aggression | luke hemmings

Chapter One

I was curled up in a ball in the corner of Brent's bedroom with the water bottle at my side, but I was too weak to open it so it was of no use to me. My throat was incredibly parched but it's not like I could do anything about it.

I hear pounding footsteps in the halls, finally stopping in front of the front door and leaving. This was a good sign, I was alone in the house now so there was no chance that Brent would be able to hurt me unless he broke the wall or came back home. That'd be ridiculous and unreal.

He was probably going out to drink or smoke weed/pot with his friends, he'd be home in a few hours and crash on the couch, expecting me to be strong enough to get him water and headache meds. Well, lucky him, he's beaten me to a pulp [numerous times] so I can hardly breath without clutching my chest in pain.

I decide to spend the time he's gone, by taking a nap.

At around 9 at night, he gets back home and knocks loudly in the door. I grunt, he opens it. He does not have red eyes or anything, just some bags under his menacing black eyes and having trouble walking. That's a start, he only got drunk tonight.

"Fetch me some mediciiiiine," he slurs and stumbles on the bed. I better at least try to get the medicine so he isn't angry. I hobble over to his bed and place the water bottle on the night stand, limping out to the kitchen to get some Ibuprofen or whatever he needs. I am just barely tall enough to reach the small bottle of pills, I pour 2 of them in my hand and slowly limp back across the large house to Brent's horrible, plain, and scary bedroom.

"Babe," He slurs again, after taking the medicine. "Lay down!" He yells when I hesitantly walk over to him again. I am startled by his suddenly loud voice, but lay down next to him in the bed anyway, just for my own safety. "Becca you're so good, too good."

I am surprised at his words, until he speaks again, "I better take some of that goodness out of you," and smacks my bruised arm, then kicks my legs. I wince in pain but stay put, bracing myself for whatever abuse is about to go down next.

He harshly kisses the back of my head and falls into slumber, I cautiously do too, in case he wakes up and gets mad at me for being in his bed.

In the morning, I stand up and look into the full length mirror, noticing small bruises on my legs. At least it isn't a scar, like he left on the back of my neck with a huge shard of glass. I keep my worn out shorts and t-shirt on but weakly run a comb through the nest of hair I have, then brush my teeth. I spit into the bathroom sink, noticing blood mixed along with the white tooth paste. Probably from when he accidentally hit my jaw during sleep.

"Rebecca James! Get over here!" An angry, but all too familiar voice yells from my boyfriend's room. I bite my bottom lip and walk as quickly as I can to his room to see what he needs. "I didn't give you permission to leave," Brent states stubbornly.

"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice. My voice cracks in the end but the two of us ignore it. Brent grabs my wrist and stands up, pulling me into the kitchen. He basically throws me on the tile floor, making me hit my elbow pretty painfully but I sit up anyway.

I am terrified when Brent grabs a steak knife, still holding my hand a bit too tightly for my liking. He forces me back up to my feet, yanking on my arm so that my bones metaphorically pull apart.

"Don't speak or else I'll cut deeper," He whispers darkly. I nod and bite the inside of my cheeks, close my eyes and feel the pain of the knife blade slide through my skin. I hear a few drops of blood drip onto the tile and then another cut is made before Brent tosses the knife into the sink. "Go clean up, you whore." I frown but nod, running as fast as possible to the bathroom. I grab a towel and run hot water through it.