Burning

In the time I was away from him, I'd forgotten how intimidating Ryan could be. His full height was only five-five, but he was fully muscled. The rage was evident on his face, and his square, masculine jaw was clenched. His brown eyes seemed to burn, and they scared me more than flames. I cringed when I saw his fists and strong forearms. Even the memory of those arms was a physical pain.

He marched right up to my bedside and spoke to Ian in a deceptively calm, smooth voice. The words were accented by a flutter of thick eyelashes.

"Could I have a moment alone with my girlfriend?" He asked. When Ian got up without hesitation, I realized that only I could recognize Ryan's signs of rage. I looked at him again, through less familiar eyes, and his mood was much more subtly displayed.

As soon as the door clicked closed, I heard a whirring sound, and his open hand connected solidly with the side of my face. The only thing that kept me silent was the knowledge that the less noise I made, the less he'd hit me. I could already feel the sting of his slap, and I knew that I, not to mention my skin, couldn't take much more.

I was extremely surprised when she stopped. He'd only hit me once, that wasn't like him. I opened my eyes when I realized they were closed. I didn't, however, relax from my cringed position. He was just staring at me, obviously enraged. There was an evil gleam in his eye, which was matched by disgust.

Ryan smiled cruelly as he pulled out a pocketknife. He sauntered forward a bit more, tracing the knife against my deformed and twisted lip before he spoke.

"I hope you know that you're a worthless, unfaithful, ugly bitch. Do you know that?" He spoke in a smooth voice still—it signaled danger for me. I nodded, not able to speak. This was more his usual routine; degrade, hit, degrade, leave.

"WHY THE HELL DID LITTLE CANCER-BOY GET LET IN FIRST?! WHAT'S GOING ON BETWEEN YOU TWO?!" He screamed at me, shaking my fragile form and holding the knife to my cheek.

I couldn't help it. I let a few tears and a sob get out. He viscously cut across my cheekbone, the blood leaking out. I couldn't scream. I couldn't do anything. This was almost an exact replication of my memories. This was tangible horror, nearly mounting to the point of being scared for my life.

I actually loved the boy in front of me. It was love that forced me to believe that I deserved this. If I hadn't done anything, Ryan wouldn't be so mad. I was such a stupid little girl; not even able to keep her boyfriend from getting mad at her. Now I was crying for how pathetic the scene was. I couldn't even take was I deserved. I deserved this.

By this point, Ryan was calming down. He was regaining his control, and the dangerously smooth voice was back. He wiped the knife on his shirt, and the black fabric didn't reflect my scarlet pain. He ran his hand through his hair in his signature style, making it stick up in slight spikes. Before he left, though, he had to pour salt on my wounds.

"I never loved you, bitch. Go die, I never want to see you again."

My heart broke. He didn't love me? I couldn't take it. He was my everything. My life, my life support. It was easier to believe that this was a test, to see if I loved him. I did. He would come back sooner rather than later…wouldn't he?

I barely heard the door open. I don't think I fully comprehended the gasp from Ian's mouth. And I certainly didn't know it when he asked if I was okay.

"Hello! You there? Are you okay? What happened?" His rapid questions penetrated my fog, and I did my best to answer.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm fine. And apparently, I don't have a boyfriend anymore," I spat the last sentence bitterly, surprised to find that I was mad at Ryan. He'd abused me for so long, then just dropped me. I stubbornly refused to say another word about the subject, and a sighing Ian was left to get the stuff to clean my cut. It was left on my bedside table, which was basically a nurse's station. I tried to get him to stop, but he explained how high the risk of infection was unless it was cleaned immediately. He continued to gently clean the slash until I finally had the courage to slap his hand away.

He looked surprised and only slightly hurt. This was going to be harder than I thought; he was going to have to get hurt…and that would hurt me, too. He left the room, smiling backwards at me, and I could only return in half-heartedly. He seemed so innocent, so naïve. Did I have the courage to shatter his image of people in general?

My thoughts strayed. Past Ian, past this room, past my nightmares, past the hospital, past the world. Before I knew it, I was dreaming about running. Running away from this place, this past, whatever was ahead of me. I was dreaming of getting away somehow, starting anew and making myself a different person. I dreamed of leaving Ian, Ryan and everyone else behind.

I dreamt of leaving this place and never, ever coming back.