This isn't weird.

Catastrophe du Jour

Millie examined her reflection in the mirror, noticing for the first time the ruddy purple marks that were beginning to form around her neck and chest, up and down her arms, and along the sides of her hips and thighs.

"Oh. I guess I am," she laughed with a shrug.

Ben was not laughing. "Millie," he said again, his voice tightening, "people are going to think that I hurt you."

"Relax, Ben," Millie replied dismissively as she hung up her towel. "I'm not gonna let anyone think that. We just had some rough sex. It's fine."

"It is not fine!" he insisted, his volume beginning to rise. "That was not 'just some rough sex.' You're acting like I just pinned you down and pulled your fucking hair a little. I hurt you! You're covered in bruises. I covered you in bruises! Those are my fucking handprints, Millie!"

"It's not a big deal, Ben! You were just doing what I asked you to do," Millie assured him. She walked over to take his hand, but he pulled it away.

"It's a big deal to me!" he snapped. "Why the fuck would you ask me to do that to you?"

Becoming defensive, Millie crossed her arms. "Why the fuck does it matter? You seemed pretty into it at the time."

"You're right, Millie, I was! I was into it. That's what makes it so fucking fucked up!" Ben ran a hand through his damp hair then began to pull at it in frustration. "What the fuck is wrong with me that I would actually get off on brutalizing you to the point you're fucking black and blue? How is that something I'm even capable of? That is not something I ever fucking wanted to know about myself!"

"Ben! Calm down! Please," Millie pleaded. "It's not that fucking weird. Tons of guys are into that shit."

"Is that what you want me to be? A guy that fucking gets off on battering women?"

"No, Ben! Fuck! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? I pushed you to do something that's clearly way beyond the limits of what you're comfortable with. We should have talked about it first, I shouldn't have just sprung it on you like that. I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Please just stop yelling at me!"

"I'm not fucking yelling at you!" Ben shouted, wincing as he heard himself. He inhaled a deep breath. "Fuck. Fuck, okay, I was yelling. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I covered you in bruises and now I'm screaming at you. What the fuck am I doing? What is happening? I don't like this, I really don't like this—"

"Ben, for fuck's sake, you didn't do anything wrong. Let me just put on some fucking clothes, okay? So you don't have to see them anymore."

"Yeah. Sure. Please," he mumbled, and followed her back to her room. He pulled on his boxers and his shirt and lingered in the doorway with his arms crossed, tense and silent. Millie tiptoed around the glass shards surrounding her dresser to find a set of long sleeved pajamas that would cover at least most of the bruises. When she was dressed, she sat on the bed and looked at him.

"It scares me," Ben said. "To see you beat up like that. To be the one who did it."

"I know, Ben. I hear you."

"I just—I wanna know why. What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Why would you want me to hurt you? What happened? Who was that on the phone earlier?"

"It was my brother-in-law," she answered, swallowing.

"Brother-in-law?" Ben repeated. "I didn't even know you had siblings."

"Yeah. I have siblings. A couple of them I've even met."

Ben was silent.

"I have to leave, Ben," Millie said. "Tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. Probably for a really long time."