Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 26 - Kirsten

warning: this chapter needs to be rewritten. I'll work on it and as soon as I repost it, I'll let you know.

                                                                26.  

                                                          ●•Kirsten•●

You know when you wake up from one of those awful dreams where you feel like falling and all you can do is have that tingling sensation in your belly and the despair taking over you, as if the air had just been drained out of your lungs and all you thought about was that you were going to die? That’s how I feel.

Except that this was not only a feeling and I didn’t dream about falling. It was happening.

My eyes shot open in real fear, and as soon as my head hit the ground I realized what was, indeed, going on: Tyler was throwing me on the floor. But how had I even gotten there? How did I end up at my own house, with a furious Tyler staring deep into my eyes with anger and something else… Jealously? What was happening? Why was he so angry?

“Ouch, Tyler I-” and before I could even finish the sentence, he kicked my belly, not even bothering to be gentle. I whimpered, not really able to do anything but that. He had too much strength to even allow me to think of something, so I just closed my eyes again and felt the sharp pain spreading through the length of my body. He didn’t stop though, and soon he was pushing me further with the strength of his legs, making me hit the wall. His foot was leaded to some spot a bit upper from the last place he’d hit me, all of my muscles begging for him to stop. “Tyler, stop”, I whispered, trying to cover myself with my hands, but he didn’t let me do so. He bent down and took hold of my wrists, pinning them next to my head with just one hand while he slapped me with the other. His hand was being no gentle to my skin, and I could almost feel the shape of his fingers on my cheek. They were burning already, and I couldn’t hold back the tear that fell from my eyes right after. It hurt so much…

“You better swallow that tear, b–tch” he slapped me again, stronger this time, and I groaned, feeling the blood coming to the surface already. I’d have pretty bad purple marks there later.

“Please, stop…” I begged again, but he stood up, ignoring my words and kicking me against the wall once more. Why was he acting like that? He didn’t look drunk, neither did he smell like it. He was sober, really sober, so it could only mean something deadly bad had happened. But what? What did I have to do with it? Why was he doing this to me? As I tried to figure out, he kept hitting me, pulling me by the hair until he eventually got tired and breathed out, throwing his huge body at the sofa and tilting his head back on its backboard.

I couldn’t utter a single word by then; my whole body was throbbing and even breathing seemed to hurt. The pain was all over it, and I could feel how oblivious to that Tyler was. He didn’t care a bit about what I was feeling. He never did. Whenever he got lost in those moments of fury, he never cared about how bad he was making me feel, he never cared about how hurt I might be because of him. And I hate it! I hate how suddenly he changes from needy and lovely to a completely rude jerk. Those moments made me want to stand up and leave that house at that same damn second, but I knew later at night he’d say he’s sorry, he didn’t mean it, he loved me and he needed me in his life. He’d help me to go to the room and we’d have our reconciliation – in a physical way that hurt and yet pleasured me. Yes, I mean sex.

But right now – feeling that sharp pain from my head to my toe – I couldn’t think much about a few hours further. I wasn’t even sure whether I was going to be alive ‘till then or not. And according to what I was feeling, I wasn’t going to make it through. Tyler was nearly exploding, and I could almost see him already coming back to beat the hell out of me again, for apparently no reason. But he kept static, just staring at the ceiling in silence. I wish I could know what he was thinking of.