Riley and the Beast

“Riley!”

Ah crap. He was home. He was home, and by the sounds of things, he was drunk too. I huddled closer to the pillow I curled around, praying he’d be too drunk to care that I was feigning sleep. I heard him smack his foot off the coffee table and I heard his cuss, his normally velvet like words hissed out with an angry slur. Those words were more terrifying than the abuse. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced my body to relax, even though my back was tense and my hands were clenched into fists around the pillow. The bedroom door swung open and smacked into the table behind it.

“Riley?”

You could hear how drunk he was just by his speech. A hard edge with a slur, he was drunk. Too drunk. I silently prayed he wouldn’t try anything tonight as he shut the door with a mumbled ‘fuck’, and began the ever important duty of trying to take his clothes off. I didn’t even dare breath as he climbed into the bed behind me, sleepily wrapping his arms around my waist. I tried to keep myself solid, but he was nearly a full hundred pounds heavier than I was. He pulled my ass into the curve of his groin, wiggling his hips slightly. Shit. I pretended to want to roll over, but when his tattooed hand gripped my hip hard, I knew it would be no use.

He nuzzled his nose into my hair and promptly fell asleep, holding on to me tightly.

I fell asleep a few minutes later, succumbing to the fate I had sealed myself to.