From where I lay I can see him sleeping. A deep sleep, so I know I have a few hours respite. I’m not surprised he’s so tired after today’s tousle, which was one of the worst in a long time. It happens everyday, to varying degrees. Sometimes it’s just a tap, a little push across the room. But today he really got stuck into me. The memory of it haunts me, and I try to assess the damage. I can barely hold myself together, my outer layer is starting to give, and I’m not sure how much longer I will last. The smell of his breath still lingers, and I get shivers as I remember how disgustingly close his face was. I have a bruise from where I hit the floor, after one particularly big swipe sent me flying across the room. I can feel a warm moist patch where his teeth bit through, and I wonder how deep it is, how long it will take to dry out, and whether the mark it leaves will stay, making an easy target for further damage. It seems that’s what he is aiming for. A slow painful torture, leaving me weaker and weaker with every cruelly measured blow. I pick through the threads of my being, trying to understand why I have been dealt this fate. Why it was me, it could have been anyone of us. Why did I end up here, I would have made such a pretty beanie.This post is my first time participating in the Indie Ink Challenge. I was challenged by Carrie, to write 250 words from the point of view of a ball of yarn being chased by a cat. I challenged Flaming Nyx to use the prompt "and this is your father having breakfast with an orangutan". And I'm really close to the deadline and about to check out of my motel, so I will have to come back later to edit!!!!