Living With Him
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"Who do you think you are?" He pushed my shoulders, pushing me into the wall. "I-I'm sorry." I whisper, looking down. He roughly grabbed the sides of my face and forced me to look at him. "You're sorry?" He asked, his voice sharp and terrifying. I didn't respond. His grip on my face never weakened, it tightened. He wasn't happy that I didn't say anything. He had been waiting for a response.
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