Status: Two Shot
Open Your Eyes
Shot.
All this feels strange and untrue
He brought his lips to my throat and kissed it before leaving a trail of several more kisses until he got to my lips. I still had my back pressed firmly against the wall, but that was the only position his firm grip allowed me to have. He kissed my lips, hard, and hit the wall behind my head when I didn't immediately kiss back. I did after he hit the wall, and he smiled against the kiss.
"Now that's not too hard, right baby?"He murmured in my ear; I couldn't help but be afraid of what was to come next...
And I won't waste a minute without you
He always got what he wanted. Every time. And you know why? Because no matter what he could do to me, I loved him. I would do anything for him, and I already just about do. When he's not forcing me in our room, to beat me until I succumb, I'm cleaning his home, doing his chores. Heck, I even went and covered for him at work a few times. I just wanted to please him, even though I knew I'd never get a real thanks.
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
My dark hair was matted to my face when I woke up the next morning, sore from the night before. But that's all I was anymore; sore. I rolled over onto my side carefully and looked at my sleeping boyfriend. He was adorable when he slept, and it was about the only time except when we were in public that I could really feel like I loved him. But, even when I was beyond infuriated at him, I knew deep down that my love for him was there, and that's what kept me with him. And the fact that I knew the man I fell in love with was under that hard shell. He was in there, somewhere. His eyes finally fluttered open, and I smiled at him.
"Good morning, baby."He mumbled, pulling me to him. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and sighed
"Morning."I replied
"One more time?"He asked, I groaned
"No honey..."I said, he pushed me back again and gave me that look. The look that said I'd better brace myself.
And the process started all over again.
And I'm getting so tired and so old
The saddest part of all of it, was that I had to hide everything from my parents. Every Saturday they would come over for dinner, and every Saturday I'd have to wear something to hide my bruises, or as he called them, love marks. They weren't marks of love. But, as I said, he was still there.
Anyway, after that little incident that morning, I quickly ran to the shower. It was the only place I could be alone in the house. I don't know why he always chose to leave me alone while I was in the shower, but he did. I quickly undressed and turned the hot water on, then stepped in and sat underneath the stream of water. I brought my knees to my chest and laid my head against them. The hot water felt good on my back, but if it hit a cut it stung. I finally bucked up and washed myself off, then stepped out and did my daily routine.
Dry off, get dressed, brush teeth, do makeup, brush hair
I finally finished and let out a deep breath as I opened the bathroom door and went to the laundry room to throw my clothes in the hamper. I turned back around and looked at the clock, then decided it was time to go start dinner for my parents. I pulled out the salad mixer and the skillet to make mini burgers. I was a vegetarian, but neither of my parents, nor my boyfriend were, so I had to make two separate meals every night.
The anger swells in my guts
I was just about done making the french fries and I put my salad in the salad spinner as my boyfriend walked in. He kissed my head and put a hand on my butt, watching what I was making.
"You may want to watch the fries. You know they have to be that perfect shade of golden brown."He grumbled, squeezing my butt
"Yeah, I know."I answered softly
"Don't cop an attitude with me!"He exclaimed, I winced and looked at him with pleading eyes. He grabbed my face in his hands and held my gaze. The pressure of his big fingers pressing with all their strength on my jaw was painful, and he just kept pressing harder and harder. I squeezed my eyes together, hoping he'd get the hint that he was hurting me. But, he just pushed me back against the wall. I let a single tear slide down my cheek, then hit him as hard as I could with the spatula. At that moment, my parents walked through the door, with no warning.
He grabbed my face once again and shoved me against the wall, and put his face close to mine.
"You listen to me, you don't talk to me that way, and you don't hit me. Or you know what will happen."He gritted his teeth and spit on my forehead. I lashed out and kicked his back as he walked away, which caused him to fall on his face. I hit the back of his head, then ran back to our room.
I couldn't believe what I had done...
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
My mom and dad joined me in our room after my boyfriend had recovered and gotten out of the house. It didn't hurt me that he had bruised my jaw, or spit on me, or talked to me like a dog. No, none of those things hurt me. What hurt me, was the fact that I beat him up. I felt horrible. My parents kept telling me I had a right, but I didn't feel like it. I shouldn't have gotten an attitude with him, and the whole situation would have been spared. I had screwed it up, again. I had done that I don't know how many times. The marks he made on my heart by hurting me no longer hurt; they were numb. But I wasn't numb to the fact that I'd hurt him.
