Stop

Peyton moved fast, I gasped when I felt him slam me, hard, against the wall and the tightening of his fist had my shirt gripping my neck like a rope. I tried to get him to stop, I tried to make him stop slamming me time after time against the wall while he screamed, “I said he isn’t coming over so damn it Scout he isn’t fucking coming over!”

It didn’t stop there though.

I felt the hand against my cheek, the stinging sensation and then…nothing.

Peyton had let go of me, allowing my wobbly legs to give out and I slowly slide down the wall until I was sitting.

I stayed silent, still, until I heard Peyton sputtering for words, “I…I…S-Scout…I d-didn’t mean to…”

It started as a sting, but now it was throbbing along with my head, which had been abused by the constant slamming against the wall. My back ached and I could feel where Peyton had gripped my shirt…

Hesitantly, I moved my hand up to my cheek that Peyton had successfully backhanded. Slowly I touched the tender skin only to wince in pain. That was going to leave a mark…

Maybe if we weren’t dating, and we were like we were before all this, this would be a normal thing, but…this was different. Peyton was my boyfriend now. My boyfriend that was yelling, screaming at me for something as stupid as a science project and then hit me for it.

“You…hit me,” I whispered, the shock evident in my voice.

“Scout…please I…I-I’m sorry!” Peyton’s words brought me out of whatever daze I was in.

Quickly, I looked up at him with a glare. His body became rigid, because we both knew that he was in trouble.

“Get out,” I ordered, my voice hardly above a whisper, but held as much anger as a scream did. “Get out now.”

“Scout,” Peyton tried to help me up, but I slapped his hand away, using my hair to hide the tears now filling my eyes.

“I said get out Peyton.”

When I didn’t hear him leaving I glared up at him again and stood. He stumbled backwards as I screamed at him, the tears flowing freely now, “Get the fuck out you bastard and don’t come back! I don’t want to see you…you piece of shit! We’re over you got that? Over, now get the fuck out of my house before I call the cops!”

“Please,” Peyton tried more time, but I reached for my lamp. It was chucked at him, but missed and shattered against the wall. I grabbed something else and threw it again until I heard my door open and shut along with the front door and once I knew he was gone, once I knew that the asshole had left…

I cried.

My body didn’t even make it to the bed. My knees gave out easily and I allowed myself to go crashing to the ground where I curled up into a ball as if I expected that to protect me from the outside world.

I sobbed into my arms, which tried to wipe the tears away, but it didn’t help.

The tears rolled down my cheeks like a waterfall and no matter how much I tried…I couldn’t get them to stop.

Peyton hit me…he had hit me.

I wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fact that he had actually hit me or the injury itself. Both were painful and showed that…this relationship wasn’t meant to begin with.