It was a mistake, a big, big mistake. Getting involved with Shane fucking Holland. You got warned by everyone, but you didn’t listen, because he made you feel. A month into the relationship you saw the signs. The slight pinches when you did something wrong or the little nudge, but after it got worse. The slaps, and punches, never hard, just enough to bruise slightly. Last week you had to put foundation all over your neck to cover up his bruising handprint. But how could you leave? He loves you.

You’ve now been dating for a year and a half, and you went over to his drug den since he’s packing some stuff today. Unfortunately, you teased him in the wrong moment and it landed you a slap in the face. You stand with your hand on your cheek, looking up at him. He lazily gets a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, the ember glow making his eyes look daunting as they stare at you. “Don’t cry, baby.” He says calmly and cups your cheek. “I told ya to knock it off, didn’t I?” He says in a sickeningly sweet tone.