Torn Between Reality - Zerrie (Completed)

Torn Between Reality - Zerrie (Completed)

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WpMetadataReadComplete Thu, Jul 1, 20218h 10m
Torn Between Reality © ❝What is love if all we have are happy endings?❞ _________________________________________ (Completed Story) "I'm coming through!" He kicked the door open, the lock snapping. He came in and I jumped for him, but his instincts were too good as he saw it coming. He ducked and I fell right over him. "You are so stupid." I jumped up and tried again. He grabbed my arm, and lifted his other hand. He slapped me in the face and I yelped in pain. With his other hand, which held my wrist, my hand still gripping the knife, he began to twist my wrist. Tears in my eyes from the unbearable pain, I let go of the knife and tried to make him let go. My wrist snapped, the pain so terrible, I let out an agonizing scream. He let go of my wrist and I fell to the floor, groaning in the worst kind of pain. "S-stop. Pl-please." I technically begged him. He stood looking down at me, no sympathy in his eyes. Nothing but pure hate. "I'm not finished with you yet." He grabbed me up by the arm and pulled me with him down the stairs. Once down the stairs, he pushed me to the floor. "Okay, let's play a game." I couldn't even reply, I was in so much pain. "Do you not want to play?" he questioned. His voice held an annoyed vibe. "I d-don't." I breathed. -- This is my story. Go through my flashback to find out what got me here.
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"You're not going to leave me, are you?" I asked as I looked ahead at nothing, focusing on feeling his breathing on the back of my neck. "Never," he whispered. "I'll be here until you get tired of me." He was holding me in his arms, with his back to the wall of my bedroom. Both of his arms were wrapped around me, and I could see the prominent cross tattoo on his right hand. I had had another attack, feeling like the world was caving in on me. As soon as I felt that familiar pang in the bottom of my stomach reaching up to my chest, I would call him. Almost immediately, I would hear a knock at my door. He would always drop what he was doing if he received a call from me, telling him that it's happening again. He would be on my front step, always, with a few pints of ice cream and comfort. He was my rock. He was my sedative. My cure.

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