Love The Way You Lie

So Wrong, So Right

I can't tell you what it really is
I can only tell you what it feels like
And right now it's a steel knife
In my windpipe
I can't breathe
But I still fight
While I can fight
As long as the wrong feels right
It's like I'm in flight

~.~

It was cold.

Erik had left you, again, for another one of his life-threatening missions. Of course, he always came back home with fresh scars, so you were never worried. But this time, he had left you without paying part of the utility bill.

You didn't work. He wouldn't allow you to. He wanted to keep you separated from the world, to keep you for himself. How stupid.

You just wondering how the hell he was able to pay for the cable, the internet, the electricity, and the water bill, but completely forgot the gas bill. Where they do that at?

You decided on going to sleep and then finding out what to do later. Just as you close your eyes, the door busts open. Erik stomps in, looking like Baloo from the Jungle Book and a bee just stung him on his nose from trying to get some honey. Forget about your worries and your strife face ass.

"Babe? You're back so soon?" He's usually gone for few days but he had been gone for a few hours, since you woke up that morning. He stares at you menacingly.

"The mission was called off. They didn't think we were ready for it yet. I keep on forgetting...we still considered 'the newbies.'" Erik had been in the JSOC Ghost unit for a while now. Since before y'all met almost a year ago. He let his dreads fall on his face and shook his head around. He walked past you, not even acknowledging how you were straight up shivering in the thin-ass blanket he gave you. You rolled your eyes, and tried to go to sleep, but Erik had other plans.

"The fuck you think you doing?" he asked you, "You supposed to go make me some food then suck my dick as I eat it on the couch." You turned and faced him on the mattress and looked at him like he was crazy. Bad idea, but you couldn't help yourself.

"Nigga do I look like a damn maid to you? Go make your own fucking food. It's too damn cold in here to be doing anything." You were snatched out the bed and thrown onto the cold, carpeted floor.

"I know you not talking to me like that. I own you. Go make me a damn sandwich then top me off." Without another word, he walked into the bathroom to take a quick shower. You glared at the door and considered just staying there until he came out, but you didn't want to see what would happen if you didn't follow his orders.

"Fucking prick." you mutter while delivering his food to him on the couch. "What was that?" he asked. "Your food, my king." you answered. He took the plate then set it beside him and motioned you to sit next to him. You knew what was coming next. But you didn't want to. You would regret this soon.

"Hell no. Eat your food."

Record scratch. Freeze. The fuck did she just say.

Ohhhhhhh SHIT you were in for it now, bitch.

He didn't even say anything. He shot up from the couch and grabbed you by your neck. He was seething. He hates it when you don't listen to him. You cry out in pain as he slams you to the floor. "Shut up, bitch." he tells you. "When I say shit, do it." He didn't stop there. He kept slapping you even as you cried out for him to stop. It made the hits even worse.

Your mama ain't raise no bitch, though. You fight back, you always do. You always lose, too. But at least you fight. You try to hit him back, but it's hard to know where to hit when his heavy hands are coming down on you every millisecond.

To be completely honest, he was tired and just wanted to be warm and asleep. But, the adrenaline from the fight, the exhilaration he feels with every hit-it's what keeps him going. He loves the sound of his palm against your, well, everything.

He enjoys every mark he puts on you, whether it's a hickey or from one of his punches-he thinks it's what proves that you're his. It's his signature.

He's sick in the head.

Eventually, he gets bored and leaves you on the ground to go back and eat his sandwich. You struggle to sit up. Glaring up at him you say, "You're a sick fuck."

He chuckles. "Yeah. I know." He takes a bite. "This shit good as hell."

~.~