1958– john is eighteen, you are (choose age)

johns mother had died about five months ago. he was different now, more angry— harsh and rough. you still dated him; you still loved him, but he hurt you. yet you tried to be patient with him. you knew how it felt having a mother die so early.

you had been living with john and a few of his mates for quite a bit now. you were all roommates, since john and them lot had finished school. you still had a few years.

it was somewhere around 9 pm when you came back home from school and studying and doing some other errands. the lads were drinking, and you saw some faces you didn’t recognise. john had probably invite some mates over. there was loud music and cigarette smoke all through the room.

you dropped your bags on the ground and made your way through the group of boys, trying to get to your school books you had left in the living room, which were now close to getting trampled over. you knelt down and attempted to pick them all up, but then you felt a hand on your head.

“go to yer room, i’ve got me friends over.” john grumbled. it was obvious he was a little drunk, but the way he spoke wasn’t so different as to how he usually did. he was much ruder these days.

“i’m just getting my things, john.” you replied, not looking at him as you picked up some of your books. there was cigarette ashes on the pages, and some were stained with beer.

and then, so quick you couldn’t even comprehend it, there was a slap to your face, by a rough, calloused hand, and john kicked your books away. “i said go to yer room. i don’t bloody want ye here.” he said harshly, looking down at you with irritated eyes.

your cheek stung. why was john so horrible now?