illusions

Pride

"Oh god." He moans loudly as he thrusts into me.

I wish I could say that this didn't feel good... but I'd be lying. It's just... it's just not the same though. I'm fearful when we're having sex. I mean, he could get upset at any moment and smack me.

I push past my fear and grab his waist. He goes harder. My back arches up and my hands move from his waist to the bed sheets.

"Hmm that back arch." He says with a smirk.

I would've laughed or giggled.. but I knew that he didn't mean the statement. These days, he's never sober. He basically goes through one bottle of Jack Daniels a day and a whole case of beer in at least 5 hours. And he's cheated on me with so many different women.. I just have a very, (very,) difficult time believing his compliments.

Once he came, I got up and headed towards the bathroom. He seemed to be fine at first but then I heard his footsteps. And I knew, that his next move wasn't going to benefit me in any way.

I open one of the cabinets and grabbed a towel... But my hands were trembling.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" His voice was louder than I had expected.

"What?"

"You fucking left before I was done!"

"I'm.. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Hell yeah, you should be sorry! Get on your knees bitch."

I did as I was told. He shoved his cock into my mouth and thrusted into my throat. I began gagging as it got more intense. This went on for ten minutes... Until he finally came again.

"Now get back up, you dumbass." He roared.

Again, I did as I was told.

He took his hand and slapped me. I could tell he tried doing it as hard as he could... The sting officiated it.

But oh, that wasn't enough for him. His hand balled into a fist and he threw it into my rib cage. I couldn't breath for a minute.

He turn turned toward the cabinet and grabbed a razor. He got on his knees and pressed the bottom of the blade to my thigh. He quickly flipped it over to the sharper side and dug into my skin. I let out a loud scream of pain. He kept going though... Over and over he kept cutting me.

It felt like this had been going on for hours. When, truthfully, it had only been seven or ten minutes. The last cut was very slow and deep. Tears flooded in; they fell down my face at a fast pace.

"Wash your body." He said walking out of the bathroom full of pride and satisfactory.

I got in the shower and turned on the water. As it warmed up I watched my blood (from the cuts) slowly drip down my leg and spin into the drain.

I close my eyes as the hot water washes all over me. Showers usually make me feel better. But the hot water and soap didn't mix well with my new cuts. I cried from all the new pain.

Actually... I don't think the pain ever stops. Last week he took a Sharpie and wrote down all these hateful things... all over my body. I had fat written across my stomach. And he written words like ugly, stupid, enormous, and pathetic all over my legs.

I hate this.

I hate him.

I hate myself.

I hate this life.

This relationship.

This apartment.

Every fucking moment we ever had together.

I wish it would all end...

And honestly...... I wouldn't really care if the ending was with me dead.