3WW - writer prompt: bottle. approach. smooth.

He might as well have approached me with shards of a bottle the way he crushed me with the force of his hand. In his smooth cunning voice I had trusted to him to come near thinking that this time would be different. But instead, into my ear he whispered seething rage. With glass like precision, his nails cut into my skin until sour tears of blood drip down my arm. I tightened my eyes shut as hard as I could until I saw nothing but the black and white bars behind my lids. I was safe behind my prison wall.