Songbird- Harry Styles

six

Chapter 6 (TW: Violence, abuse)

*Two Years Ago*

I saw his car in the driveway, but when I quietly walked through the front door, the living room was empty. All the lights were turned off and you could hear a pin drop. I knew he was here, but I didn't know where.

I was praying that he was asleep because I knew he would be mad that I was home so late.

I set my keys and purse down on the counter and grab a glass of water, still trying to stay quiet in hopes that if he was sleeping, I wouldn't wake him up.

I hear a crash come from upstairs and I wince.

He's awake.

I decide not to go to my room. Maybe he tripped and fell getting up to go to the bathroom and he would go back to bed.

I was proven terribly wrong when he came stumbling down the wooden stairs.

I always loved the stairs in my house, I thought that the wood added a lot of character and charm. However, right now the sound of his shoes hitting the steps was more haunting than pleasant.

"You're home awful late" he slurs. Of course, he's drunk.

Don't the experts say something along the lines of girls wanting to date guys who remind them of their dads? Well, if not, I sure know how to pick 'em.

"Dillon, I told you I would be out for a while. I was writing and then I caught up with some fri-" I start but I am interrupted by him coming closer to me. His breath reeks of whiskey and I back up, but he grabs my wrist

"Hey beautiful, listen, I didn't ask where you were," he says, his tone is joking, but his eyes are dark.  "I was just pointing out the facts," he says

He pulls me closer to him, leaving a trail of saliva up my neck with his tongue. I don't fight him, not wanting resistance to backfire on me.

"All I said, was that you are home. Awfully. Late." he spits.

"And... I think you need to make it up to me" he suggests, still holding my arms down by my side.

"Dil, I'm not really in the mood right now, maybe tomorrow," I say, truthfully. I hate when he gets like this.

"I wasn't giving you an option, baby" he sneers as he lets my hands go and starts to fumble with my pants.

My lip starts to quiver as he puts his beer-stained mouth on mine. I'm not really an overly emotional type, but I was angry. Angry that I was too afraid to speak up for myself.

I didn't want this. I didn't want this life. I didn't want this to keep happening to me. But giving him what he wants for now is unfortunately the safer alternative. The last time I refused sex, I woke up a day and a half later on the bathroom floor without a single memory of the previous 36 hours.

He lays me down (more like threw me down) on my couch and begins to fully strip me of my clothes.

His hands are rough and I can tell he's been drunk for a while.

I need to get this over with.

He continues to kiss me. I don't kiss back. My pants are fully off as he is vigorously rubbing me, not even in the right spot, may I add.

I feel the bile rising in my throat, but I try to keep in mind what I didn't want to happen.

He rips his shirt off and stands up to take his pants off and lays back on top of me. I can tell he's having a hard time getting hard and he's getting angry with himself. I chuckle a little bit and I immediately regret it.