Enough

So, this is just a piece I wrote out of boredom. It's about a battered wife who has finally had enough and in that moment that too her to see that it needs to end. It does go from third person to first person and that's on purpose.

The hand rose to her soft cheek.  It came to caress the pain that had just been brought.  She looks back at him, the whiplash fading across her altered impression.  She looks at him again.  A soft wave of epiphany floods over her.  She stares at him, hand still to face, caressing the burning spot that's filled with aches.  She grabs for the numbness to face him and forgive.  But she can't grasp the lack of emotion that once settled like a puzzle inside of her.  Inside herself is a turmoil some how revived, a lick of fire that is beginning to burn once again.  She keeps looking at him, looking at the coward who manipulates pain into love and has kept her locked away into a numbing chaos.  
"Not again."  She whispers to him.  An angry beast contorts on his face.
"What did you say to me!"  He says astounded.  As if to mock him.
"Don't touch me." My heart aches when I say those words.  The words that always froze in my throat, never escaped my mouth till now.
"You are my wife.  I will do as I see fit." He says.  A laugh stalks his words.
"No, you don't own me." The strength in my emotions hardens my words.  He stares at me in confusion.  He moves his hand back and I flinch;
"No!" I scream in his face and his hand drops.  My hands ball into fists, waiting to meet flesh.  I hold down my temper and begin to turn away.  He grabs my arm and I look at him.
"Let me go, Steven." Is all I have to say.  What comes after this has no meaning.  To die or to be saved, I own myself.