in this forever - dnf football au

26

george's pov:

"you still awake?" i whisper to dream, after ten minutes of lying in silence without being able to sleep,

"i'm not even tired," he groans, rolling over,

"should we watch a movie?" i suggest,

"there's a twenty four hour target open five minutes hear," he grins,

"what about ivy?" i ask,

"lets let her sleep," he says, "but i'll keep the baby monitor with me,"

"okay," he smiles, turning on his phones flashlight so we can gather our things and put on our shoes without waking ivy, once we're ready we slip downstairs and out the door into the midnight air.

the cold summer air on my warm pyjama bottoms is oddly comforting, under the light of the street lamps, dream takes my hand, and for a precious moment, we aren't parents, we aren't fiancées, i'm not pregnant, and we're just two, stupidly in love teenagers sneaking out of his moms house to buy snacks for our midnight movie night.

we happily wander through the uniform suburbs until we reach the store, it's fairly empty with only two workers looking board at the checkouts, "so what do you want to get?" he asks,

"m&ms, reese's, haribos, sour patch kids, and strawberry's," i say, listing off my current cravings,

"okay, i know your particular with fruit so you go pick the strawberries, i'll get the candy," he says, pointing to the produce section, "i'll come find you when i'm done," he says pulling me in for a quick kiss before we part ways, i put the hood of my hoodie up as i enter the cold produce section and find the fridge full of containers of strawberries and begin to search for the perfect berries.

as i look at all the different boxes i feel some storm past me, "sorry," i mumble, despite the first it was in no way my fault,

"what the fuck is wrong with you," the man scouls, i recognise his voice instantly, the voice that haunts me in spite of my almost three years of separation.

i chilled to my very core, as i stand frozen, "huh?" he asks angrily, tearing my hood down, i close my eye trying to imagine i'm anywhere but here,

"oh you bitch," he murmurs, i know he recognises me, i peek my eyes open to see him standing there, still tall, broad and fat, i tremble as he looks over me,

"thought you were to good for me huh?" he laughs, "little fucking whore runs away with her little fucking accident and faggy boyfriend," as i stare into his eyes a thousand memories seem to play at once.

being four years of and lying on my bedroom floor in a pool of my own blood drifting in and out of consciousness and the man that stands in front of me now screams and shouts and kicks all from me spilling a glass of milk in my bed.

the night before the first day of elementary school being beaten into not telling any of my teachers about their behaviour, even now i can still feel the ache i felt that day as i dragged a large school bag on my bruised shoulders i to school.

having tv remotes or beer cans hurled at my head for walking infront of the tv during football games or simply for making to much noise.

being thrown down flights of stairs for having a tantrum at age six, he broke my arm that night and refused to take me to the hospital even when i was screaming in pain and my arm had a visible bend in, i had to pretend to trip and fall at school so the nurse would take me.

the first time i fought back, i was ten, he had beaten me for not wanting to wear a dress to church and i tried to run away and hide in my room, in retaliation he threw away the shoes that semi- fit me and made me wear shoes three dozen to small until i could source a new pair at school.

the summer when i was thirteen years old, he had found me trying to cut my long brown hair and i was stupid enough to tell him i wasn't a girl, for a month he took away every shirt i owned and forced me to walk around topless to "remind me i'm a woman" he'd even make me sit in the living room with his friends so they could ogle at my chest.

as i got older it only got worse, broken bones became a regular injury, weather it be from his heavy belt buckle, or a thick vodka bottle.

then his approach shifted less from breaking things on me to violently grabbing me and hitting me into anything he though would hurt, he ;adored breaking glasses on me, using the jagged edges to cut my already scared skin.

he would starve me to the point i could nearly walk, or beat me over and over until i couldn't move or scream for help.

"but you fucked up with that one so now you've gone and got yourself knocked up again," he laughs pushing me to the gound, i can move, i can't even breath; i lie there helpless looking at the man that makes up half of me. he had the same dark hair as me but his is oily and receding, his nose is similar to mine but his face is fat and red, in the seconds i lay there i notice every similarity and face about him,

"i hate you," i manage to mutter, "i would never do what you did to me to my babies! never!" i spit,

suddenly i see him raise the bottle of vodka over his head, i ready see where he's aiming, my stomach, but i won't let him hurt my child, i bring my knees up to my chest and tuck into a ball, i feel the bottle meet the back of my head, my body burns with the sensation of glass shards impaling my skin and the vodka stinging the open cutes only seconds before the world goes dark.