"He loves me. He's just abusive." (BBS Ships)

1

Evan woke up, groaning at the pain on his sides and lower back.

He tried his best to sit up on his bed, managing on finding his phone and turning it on to look at the time.
7:43 am.

He swallowed thickly to help his dry mouth as he looked to his side of the bed. Jonathan wasn't there so he quickly got up and somewhat dressed himself with whatever clothing he could find.

He rushed down the stairs, not seeing Jon at the table. He sighed in relief as he went to the fridge to look for anything he can use to make breakfast.

As he was prepping the ingredients, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He heard the familiar voice of his boyfriend on the phone.

He was laughing and seemed to be having a good time.

He heard the chair scrape back and Jonathan still on the phone.

Evan knew he was most likely talking to his other lovers. His heart started to beat faster as the food was almost done and hearing Jon finishing the conversation.

Evan placed the food on a plate and served it to Jonathan.

He was wearing a crisp blue button down shirt and black dress pants.
A tribal tattoo showing on the side of his neck and his curly hair was tied back in a bun.

Jon didn't say a word as he started to eat, having Evan sit next to him in silence. But he was used to it.
Not eating and just listening to the deafening silence of the apartment.

Evan almost jumped out of his seat, snapping him out of his thoughts when he heard the fork hit the plate. Jonathan wiped his mouth and stood up, heading to the front door.

"Clean yourself up, you look disgusting."
And just like last night, Jon left Evan with a painful punch in his gut.

Evan didn't say anything and just placed his hands on his face and cried. He calmed himself down and walked up to the bathroom, seeing why Jonathan said that.

Split, red, swollen lips, painful hickeys on his neck, the sickly indigo color bruise on both his hips and stomach, and his tear stained cheeks.

He felt disgusting, ugly and just plain pathetic.

All he could do was dress himself in more presentable clothing and sit on the bed, staring at the dried blood and dried "vanilla ice cream" on the carpet from their first fight.