The Assistant AvengersxOc

5-Used To it

I seemed to admire the bruises he constantly left on me.

Not because I believed they were beautiful or that they were from him so I should be thankful.

No im not mad. I admire them because of how much work he seemed to put into them. Every hit out of rage or anger I did not know.

They always seemed to be in a range of different pressures. Some leaving black or blue bruises.

Some leaving dark purple bruises. Maybe even a pink or light purple. Almost as if he were making art.

So in some instances, I would be considered art. Though as I gazed at my body in the long mirror he put in our bathroom.

I couldn't help but feel as if I were being mocked. Mocked by my own terrible choices. Because as I looked down at the tattered version of myself.

I couldn't help but think how ridiculously stupid I was being. I had the most powerful people around me all the time.

Yet I returned home every day to a fiance who abuses me. Not because I don't believe it's wrong.

But I believe in his own fucked up way he does love me. I believe in his own mind he only cares for me.

So in turn I've come to believe these delusions. That's my own diagnosis. But im no therapist.

So I will just have to be okay with the fact that im in love with him. I'm so in love with this man I only ever see the best in his faults.

Just as my mother taught me. Maybe it's a bad way of thinking but I didn't get engaged for no reason.

My mother always knew what was best for me. So when she realized I was old enough to understand she taught me.

Men only hit their wives if they do something wrong. So if he hits you, you deserved it. That's something she would always say.

Maybe in her own way she was right. There was always a reason for anger. So I tried my best to fix whatever I did wrong.

Though after six years of being together with this man I've found out a few things. He hits me not because I've done anything wrong.

He hits me to insure I know what will happen if I do so. Almost like insurance. At the beginning of my relationship, I was innocent.

I believed if he hit me I would leave. Well until he played with my mind and I fell in love.

Oh, how cute and naive all he was doing was making sure I was so in love with him. So I could never leave him.

He was clearly successful. Because here I was 4 in the morning fresh from a shower and cleaning up the various bruises he left on me.

Like it was a normal Saturday morning. Because it was. For me it was regular. I was used to this.

So used to it in fact that if it ever stopped happening I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Because this, this was my normal.