You thought that Douma loved you. After all, he must feel something for you because he has yet to kill you. But he would release his anger onto you, often leaving bruises and cuts that would turn to soft scars. You had always brushed it off. This was just his love.

But as you sat on the dirty floor of the bathroom, shaking as you tried to compose yourself you couldn't help but wonder if this was truly love. You couldn't help but wish for more— for something safe.

One night you decided that you would leave. You were exhausted with the constant abusive and hadn't packed any of your belongings before you made your trek.

You frown as you feel a sharp rock digging into the sole of your shoe, your eyes glazing over the terrain. Suddenly cold arms wrap around your waist, Douma hugs you from behind— his nose in the crook of your neck. "Hmmmm? What are you doing so far away from our home?" He asks, his tone carrying a hint of bitterness.