The scars marked across your body, bruised violet and lined with crimson specs. Looking in the mirror you could see many of them gathered around the base of your neck and upper thighs. So many had added up over time, but it was a sight to behold. You've found yourself making a habit of looking in the mirror when the brunette-haired man finally left in the early mornings.

When you first met him, he was a charmer, a flirt, but underneath all of that, he was a cruel and brutal man, he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, whether it came to his work in the mafia, or letting go of all of the anguish he had built up over the years succumbed to drinking and sex. The man was a mess, really. With how young he was, just 18, it was a surprise at first, but at this point you've grown accustomed to it.

Ruthless was an understatement for the man. He was a demon, a monster. He wasn't quite what you would call human in any sense, and yet you still found yourself, sleeping in the damned bed he would curl himself around you in every night.

Nothing was new with him, always the same story every nigh. He would stumble back into the shipping container he called home, the smell of alcohol lingering in his breath as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head resting in the crook of your neck.