He brought his lips to my throat and kissed it before leaving a trail of several more kisses until he got to my lips. I still had my back pressed firmly against the wall, but that was the only position his firm grip allowed me to have. He kissed my lips, hard, and hit the wall behind my head when I didn't immediately kiss back. I did after he hit the wall, and he smiled against the kiss.
"Now that's not too hard, right baby?"He murmured in my ear; I couldn't help but be afraid of what was to come next...
And I won't waste a minute without you
He always got what he wanted. Every time. And you know why? Because no matter what he could do to me, I loved him. I would do anything for him, and I already just about do. When he's not forcing me in our room, to beat me until I succumb, I'm cleaning his home, doing his chores. Heck, I even went and covered for him at work a few times. I just wanted to please him, even though I knew I'd never get a real thanks.
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
My dark hair was matted to my face when I woke up the next morning, sore from the night before. But that's all I was anymore; sore. I rolled over onto my side carefully and looked at my sleeping boyfriend. He was adorable when he slept, and it was about the only time except when we were in public that I could really feel like I loved him. But, even when I was beyond infuriated at him, I knew deep down that my love for him was there, and that's what kept me with him. And the fact that I knew the man I fell in love with was under that hard shell. He was in there, somewhere. His eyes finally fluttered open, and I smiled at him.
"Good morning, baby."He mumbled, pulling me to him. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and sighed
"Morning."I replied
"One more time?"He asked, I groaned
"No honey..."I said, he pushed me back again and gave me that look. The look that said I'd better brace myself.
And the process started all over again.
And I'm getting so tired and so old
The saddest part of all of it, was that I had to hide everything from my parents. Every Saturday they would come over for dinner, and every Saturday I'd have to wear something to hide my bruises, or as he called them, love marks. They weren't marks of love. But, as I said, he was still there.
Anyway, after that little incident that morning, I quickly ran to the shower. It was the only place I could be alone in the house. I don't know why he always chose to leave me alone while I was in the shower, but he did. I quickly undressed and turned the hot water on, then stepped in and sat underneath the stream of water. I brought my knees to my chest and laid my head against them. The hot water felt good on my back, but if it hit a cut it stung. I finally bucked up and washed myself off, then stepped out and did my daily routine.
Dry off, get dressed, brush teeth, do makeup, brush hair
I finally finished and let out a deep breath as I opened the bathroom door and went to the laundry room to throw my clothes in the hamper. I turned back around and looked at the clock, then decided it was time to go start dinner for my parents. I pulled out the salad mixer and the skillet to make mini burgers. I was a vegetarian, but neither of my parents, nor my boyfriend were, so I had to make two separate meals every night.
The anger swells in my guts
I was just about done making the french fries and I put my salad in the salad spinner as my boyfriend walked in. He kissed my head and put a hand on my butt, watching what I was making.
"You may want to watch the fries. You know they have to be that perfect shade of golden brown."He grumbled, squeezing my butt
"Yeah, I know."I answered softly
"Don't cop an attitude with me!"He exclaimed, I winced and looked at him with pleading eyes. He grabbed my face in his hands and held my gaze. The pressure of his big fingers pressing with all their strength on my jaw was painful, and he just kept pressing harder and harder. I squeezed my eyes together, hoping he'd get the hint that he was hurting me. But, he just pushed me back against the wall. I let a single tear slide down my cheek, then hit him as hard as I could with the spatula. At that moment, my parents walked through the door, with no warning.
He grabbed my face once again and shoved me against the wall, and put his face close to mine.
"You listen to me, you don't talk to me that way, and you don't hit me. Or you know what will happen."He gritted his teeth and spit on my forehead. I lashed out and kicked his back as he walked away, which caused him to fall on his face. I hit the back of his head, then ran back to our room.
I couldn't believe what I had done...
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
My mom and dad joined me in our room after my boyfriend had recovered and gotten out of the house. It didn't hurt me that he had bruised my jaw, or spit on me, or talked to me like a dog. No, none of those things hurt me. What hurt me, was the fact that I beat him up. I felt horrible. My parents kept telling me I had a right, but I didn't feel like it. I shouldn't have gotten an attitude with him, and the whole situation would have been spared. I had screwed it up, again. I had done that I don't know how many times. The marks he made on my heart by hurting me no longer hurt; they were numb. But I wasn't numb to the fact that I'd hurt him.