🩸° Make Your Deal °🩸

CHAPTER I

The whoosh of the knife hit your ears before you even realized it flew past you. “I told you it was fucking nothing! She meant nothing!” His heavy fists slammed down on the wooden table so hard you were shocked that it didn’t split in half from the force. You peeked behind you, the handle of the knife sticking out from the wall, still vibrating from the power put behind it. Your hand instinctively went to your face as you felt a sharp pain, looking down at your fingers you realized you were bleeding. “When the fuck will you start listening to me?” The voice demanded, breaking you from your thoughts. “You always make me do this shit to you & then have the audacity to act like I’m the one in the wrong. Like I’m the fucking bad guy.”

His words began to blur together & you realized he’d begun crying. You knew better than to try to comfort him. The pain from having your nose broken the last time you tried to touch him when he was this drunk was healed & gone, but would never mentally leave. The sting, the bruising, the heat from the blood, every time he put his hands on you the pain was forever embedded in your mind. You finally learned the best thing to do in this situation was to stay silent.

Turning, you grabbed the knife’s handle & snatched it from the wall, the idea of shoving the blade through the side of his head crossed your mind, but you settled for dropping it into the sink instead. The metal clang pulled him from his dramatics. You closed your eyes, digging your nails into the cool metal of the sink & taking a slow, deep breath. Something touched your face, making you jump back & open your eyes. He was holding a paper towel up to your bleeding wound, a look of remorse came over him when he realized he’d actually hurt you, but you knew it was just his theatrics. He did this every time, acted as if he was doing you a favor when he was the one that caused you pain to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath fanned across your face, the smell making you subtly recoil back in disgust. The smell of booze was the one thing in this world you hated more than him. Alcohol was what made him this violent, made him act as if you were nothing more but a punching bag for him to release his frustrations. If you had it your way, you’d dump every ounce of it down the drain. “It’s fine,” you breathed out quickly. “I’d like to go to bed now, please.” Taking the paper towel from him & not giving him the opportunity to argue further, you applied pressure to the cut as you swiftly walked toward & up the stairs. You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you made your way to the shared bedroom, a room that shared so many beautiful & terrifying memories. Instinctively, your eyes shot up to the spackled piece of the wall that he tried to shove your head through the first time you caught him cheating. Then to the wooden bed frame that you hit your face on trying to get away from him when he came home late, drunk & wanting more than to use you as a punching bag. 

He plopped onto the bed face first, the bed groaning under the weight. It seemed as if he could fall asleep almost instantly, a skill you wished you had. Instead you spent most nights wondering if there was anything else for you in this life, anything better, anything but him. But being honest with yourself, you came to the conclusion that anything would be better than being with him. Even being dead.

Suicide crossed your mind quite a few times during your marriage to {insert hated ex’s name here}. Saying “I do” was probably the most downright stupidest decision of your life. In your defense, he wasn’t always like this, so hateful, so violent. You wished you had the courage to take what people refer to as the “easy way” out, but frankly, you were afraid to die. The idea of not knowing what comes next was enough to make you live each day in (what you assumed would be) hell.

His snoring pulled you from your thoughts. Thankfully when he drank too much he’d simply fall asleep instead of bothering you further or resorting to more violent measures of making sure you knew he was stronger than you. This time it was just a knife thrown instead of something much worse. His ways of making you submit were unbelievable, especially considering this was someone that vowed to protect you, love you, & respect you.

You made your way to the master bathroom to clean up & get ready for bed. The videos of him fucking his secretary flashed in your memory as you washed your face, paying careful mind to gently clean the scrape on your cheek. Her hands all over him, the papers being thrown from his desk in their bouts of passion, him speaking her name as if it was gospel. You would cry, but part of you knew it would be futile at this point. The amount of tears you’d cried because of him over the past six years amounted to nothing by now. He never changed, his empty apologies had turned to violence & resentment. You knew he didn’t love you, but you were too afraid to leave. Afraid of the threats he’d made the last few times you threatened to pack your bags & go, afraid that he would come after you to make sure you never publicized his adulterous behavior to family & friends. 

Slipping out of your clothes, you pulled a t-shirt & pajama pants on, but not without noticing the blue & green bruises that he’d left the first time you brought up the fact that he was cheating with his secretary. Tears began to well up in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. You weren’t sad anymore, you were just angry. Angry that you allowed yourself to be treated this way, angry that you weren’t getting the love you know you deserved, & angry that you were trapped with someone so fucking awful.