make her stop reading between the lines, the stories that weren't really there but projected from her own want. Now it is today and there is nothing left of it but silence and bruises to cherish and rub. Oh, don't let me forget, there is the embarrassment that sits in her self chastising and daily emotional beatings. I shall pluck a hair for each mistake and then I will have a nice round bare patch of skin to press and pinch my sins to self till a soft fuzz grows back and I can pluck again. Or I could just let it grow. She just doesn't know