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You scrolled down Instagram as your boyfriend, Woody, was dancing in the kitchen, making dinner. It was his turn to cook tonight, and you were enjoying the little down time you had. Between being a full-time college student and trying to keep up with Woody's lifestyle— especially after the New Edition Story breakout on BET— you were completely exhausted. You were glad that you had a man who understood how you felt, though; that's one of the reasons why you loved Woody so much.
You glanced over at Woody to see him salsa dancing while mixing the meat sauce in a pot. He told you that you guys were having spaghetti, so that explains what he was doing. He had the speaker up, Mr. Telephoneman playing through it; you couldn't help but roll your eyes a bit. He really thought he was Bobby Brown. You chuckled a little as you heard Woody belch out the lyrics to the song, looking back down at your phone to see a post your man had shared yesterday. You never really saw posts posted from yesterday on your timeline, but you just shrugged it off and looked at the title:
Revenge.
You furrowed your eyebrows at the title and looked at the video, letting it play. Once you saw Woody kissing another woman you stared at your phone screen like you had seen a ghost. You felt your heart drop and your throat go dry; you locked your phone quickly and set it down carelessly, not caring how much of a loud thud your iPhone connecting with the wooden table made. You looked over at Woody to see that he was already looking over at you, smiling, but once he saw the scowl on your face, he knew you saw something. "What's wrong?" he asked, turning the stove down and setting the wooden spoon he had in his hand down. He walked over to you and tried to take your hand, only for you to snatch it away from him.
"So you kissin' other bitches now? What did I fuckin' tell you about your pranks, Woody?! You're in a relationship; stop fuckin' getting too physical with these random ass hoes!" you screamed, Woody's face forming a scowl. "Who the fuck are you talkin' too, little girl?" Woody snarled, watching you stand up as though you would tower over him, but in reality, only reaching his chest. "You, bitch ass nigga," you barked back. Woody's eyes darkened as his hand found your throat in a firm manner, "Watch your mouth, (Your Name). Ian' playin' with you."
"Let me the fuck go before I spit in your face," you breathed out, trying to pry Woody's hand from around your throat. Woody was furious; his grip tightened as he tilted his head at you, getting close to your face, "Spit on who? I don't know where you got the sudden balls to talk to—"
Woody was cut off by you spitting in his face, his grip on your neck loosening as he wiped your saliva off of his face slowly. You took your phone from the table and stormed upstairs, not hearing footsteps behind you until a couple seconds later— and they weren't calm footsteps either. Woody grabbed you by your hair, causing you to squeal and pressed your face into the wall, "Who the fuck do you think you are, B?! CHILL THE FUCK OUT. You fuckin' spit on me, (Your Name)? That's how disrespectful we're gettin' now? Oh yeah, I'm about to fuckin' break you." "Get the fuck off me, Woody!" you screamed. "Shut the fuck up!"
