Lost and Forgotten - The Revelation

Lost

The bruises that darkened my skin are extremely painful. With every touch, I shuddered, tensed my jaw and my facial expressions went wild - scrunching in fierce agony. They definitely stood out against my pale complexion and I was exposed. I tried to disguise it with make up and concealer, but I could not conceal the mental and physical torture I've withstood, not to mention the actual traumas on my face. A gloomy shadow was still cast around the corners of my jaw - memories last a life time, they say, but so do scars.

He swore he would never do this again. There again, he's made the same promises time after time, and I believed him; I always believe him. How can I not? I'd rather believe that someone can change for the better than stay a violent monster. Even more than the belief I have, is hate. I hate him with a passion. I hate his laugh. I hate his smile. I hate violent outbursts. And I hate the fact that I put up with it.
I cry everyday; every night. I look in the mirror and feel utter disgust. The scars on my body; the scars on my face - every mark reminds me that I am nothing more than a possession to him. I am something he uses, throws away, then destroys when he's finished. Yet he is my destiny...

I lay silently in my bed; blood stained stained sheets and nightmares of the last time I 'disrespected him'. It was my fault. I shouldn't have pushed him. I deserved everything I got. I should have known. I should have been more considerate.
****
It was seven o'clock in the evening and I still haven't manage to do anything or eat anything. As hungry as I was, I persevered. Every bit food I ate reminded me of how fat I was, how ugly I am. Why couldn't I be presentable towards him? You know, like those models in the magazine; the ones with the physique of perfection with the flawlessly toned stomach - the desired 'summer body' - not that it was around the time of summer anyhow. Why was I cursed with such naivety?

As much as I talk negatively about him - he isn't like that all the time, only sometimes. I feel bad for him, I know he needs help - maybe I should be the one to give it him - I should be there for him, but I wasn't. Every time I tried I was pushed away for being 'irritating'.

The twilight was rapidly approaching, as the sky turned to a reddy-orange colour, with a hint of violet streaking the sky. The sun - perfectly positioned between skyscraper buildings without being blocked or hidden. Everything felt placid - for a moment anyway.

The door slammed, echoing throughout my apartment. It was him: Tyler. I was his girlfriend. I skipped over to him and gave him a hug; hopefully welcoming him home. He wasn't happy though. In fact, he was by far the opposite. He pushed me with rage and overwhelming force. "You bitch". "What did I tell you about makeup? Is there someone you're trying to impress? Did you have someone here... In this apartment... My apartment?" The questions fired at once before I could even respond. I felt targeted, isolated and trapped. What did I do? His questions attacked me, like I blade to the gut - "who is he?" "Where is he now" "you know you could never do better than me, fucking fat slag".
I felt unconscious but aware of everything at the same time. I didn't know what to do aside from taking the torture that thrust towards me.

Something struck my face. Soon as the blow connected to my already battered skin, tears rolled down my rosy cheeks, and I cried. I tried to apologise, screaming sorry after every hit pounded against my face and body. The environment was motionless, I witnessed his fists strike my face, a multitude of times, like it was a film that I couldn't divert my oceanic eyes from. I Begged him to stop; he never did.

****

I awoke after the attack. My body was covered in bruises. I felt an achey sensation; feeling as though I was ready to collapse. Walking unbalanced into the living area, I saw Tyler. He was watching an action movie by the looks of it; flashing glimmers of bombs and rapid motion fights. I could not see properly, most likely because my right eye was too swollen for it to be any actual use. Food surrounded the red velvet couch, as a smirk appeared on his smug face, almost as if he didn't even care if I was alright or not.
His head turned as my petrified-self, made a slow and unsure pace towards him, almost like a lion hunting its prey, yet it was me who felt victimised. He smiled at me and gently said "hi beautiful". Those words meant so much to me. Just those two words changed my whole mood, and now I truly loved this man.

I sat down beside him, and he apologised (as usual) and claimed that he would never do it again - which was clearly a lie - but I accepted it and moved on, like i do every time.

He began kissing my busted lips, stinging with every touch, and caressed my petite, aching body and pulled me closer to his dark- tanned chest, hidden behind his navy blue tank top. He picked me up slowly, still kissing me with gentle ease. I wrapped my legs around him and he carried me into the bedroom. We began undressing: pants, top, shoes, socks; everything removed. We proceeded under the covers. His pelvis thrusting harder and harder against me. Kissing my neck. He thrusted more violently at a quicker pace causing me to moan. I felt love. Love that only exists when he wants it to... The same love that could be begin; only when he wanted me to feel it.