You loved Ben, but loving him was never enough. The vicious cycle you'd got yourself tangled up in was hard to get out of, and without realizing, you'd convinced yourself that the horrid way he treated you was simply his way of caring. When in fact, it was the opposite. He could have his way with you, and you wouldn't put up a fight.

To Ben, you were just his little housewife, there for the cooking and the cleaning and when he needed to get off. That was all you were good for. You were invisible, unless you were needed.

In a way, he still cared. He hated it whenever some other man spoke to you, or even looked at you the wrong way. You were his, and that protectiveness was rooted in an emotion far from love or care -- it was a possessive, angry feeling.

Constantly walking on eggshells to make sure every little thing you did was up to Ben's standard was not an easy task, but you managed. You adored him, and wanted to make him happy. So you obeyed without question. Though, some days were more difficult than others.

"I'm busy," Ben's tone was sharp as he raised a finger, sending you a warning glare as he leaned against the wall, the telephone tightly gripped in one gloved hand. After an exhausting day of interviews and photoshoots, the last thing he wanted or needed was your blabbering mouth. Though, the look you gave him was pitiful, almost pathetic. He knew you only wanted to greet him, but goddamn it, can't he get some peace and quiet for once?

As soon as your lips parted to speak again, he spoke, voice louder and laced with frustration. "I said: I'm busy."