"Michael, I'm so tired of your bullshit" you yelled at your boyfriend. Michael had come home late and drunk. AGAIN. It had been the third time this week - and it was only Thursday.
"Babeeeeee, you look so goooood.." Michael slurred as he stumbled towards you, tripping over his own feet. You sighed.
"Michael, please! I'm trying to have a conversation with you and you're acting like a child! Can't you just act like an adult for once and listen to what I'm saying?!" you yelled. You had had enough of his behaviour- it wasn't fair that you had to spend every evening waiting around for him to come home. "You don't even tell me when you're going out, Michael! How can you expect me to sit here every night until 3am waiting for you to come home!" Your blood was boiling - you were furious. Michael had already begun to sober up.
"When did I ever ask you to wait up for me every night, Y/N??? Huh? That's right, I NEVER DID." He began to slowly walk towards you. "And why do I have to inform you on my every move?! YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER, Y/N!!" he yelled, his voice getting louder and louder. "I work non-stop the whole day, every day Y/N, something YOU would never understand. I have to deal with enough SHIT at work, and I definitely don't need you UP MY ASS AS SOON AS I GET HOME. So why shouldn't I be able to spend my free time doing WHAT I want, WHERE I want?!" Tears began to form in your eyes from rage.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, I DON'T UNDERSTAND?" you began to raise your voice. Your faces were now only inches apart. "What do you think I do all day, Michael? Huh? Watch tv? Sleep? Because let me fricken tell you now that is NOT the case." You were raging with anger. "I clean up the house every day for YOU!! I make the best dinner I can every night for YOU. I do it all so that YOU can come home after a long day at work to a clean house! I do everything for you, Michael. And it is UNBELIEVABLE that you can't open your eyes and see that!"
Michael's eyebrows furrowed as he stepped even closer to you. He did not look happy, and that made your feelings shift from anger to fright and anxiety. You didn't like seeing Michael like this. His face was a centimetre away from yours and he began to whisper with his teeth clenched.
"YOU. LITTLE. BITCH." and with that, he slapped you across the face. You fell backwards and landed into the glass coffee table behind you, the table shattering into a million tiny pieces, along with your heart.
As you held your hand to your right cheek, you looked up at Michael, who's facial expression had changed from overbearing rage to a look of sorrow and regret. He had tears in his eyes, and so did you. He held his hand out, but before he could offer to help you up you raced upstairs to your shared bedroom and locked the door, collapsing onto the floor and pouring your eyes out. Seconds later, Michael was continuously banging on the door and apologising profusely, although you could barely hear it over your sobbing. You couldn't believe he had hit you; something he had promised since day 1 he would never do. You were in complete shock, and you weren't sure if you could ever forgive him.
