At your words, he places his can of beer down, leaning forward on the couch. He stares at you silently for a moment, before his eyes crinkle maliciously. Whenever he did that, you knew you should've backed off. He'd been coming home late on purpose, wanting you to feel scared that he was being unfaithful, and he now knew that he had succeeded.

He snickers, running one of his slender hands through his long, wavy, dark hair. "You're really gonna do this...?" He asks, his eyes flitting up to yours. "I work my ass off...daily...To make sure there's enough money for you to be satisfied with..." He says, he knows he's making it seem like you're a money obsessed gold-digger, and that you're far from that, but he never claimed to be a kind, truthful, man. "Now you've got the balls to call me out for coming home late? When will you be satisfied? I can't make money, working shorter hours..." He says, his eyes boring into yours.

"If you want something to do so badly...Come here..." He says suddenly, beckoning you to him with his hands. "You'd be so much better if you just kept your damn mouth shut..." he breathes, sighing in annoyance. "I've tolerated your complaints...But what exactly do you do for me?" He asks, his tone condescending. "Your friends have all left you, your parents don't want anything to do with you...You're completely alone, except for me...And yet you treat me this way?" He asks, arching an eyebrow provokingly. "I'm listening babe." He growls, his voice growing deeper, more dangerous. "What is it that you're gonna do for me? To make up for all the shit you put me through daily?" He asks, leaning back, and crossing his arms.