Thug Love

1 - Tick-Tock

The hum of the television was the only sound in the small living room. I sat curled up on the worn couch, eyes glazed over as I stared at the screen without hearing anything pouring out of the speakers. The show had long lost my attention, and instead, I was trapped in my thoughts, waiting for him.

I wondered if he would be in a bad mood when he arrived home today. Would I need to prepare myself for his wrath or would he be gentle this time? It had become normal for me to be his punching bag on bad days. On good days he would at least attempt to make what we had seem closer to everyone else's version of normal.

The minutes slowly ticked by. The sound of the clock hands constantly moving seemed to bang against my ear drums as time drug on. Every noise, big and small, that came from outside had me holding my breath. I blinked my worry from my eyes and tried to swallow with a dry throat.

Desire of walking out of the front door and never looking back flashed across my mind for a quick second. It disappeared just as fast as it came. I wasn't allowed to even go near the door without him at my side. He was worried I would do exactly what I just thought about and escape from his grasp.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on my knee as I brought it close to me. My whole body ached under the effort. Though a small movement, that's all it took to remind me of last nights events. I ran my dry tongue across my cracked bottom lip and winced.

"I do this because I love you," he had said. Love. He's said it enough that I've started to believe him. What if I did escape from him? Would it be any different with another man if this is how love is supposed to feel?

I let a single tear fall from my eye and glide down my cheek. I guess not. 

It was late—later than usual. I checked the clock, watching the numbers blink. Each minute felt heavier than the last, pressing down on me, suffocating me 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 me out of my trance. I 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 my stomach churn. I watched him carefully, as if studying a storm, gauging its strength, trying to predict the damage it might leave in its wake.

I had learned early on not to speak until spoken to, so I stayed silent. He didn't notice me. Or if he did, he didn't act like he did. He fumbled with the locks on the door before he turned and took in his surroundings. His eyes landed on me a moment later.

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

"I was waiting for you," I replied quietly, keeping my voice calm and controlled, each word measured and soft. I looked down, in a way bowing to my alpha like a dog does to the more dominant one. I 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 me, but I forced myself not to react. I'd grown used to these comments, learned to let them slide off of me like water on glass. At least, that's what I told myself. But deep down, each insult left a mark, a small reminder that I wasn't enough, that I was trapped in a life that seemed to have no escape.

Damon moved closer, his steps slow and heavy. I 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 me, towering over my small frame. I kept my eyes down, staring at the floor, hoping that avoiding his gaze would keep the peace.