A kick to my stomach has me jolting awake, my body trying to shoot up but I immediately fall back down - my shoulder screaming in pain from the knife wound. "Inside now, clean yourself up. Be quick, I want a fuck" Tom says, his once dreamy chocolate eyes were now deep dark abysses - but in some twisted way I was still just as mesmerized looking into them, the eyes of my male.
His steps are retreating to the house, as I push myself off of the ground my shoulder protesting to the movement. As soon as I'm up, dizziness hits me and bile rises in my throat spewing out onto the ground - my body trying to rid of all the silver it can, in anyway it can.
I knew I would heal by tomorrow with no scars - as whatever my mother had used on me all those years ago for my whip marks, still remained in my system and would ensure I would heal from every injury no matter how bad. The thought of my mother still, in a way, protecting me brought a smile to my face as I pulled myself together, running into the house and jumping into the shower.
Feet standing in the pool of red that was quickly forming as blood continuously gushed from my body, not only from the knife wound but from the other injuries Tom had inflicted upon me today. But I knew I would heal from all of these, that was how it was: he'd hurt me, I'd heal, he'd hurt me, I'd heal - every time I healed I became the fresh canvas again that he would paint his array of abuse on, my heart and mind twisting this abuse into some sort of love - it's because he loves me that he does this, he wants me to be better as I'm not good enough for him but he still keeps me.
A bitter laugh accompanied by my salty tears leave me at that thought; I would always try to manipulate everything he did to me telling myself the pain he caused me was a way of him showing me he loves me, he cares for me - I felt desperate for his love, clinging onto any part of him that I can. I don't care if he hits me I just want him with me, I want his love - after all he is the last thing I have left, the only thing I have and I love him with all of my being I can't let him go. I love him too much.
Hands scrubbing my body with the nicest smelling body wash I can find so I smell nice for him, shaving so my skin is smooth for him, brushing my teeth repeatedly so my breath is fresh for him, washing my hair thoroughly as I know it's his favourite part of me - he harms my body and face but never my hair, he says it's beautiful. But when he's too lost in his anger he is rough with his touch, yanking on my hair, pulling it so hard I fear he will rip it from my scalp. So I always savour the way he touches my hair with a gentleness he used to touch all of me with, my mind always flashing back to those times when he strokes my dark locks.
"What's this about?" I had asked him, as we had sat on the sofa snuggled up together as we used to do he had laughed which in turn, had me smiling as I turned to him. He shook his head kissing me "Have you not been watching?" he had asked "I was but it's confusing" I had said, the reason why I hadn't been watching was because I couldn't concentrate as he had been hugging me close to him, hands running through my hair, kissing me every now and then - he had made me swoon with every action he did.
My sweet memory is interrupted as a harsh arm grabs me, yanking me out of the shower throwing me into the counter, my shoulder smacking against the floor making me scream as pain ricochets through me. "I told you to be quick" he shouts, grabbing me by the throat and taking me into the bedroom - the grip he has on me has black spots appearing, he was very angry as I could tell by the harshness of his grip, stronger and tighter than usual as it would take me minutes to see black spots not seconds like now.
Putting me on the bed and immediately starting to undress at the foot of the bed, my eyes focusing on his body as I try to recover from my dizzy feeling. He was a muscled man, as he had joined the gym a little bit before we got married and was now always going, bulking up his muscles and constantly telling me to try to hurt him, he was stronger than me, saying I was a weak excuse for a werewolf if I couldn't hurt a human. I didn't want to harm him, in my eyes he was my male and was a human so I always kept myself in check to never hurt him. He had bulked up so much I'm sure he's physically stronger than me as I hadn't eaten properly for years now since he changed only allowing me to have half a sausage, a spoonful of mash potato and four peas every few days if I was good. If not he would only give me a cracker every week - which was the usual, but most of the time I didn't want to eat as he would call me fat, and then he would fuck other women. These would make me question myself, my once curvy body that had most male wolves of my pack staring at me was now thin, malnourished, bony - making me think I was ugly and his words and actions only fueled this so I wouldn't eat as he called me fat. The small amount of food affected me more than it would a human as wolves needed more calories.
