Husband Beater

Prologue

I want to mention a TRIGGER WARNING now. There is mentions of rape abuse of alcohol, and regular abuse. If you are triggered by these, please do not read on.

The whole story is written in Alex's point of view.

It was about six months ago when Jack first hit me. He use to be funny and winsome, but now he's abusive and truculent. Whenever he hits me, he never apologizes and barely helps me clean up anymore. When this first started, he use to help me clean up and apologized. Now, he beats me like its a misdemeanor; like he can't get in trouble for it. It hurts me physically and emotionally. I never did anything to him to deserve the pain I get. I admit, I can be a little dogmatic at times and a little whiny, but not enough to get beat.

The way his fist collides into my bones makes me feel he doesn't love me, and how he has his way with me in bed once or twice a week makes me feel like he's using me for sex, but then he randomly buys me a dozen roses and takes me to the fanciest restaurant in the city. Then, afterwards, he cuddles me and kisses my bruises with those soft little kisses.

Well, anyway, it started off when he was drunk. I set my hand on top of his and told him maybe he's had enough. Of course, he insisted on having just a few more. I, of course, fell into those eyes and decided to let him have a few more.

He did, oh believe me, Jack sure did. When I came back and took the bottle from him, he demanded I gave him his booze back. When I objected, he threw a hard punch that knocked me off my feet.

It seemed like that hit knocked not only me on the ground, but knocked Jack sober. By the way he said, "Oh, baby! Oh, Lexi! I'm so sorry, baby," and by the way he ran to get me to my feet seemed like it was an honest, drunk mistake.

So I did what any person caught in the trap of love would do: I forgave him.

Jack cleaned me up, put me to bed, and slept on the couch that night because he knew I was mad.

The next morning I woke up to a nice breakfast and getting smothered in kisses.

The next few times he hit me, without being drunk, I knew something was wrong.

He didn't help me clean up after, for one, and stopped apologizing. Jack would hit me for the dumbest reasons, too.

"Oh sorry, Jacky, I forgot to put the clothes in the dryer."

Bam, punch to the stomach.

"Sorry, baby, I'll go start dinner."

Boom, knee to the side.

"Oh, dear, Jack slow down on the drinks."

Crash, elbow to the face.

Jack didn't usually go for the face or arms; like any abuser, he knew that people would see the bruises and see the cuts.

He aimed for the stomach, the back, the legs, and occasionally slipped up and hit me in the face.

Usually in the eye; because those could get covered up easily by a big pair of Oakley sun glasses.

Then he got more violent.

We use to have sex about once every three months. Soon, though, that turned into intercourse once every month, then twice every month, and then once a week.

Sometimes two times a week.

The sex isn't the same as it use to be, God, no.

For one, he's more lax in bed. He's too expedient when it comes to getting to his climax.

And he's doing this new thing where he pulls out, and jerks onto my back. It's disgusting, and like he's disgusted to come inside of me so he does it on my back, or chest.

I don't know what happened to Jack; the winsome, caring, funny Jack. Now he's just an abusive, truculent piece of shit.

I love him, and I really do know he loves me. I know for a fact. Every time he hurts me, I can see pain swimming in his eyes. He still rolls over in the middle of the night when he thinks I'm asleep, and wraps his arms around me, and pulls me closer to him just like he use to do when he didn't beat me.

I just want to know what happened to him, and I will find out.