"Do you really love me?" {2doc}

Interlude.

No doubt if you had stayed for a moment longer, your life would have been cut short.Your face was horrendously bruised. You had two black eyes and a bloody nose all from the same session with your proclaimed lover. Although your treatment could be called nothing short of abuse.

"Love is love" said he, "Everybody has different forms of expressing love, why can't you see how much I love you?"

But you doubted the years worth of scars on your back, on your arms, your face, and on your mind were meant to be loving.

Those scars, the psychological scars and the mental ones, would no doubt take years, or even decades into your already old life. You already had issues with your brain, from the same man nevertheless.

Years ago, he drove into the record shop you worked in and butted one of your eyes out. While caring for you as a punishment instead of dealing jail time, he shot you through the windshield and onto the curb, jabbing out your other eye in the process and messing up your brain a hell of a lot more. Not like you needed it.

You didn't need more trauma to add onto the psychological trauma you had already endured for so, so long with him. And yet you found yourself almost *drawn* to it, because he loved you, did he not?

Sometimes he loved you, sometimes he loved you maybe a bit too much, but love is love, right? He was misunderstood, you told yourself. Misunderstood from years worth of a̶b̶u̶s̶e̶  love from his own parents, and from years of juvenile detention he spent alone and planning.No doubt he loved you, maybe he was just a bit too extreme for you. But sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he was tender, caring towards your needs and loving of you in your entirety; your body, your scars, your forever jacked up brain. Sometimes he drank and came home crying, where you would hold each other and cry together in silence until your roommates came back home.

Other times he came home drunk and let his anger out onto you. You had scars on your neck, from where his sharp, chipped nails dug into the soft and tender flesh of your throat and the back of your neck. You had lasting imprints on your throat from where his hands fit so snug around it, clasping with just the right pressure to make your mouth foam and your eyes roll back in your head, a shamefully flushed face full of fear.

You were tired of it, but it was just his way of showing affection, right?

You had scars on your arms from where he grabbed you and yanked you back into the house when you were going somewhere because he's possessive of you and he's distrustful and he ~knows~ thinks you're going somewhere to cheat on him or to report him to the police. You had scars on your arms from where he dug his nails into them when you would fight back. His sharp, chipped nails digging into your tender skin and scarring it for lord knows how long.You had a bite mark on your neck from where he 'claimed you'.

It was bleeding for a while. You wanted to cover it up, but he never let you. He never let you cover it up with makeup, with the collar of your shirt or with a scarf of some kind. He wanted everyone to know you were his. His, his, his, forever and always.

He loved you.So much, he did.

You had scars on your thighs and abdomen, from where he would claw at you and bite you and litter you with disgusting, ugly marks because everybody needed to know who you belonged to.You had scars on your back from where he whipped and abused it. Horrible, nasty and long-lasting scars that would no doubt last for years. They would never go away, you knew, not for a long time.