Fuse

six | a better day

S P E N C E R J A M E S O N

I wake up and wince at the pain in my head. Carefully I bring my hand up to my face and whimper as I touch the small bruise around my eye. My skin feels rough where my tears have been soaking into it through out the night.

After all, my tears out will dry but the pain still drowns me.

Marshall left for work half an hour ago. Obviously I pretended to be asleep when he got up and kept my eyes closed until I was sure he had gone. I know better than to let him know that I'm awake before he leaves. Especially when last night ended the way it did.

I get out of bed and walk over to the bathroom, too afraid to look in the mirror and see the damage he's done this time.

Taking a deep breath I slowly glance up and make contact with my reflection. It's actually not as bad as I was expecting. It just hurts a lot. My left eye lid is a light shade of purple and my cheekbone is turning the same color. Just below my eye is also slightly bruised but it's more of a red/brown colour than purple.

Although, it's nothing I can't cover with a bit of makeup. I'm almost a pro at doing that now.

I open the cupboard and pull out a painkiller, taking it in the hopes of easing the awful throbbing pain. It might seem bad, but I actually got off quite lucky this time.

I knew he would lose it when he saw the gym-wear. He said that men would be throwing themselves at me for looking that desperate. The tank top was cropped and was showing too much skin and would apparently make me look cheap.

Well, I don't have to worry about it anymore because he made sure I got rid of it.

I definitely have to pay Harlow back now. I just don't know what excuse I'm going to come up with when she asks me to go with her to the gym next. I suppose I could just wear a pair of leggings and an old top instead?

When I turn the shower on I get inside, standing under the warm water as it soaks my skin. I adjust the temperature, being careful not to have it too hot incase it stings my sores.

Or maybe it's best if I just don't go anymore.

I glance down at my wrists and sigh at the markings already appearing on them too. His hand mark clearly visible through the bruising and my elbow is slightly grazed from where he threw me on the floor.

Silent whimpers escape my lips as I rest my head back against the wall, closing my eyes.

Why is this happening to me?

What did I do?

Was I not a good enough girlfriend? A good enough fiancé?

Maybe I deserve it.

My skin begins to prune from the water, letting me know that I've been in here too long, so I get out and dry myself before putting on an oversized sweater and a pair of sweat pants.

I leave my hair to air dry and walk into the kitchen to try and stomach some food. I make myself a coffee and put one slice of bread into the toaster, not really feeling hungry enough for anything more.

Once it's finally popped up, I spread the smallest amount of butter on before taking a bite. My throat hurts so badly. It feels like it's scratched to the point where I have to physically force myself to swallow each piece with clenched teeth. After three mouthfuls I decide I can't eat anymore and put it into the trashcan.