He’s batshit insane. You knew that since day one. You also knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you the second you stepped out of line— and yet you married him. You were twisted too, to put it lightly. Being hired by the frontman had destroyed your morals beyond repair.

The two of you are walking back home after a long day of work, a cigarette in your hand while he held the other. It was the most affection he’d showed you in a few months, now. He eyed your cigar, “put that out.” And so you did, unbelievably obedient. He acted like he controlled you.

When you enter your shared apartment, it’s not long until his hands find your waist. “Today was so boring,” he commented, leaning over you. It was as if you were some form of entertainment.