Thug Love

1 - Shadows and Silence

The hum of the television was the only sound in the small living room. She sat curled up on the worn couch, eyes glazed over as she stared at the screen. The show had long lost her attention, and instead, she was trapped in her thoughts, waiting for him.

It was late—later than usual. She checked the clock, watching the numbers blink. Each minute felt heavier than the last, pressing down on her, suffocating her with the anticipation of his arrival. This was the worst part—the waiting. The silence was thick, a lingering reminder of the arguments, the accusations, and the punishments that always felt just around the corner.

Finally, the sound of keys jingling outside the door snapped her out of her trance. She straightened, heart pounding as the doorknob turned. Damon stumbled in, his eyes bloodshot, his movements unsteady. The familiar mix of alcohol and cigarette smoke wafted in with him, making her stomach churn. She watched him carefully, as if studying a storm, gauging its strength, trying to predict the damage it might leave in its wake.

"Why are you just sitting there?" His voice was rough, impatient. He glared at her, as if her very presence was an irritation.

"I was waiting for you," she replied quietly, keeping her voice calm and controlled, each word measured and soft. She knew better than to provoke him.

"Waiting?" he scoffed, dropping his jacket carelessly onto the floor. "I don't need you to wait for me. You're useless just sitting there."

The words cut through her, but she forced herself not to react. She'd grown used to these comments, learned to let them slide off her like water on glass. At least, that's what she told herself. But deep down, each insult left a mark, a small reminder that she wasn't enough, that she was trapped in a life that seemed to have no escape.

Damon moved closer, his steps slow and heavy. She could feel his anger simmering just beneath the surface, like a flame ready to burst into a fire at any moment. He stopped in front of her, towering over her small frame. She kept her eyes down, staring at the floor, hoping that avoiding his gaze would keep the peace.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice a low growl.

She lifted her head, meeting his eyes reluctantly. They were cold and dark, the warmth she once saw in them long gone. She couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at her with kindness or love. Those days felt like they belonged to someone else's life, a distant memory that had faded into nothingness.

"What's wrong with you?" he spat, his tone dripping with disdain. "You think just sitting here, waiting for me, makes you a good girlfriend? You think that's all it takes?"

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I'm doing my best."

"Your best?" He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that made her flinch. "Your best isn't good enough. It's never been good enough."

Each word was like a slap, each insult a reminder of her helplessness. She felt her chest tighten, a familiar ache spreading through her as she fought to hold back tears. Crying would only make things worse, she knew that. He hated weakness, hated any sign of vulnerability. She'd learned that lesson early on.

"You don't even try," he continued, pacing back and forth in front of her, his frustration building. "You sit here, waiting like some pathetic little puppy. It's disgusting."

She wanted to defend herself, to tell him that she did try, that she gave everything she had to this relationship, but the words stuck in her throat. What would be the point? He wouldn't listen. He never did. Instead, she just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, accepting his words like they were gospel.

He paused, looking at her with a twisted smirk. "You think you're too good for me?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's it, isn't it? You think you're better than me."

Her heart sank. This was familiar territory. No matter what she did, he always found a way to twist it, to make her the villain in his story. She shook her head quickly, desperate to avoid this path. "No, I don't think that," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Liar," he sneered, reaching out to grab her arm. His grip was tight, painful, fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her to her feet. She gasped, trying to pull back, but he held her firmly, his face inches from hers.

"You don't get to look down on me," he hissed. "You're nothing without me. Remember that."

The words stung, each one sinking deep into her mind, embedding itself in her thoughts. She felt small, insignificant, a shadow of the person she once was. The person who'd been confident, who'd laughed freely, who'd dreamed of a life filled with love and happiness—she was gone, replaced by this hollow shell that existed only to please him, to keep the peace.

"Do you understand me?" he demanded, shaking her slightly.

"Yes," she replied quickly, her voice trembling. "I understand."

Satisfied, he released her arm, shoving her back onto the couch. She stumbled, catching herself just before she fell, but the embarrassment and shame burned through her. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move, waiting for any sign of defiance.

"Good," he said, his tone dismissive, as if she were nothing more than a bothersome child. "Now get out of my sight. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night."

She nodded, forcing herself to stand and walk away, her legs feeling weak and unsteady. She moved down the narrow hallway to their bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. The moment she was alone, she leaned against the door, exhaling shakily, the tension finally releasing from her shoulders.

In the silence, she felt a wave of emotion rise up, the tears she'd been holding back finally spilling over. She covered her mouth with her hand, muffling the sobs that escaped her lips. She didn't want him to hear, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd broken her again.

As the minutes passed, the tears slowed, leaving her feeling drained, empty. She moved to the bed, curling up under the covers, seeking comfort in the familiar softness. She stared at the wall, her mind a blur of thoughts, memories, and regrets.

In the darkness, a single thought emerged, clear and undeniable: I can't live like this anymore.

The realization was both terrifying and liberating. She'd spent so long convincing herself that this was normal, that this was love, but now, lying alone in the silence, she couldn't ignore the truth. This wasn't love. It was control. It was fear. And she was trapped, held captive by a man who saw her as nothing more than an object to be used and discarded.

She closed her eyes, letting the thought settle, her mind racing with possibilities she'd never dared to consider. Leaving him seemed impossible—dangerous, even. But staying felt like a slow death, a life spent walking on eggshells, never knowing when the next storm would hit.

As she drifted into a restless sleep, another face appeared in her mind, unbidden but strangely comforting. His friend. The one who'd always been kind to her, who'd looked at her with a softness she hadn't seen in years. She knew he was dangerous, that his life was filled with risks and shadows, but somehow, he made her feel safe.

It was a foolish thought, a forbidden fantasy. And yet, as she drifted off, she couldn't help but wonder if there might be a way out after all—a way to reclaim her life, her happiness, her freedom.

For the first time in years, a glimmer of hope sparked within her, faint but real. And she held onto it, clinging to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was a life beyond the shadows.