I love you

He opened the door as I fumbled for my keys. Spraying me with spit as he launched into a tirade of abuse through clenched teeth. He had grabbed hold of my arm and was pulling me through the doorway before my eyes could even adjust from the darkness of the night to the bright naked bulb that lit up the entrance way to the house.

He knew he was hurting me. That's why he was holding on so tightly. The tips of his fingers were already bruising the pale flesh on the inner side of my arm and I could feel him squeezing the bones almost rhythmically, testing them and trying to calculate how much more force he would need to shatter them.

I half expected this. I had a bad feeling that he would be back tonight. It hadn't stopped me from going out to the local and having a couple of drinks with friends. They used to be our friends, however no one could tolerate being around him once he'd had a few drinks. No one but me that was.

He had disappeared three days ago. He was disappearing a lot more often recently and I silently hoped and prayed that he had moved on. I wanted him to be with someone else. Someone that he felt a need to impress. Someone that he could try to woo with the exquisite charm that he was capable of.

He had charmed me. It was six months ago; just six short months. He told me I was his whole world. I was the most amazing person he had ever met. He loved me. He was telling me so from the second time I had gone out with him.

The relationship had progressed at lightning speed. We met in a bar after work one day and ended up spending several hours just talking and being completely enthralled by each other. We seemed like a perfect match. We had so much in common, and he was so sweet; brimming with compliments and being so genuine.

I had been helpless against his charm. I fell for all of it; well, I assume I fell for it. I honestly can't be sure that he didn't mean it because despite everything changing I still feel that he couldn't have been so convincing otherwise. Things just changed one day, and I'm not even sure what day it was or what I did that was so wrong for this to be the result.

He had forced me into the kitchen and twisted my arm, bringing me nearly to my knees in pain. I sat down hard and clumsily on one of the kitchen chairs, nearly falling out of it and onto the floor; only he had me by the arm and wouldn't allow me to fall.

I looked up into his eyes. The eyes that I used to stare into on sunny days and get butterflies in my stomach from the happiness that they would bring me when they were so focused on my own. So kind then and yet so black and cold now. He was focusing on my eyes and all I felt in my stomach was a knot of dread and fear. How far would he go this time? Was there any point in trying to calm him down or would it just make things worse, like last time?

"Where the fuck where you?" He growled it and the acrid fumes on his breath stung my eyes. Oh, he had definitely had more than a few drinks over the course of the day. That unnatural smell of his stomach acid could only mean that he had most likely been drinking since yesterday if not the day before.

He let go of my arm and grabbed my shoulders, digging his fingers into the spaces between my collar bones as hard as he could to cause optimum discomfort. He shook me violently forward and backward, snapping my hair back with the last violent shove.

I could see how hard he was struggling to focus his eyes as he looked down into my own. His pupils were dilating and his head swayed as the corners of his mouth grew slack. That was always when I really knew I was in trouble, if that frown that looked more like all of the muscles in his face had given up than an indicator that he was sad made an appearance, chances were that it was too late to even think about sobering him up or calming him down.

As though he'd suddenly woken up in the middle of this, he let go of my shoulders and turned to walk to the sink. I sat there and waited, saying nothing. Hoping he would forget what he had said last. Hoping he'd forget he was angry at all and just offer to go to bed with me instead. That would be an unpleasant walk in the park in comparison to the alternative.

He took a glass from the cabinet and ran cold water into it. He necked it and refilled the glass, this time bringing it to the table with him and setting it in front of me.

He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and offered me one. I took it and couldn't help but feel like I was on a firing line as I held it in my lips while he lit his lighter and brought it close enough for me to take that initial drag. I even pictured wearing a blindfold and closed my eyes as I waited for the imaginary bullet that would end it all.

When I opened my eyes again he was looking away from me, watching the smoke curling slowly upwards from the cigarette he held in his right hand. I looked down again hoping that a combination of not making eye contact, combined with not making a sound, just might be the answer to this puzzle.

We sat like that in silence. My cigarette had burned down to the filter but I was so afraid to move that I just held it.

I listened as he pushed his chair back and the knot in my stomach tightened but I didn't move. I may be pathetic for taking this but I was going to maintain my dignity. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me shed a single tear.

As I stared at the floor I watched the toes of his boots stop in front of me. I didn't move. His hand found my chin and firmly but gently lifted my face to meet his. I was waging war with a massive lump in my throat that threatened to let the levy break and the tears flow freely, but I was determined and swallowed as hard as I could.

"Let's go to bed my pretty."