They stood facing eachother. He was screaming, rage in his eyes. She was crying, begging, so much fear in hers. She saw his rage. He didn’t see her fear. He only saw reasons to cause more pain.

So many harsh words were thrown into the air, along with several objects standing in the kitchen. So many of those objects broke, just like her heart.

She really wanted to scream back, but that would only cause more drama. It didn’t bring peace, no rest. She could only watch him.

“Dirty bitch! Slut! You couldn’t resist, could you?!” he yelled while he grabbed the bottle of beer from the kitchen table and took one long swig. He staggered some after he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. After that, he pointed at her with a disparaging look. “You are worth nothing. Absolutely nothing! The only thing you’re useful for is screwing all men in this fucked up city!” He took another swig. “You will die while screwing a man.” Then he fell unconsciously on the ground.

She looked at his face. His mouth hung open and drool dripped on the ground.

His words shouldn’t mean anything to her. They shouldn’t hurt her. She heard those words so many times before, she should be used to them. But they did hurt, because what he said was true.

She sighed and grabbed his arms and dragged him to the couch. With a lot of effort she lied him down on it. She rushed her hand through his blonde hair. “Still I’m staying with you, I have no choice,” she said and got up to go upstairs. She turned around when he mumbled something. He turned on his side with his back facing her. He wouldn’t be any trouble for a few hours.

When she fell down on the bed, a tear escaped rolling slowly over her cheek.

Every day started like this. After she returned from work in the morning, he was mostly walking around drunk through the house. As soon as he saw her, he started to complain about her work while he was the one who helped her getting this job. Well, he actually forced her to do this.

When he was sober he hit her, other times he was too drunk to do something. Whatever he did, he always ended up on the couch, whether he got there by himself or not. He always says he doesn’t want to share a bed with a woman who carries STD (while he fucks every other woman, as if he doesn’t risk getting STD doing that). Therefore, he claimed the couch because he thinks the bed is her home, where she belongs and will always belong.

While lying on her back, she kicked her high heels off her feet. She didn’t care she was still wearing her skanky work outfit. All she wanted was to sleep so she didn’t have to be in this cruel and unfair world for a while.