seven.

he screams at me
"open the goddamn door right now!"
but i only back away further.
i count
"four, five, six, seven" tiles
seven clean, white tiles
the same as the number of years i've lived.
his fists, as large as my head, pound
so hard that the doorknob rattles, and
i can't help but think
if the door breaks
the evil will come in.