(Lots of love to
xDreamers_Nightmarex
for the inspiration!! ♡♡♡)
Lovemaking had long ago stopped being about love itself, and more of a means for him to get off. You were almost certain that, if there had been love, it was long gone by now. Sex was simply a way for him to take his anger out on you.
That night was different. Usually he was so careful about where you were struck. He was very meticulous, calculating, making sure that, if on the rare occasion you did leave the house, you were properly covered.
But now, with you face down on the bed and his hands raking thin lines of blood down your back, you felt like perhaps his sanity was beginning to slip. All you could do was take him; so long as you seemed willing enough, he said nothing, pounding into you with a ferocity that felt more animalistic than human.
Soon enough he had finished, flipping you over onto your now bleeding back and making you wince. "Don't you dare make that face at me," your boyfriend warned. "You did this to yourself."
Tears welled up in your eyes, and he took no notice of them. He held your jaw still with one hand, slapping you across the face with the other. "See to it that things get done properly the next time, and perhaps I won't have to punish you. Am I clear?" You simply nodded, biting at your lower lip to try and stop it from shaking. With that being said at last, he stroked your cheek, the very same one he had just struck. "Good. I love you, darling," he murmured, crawling into the bed after he pulled away, falling asleep almost instantly.
Sliding slowly down to the floor, you put your face into your hands and cried silently. Back and face both stinging, you still had to be silent; you knew better than to wake him up for anything other than a dire emergency.
What about this? Isn't domestic violence a fucking emergency?!
You squashed that particular thought as quickly as it had come; being rebellious would have meant trouble. You were better off being quiet and obedient, the picture-perfect girlfriend.
There was a sneaking suspicion that he had more in store for you, but you didn't really want to think on that.
Getting up you quietly snuck off to the bathroom, his seed leaving a slow trail down your inner thigh as you walked. Disgusted, you wiped yourself clean in the bathroom and threw the towel into the basket nearby. Birth control was a must; you didn't want a child with this man, and he didn't want one, period.
You stared at your reflection, and loathed what you saw there: a beaten, thoroughly defenseless woman who had long ago given up on wanting to fight back. Bruises and scars decorated your body like trophies; his, of course. But going outside, a casual observer would have noticed nothing.
Your behavior was very different outside of the house than it was inside. In public you were expected to be loving and doting, and he did his part just as well. The picture perfect couple. It was what happened inside the walls of the tiny house that told a different story.
I would give anything to see him burning in hell.
Your reflection made your face work, hating it more and more, until you finally burst into tears again, into the folds of a towel. At least you hadn't vomited this time.
(●)~
You got up long before his alarm went off for work. Your job was to take care of him and his house, after all. A simple one, he told you: just be a good housewife. That was all he wanted.
So you woke up every day at the asscrack of dawn to make him coffee and breakfast before work. On his weekends you were allowed to sleep a little longer, and he didn't seem to mind waking up before you. He simply would wake you himself to prepare some food.
At least he doesn't hit me in the mornings. He's grumpy as all hell, but not towards me.
You relished the mornings. Sometimes he was even pleasant, giving you a loving hug before leaving for work. It seemed like being away from his job did some good to his mentality. A shame it came only every so often.
But his periods of kindness only worried you further, made you paranoid, your senses heightened. Sometimes he would act loving before throwing you down, much to your surprise and agony. You could never tell. Keeping you on your toes was his other job, and he was damn good at it.
(●)~
That morning felt different, like the night prior had. He had been careless in the night and make you bleed; now he was grumpier than usual, glaring at you from the kitchen threshold. You meekly peered over at him, trying to smile. Perhaps it would help. "Are you all right?" you asked softly, pleading with nobody that he would not attack that morning.
The way he simply brushed past you to grab his cup of coffee told you that, this time, your joyful feelings in the morning were going to be shattered.
Maybe I won't get hit this time... he's never hit me in the mornings. Except for once.
That one time had been the first time. A quick blow to the stomach, more of a careless sort of gesture you would have expected as opposed to an outright punch. It wasn't entirely unfriendly, that much was for certain. But after that day, that was when everything had begun to go downhill. A few quick blows here, a painful pinch there, and within two years you were caught in the spider's web of pain and misery with no escape.
He drank his coffee in a sullen silence in the living room. He made no motion to obtain breakfast from what you were cooking, so you meekly peered out of the kitchen, still trying to be cheerful despite your pounding heart. "Are you hungry?"
"You can wipe that God forsaken smile off your face. I'd like that." Your efforts promptly shut down you went back into the kitchen, fear turning to bile in your throat.
I will not vomit. I will not vomit. I will. Not. Vomit.
Once the urge to puke had passed, you took a deep breath and prepared a plate of food for him anyways, setting it on the small dining room table in the hopes that he would eat. You had long ago lost your appetite for the most part, due to a number of reasons... the main one being his attitude towards your weight.
If his abuse had been merely physical, perhaps you wouldn't have had too much trouble handling it. But it was the way he spoke to you when his temper flared that truly broke you down. He cursed and berated you so easily, so freely, that your self esteem had crumbled.
"Snap out of your fucking daydream. Isn't it obvious I'm not hungry?" Your boyfriend had caught you staring off into space on your own and had gotten up, getting right in front of you. "Perhaps if you weren't so dense you could have saved the food for when my appetite is better. Instead you've gone and wasted it." Taking the plate he flung it at the nearby wall, breakfast and ceramic all mixing together on the floor. "You disgust me," he added before throwing his now-empty coffee cup right on top of the mess. With that being said he stormed out the door, slamming it shut and leaving you to slump to the floor, face in your hands as you wept.
Someone... please... I can't take this anymore...!
