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Our Last Evening Together
Modern RP

An Open RP for Kikkomo and Nathan_Pierce


We had it all girl; we had everything. It all started out like that stereotypical love story: boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, boy and girl get married. We made people sick: we were that 'perfect couple.' Both beautiful, intelligent, wonderful people. We used to turn heads, we were that ideal couple. While everyone else was keeping up with the Joneses, we were Mr and Mrs Jones. We were perfect for each other.

We are perfect for each other.

Something happened between us though, something neither of us saw coming. After the turn of the economy and we both lost our jobs. At the same time. Isn't life a b***h? We struggled so hard to make ends meet, but here we are. Isn't there a way out of this? Doesn't life have that nasty way of working itself out for the better? Why isn't it getting better? Maybe it's because I'm a jobless drug addict, or maybe it's because you're an alcoholic stripper. Maybe our perfect romance was killed because neither of us can hold our tempers, and neither of us feel awful about abusing the other. Maybe our perfect love story was tainted by the fact that neither of us are mentally stable, neither of us believe our friends that tell us we should break up, that we bring out the worst in each other.

But God, I love you so much, baby.
And I know you love me too.
Isn't that all we need, darling?
Won't our love bring us through?

I don't understand why you feel the need to sleep around with other guys, don't I do it for you? You tell me it's for the money, but I'm starting to not believe you. No, I know I'm spending all our money, I know I'm forcing you into constantly working overtime, but it's just this one time, after this I'm going to pull myself together and find a job. And when I do that, you won't have to work there anymore, you won't have the gawking underbelly of the city objectifying you anymore. You'll just have me, and we'll get back to where we were right? We'll make it through honey, just stop yelling at me. Stop threatening to leave me. I have every reason to leave you, and you don't see me packing up my bags. I don't hit you back when you swing at me. I may shove you around, I may yell at you, but when have I ever swung at you? That's love baby, that's love. Just like I know when you kiss me, with that hint of whiskey on your breath, when you tell me I'm your everything, that's love too.

We were made for each other.
We'll get through this.

Girl, me and you? We're just like Sid and Nancy, and I'll never forget our last evening together...

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO POST, LURKERS OR PARTICIPANTS.

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Domestic Violence Charities/Organisations

UK: http://www.womensaid.org.uk/
US: http://www.ncadv.org/

If you or someone you know needs help, do not hesitate to contact your local domestic violence aid charity or battered women's shelter.


Lurkers are Welcome

I ask that lurkers, anyone that may stop by, please feel free to post and bump the board.
Lurkers: Please keep your font colour black, so we can discern the RP easier from the ramblings. Thanks.

As always, this RP will follow the ToS: neither roleplayer participating in this thread is profiting from any user navigating to the above charity organisations, nor any other charity that may be linked by lurkers. It shall remain in the Gaian PG-13 limit range.

The RP is intended to raise awareness concerning Domestic Violence.

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Setting up the Scene

Now I know we said things, did things, that we didn't mean
And we fall back into the same patterns, same routine
    But your temper's just as bad as mine is
      You're the same as me
But when it comes to love you're just as blinded
Baby, please come back
    It wasn't you, baby it was me
      Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is I love you too much to walk away though
Love the Way You Lie, Rihanna Ft. Eminem

Cast

Nathan_Pierce

Theodore James (TJ) Murdock
Age: 25
Hair Colour: Light Brown
Eye Colour: Dark Brown
Height: 175 cm | 5'9"
Build: Thin, scrawny
Usual attire: Casual; jeans and a t-shirt, dirty trainers, silver ring on thumb
Personality: Used to be funny, out-going, athletic (rugby). Since has become overtly jealous, verbally abusive, addicted to drugs.
Extra: Enjoys the harder drugs.



Kikkomo

Breanne Marie Murdock
Age:24
Hair Colour: Caramel Brown
Eye Colour: Crystal Blue
Height: 5'7"
Build: Slender
Usual attire: Casual; Low cut tank top, tight skinnies, Vans that match according to color, silver necklace given to her long ago.
Personality: Once outgoing and always spontaneous and loving. Now hardened by the idea that anything she wants she gets with money not earned the right way. Her love is there, buried far beneath her love for alcoholic beverages.
Extra: Enjoys money far more than anything else, along with the company of men that also enjoy the wonders of drinking far too much.

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The male sniffed, scooting his feet back towards the chair he sat in, head hanging back as he closed his eyes. It had to be a little after ten, and her shift was over at eight. Where the Hell was she at? A sneer cut across his face as the thin male leaned back forward, elbows on the table as his hands rubbed feverishly against his face. She said she was done with that whole 'after job' business... His tired brown eyes opened up, glancing over at the detritus on the wooden table. He'd have to get rid of that stuff before she came home, else he wouldn't hear the end of it. His eyebrows furrowed, muddled thoughts like a train wreck in his head. If she got home on time, he wouldn't have to resort to entertaining himself: this was all her fault anyway. If she was home on time, he wouldn't have a chance to get up to trouble, to do these sorts of things. A shaky sigh escaped his thin lips as he rubbed his unshaven face more furiously.

This was all her fault.
    This was all her fault.
      Her fault.
        Hers.

An anxious whimper escaped his throat as he felt his left arm burning, and now TJ rubbed the crevice of his elbow feverishly. At least hide everything, so when she came home she wouldn't have anything to yell at him for. She had no reason to yell at him, to shove him, hit him upside the head. Was he the one that was messing around? No. Was he the one with all the lies and deceit? No. His eyes lulled over to the carnage on the table, large hands slapping onto the various items as he pulled himself to a stand. The table shifted, male's body weight against the object shoving the piece of furniture aside as he came to his full height. He was swaying, using the object for far more of a crutch than a healthy-minded person would need, sniffing as his shaking hands gathered the litter. His nails looked awful, in fact, the young man himself looked completely awful. He once had a healthy glow to himself, that charming smile and fierce gaze to make women melt. Now he almost seemed sickly, constantly moving his hands or his mouth, scratching at his arms or his neck, glance always paranoid. Theodore James Murdock was a wreck, in every aspect and meaning of the word. Scooping the items off the table, he made his way over to the large standing bin at the corner of the small kitchenette.

Not like that b***h ever took out the rubbish: he was the one doing all the chores, all the housework, while she went off to party with co-workers and who knows what else.

He dumped the various debris into the bin, leaning his hip against the counter as he tried to calm his nerves. His whole arm ached now, that burning sensation coursing its way through his veins. The young man hummed, face twitching as he rubbed at it furiously once more. When was she getting home? He glanced at the clock, as if to make sure. It was already ten. She got off at eight today. Without realising it, his mind was already coursing through the same thought paths he'd had only moments ago. She said she was done with that 'after job' business, she should be home by now. A noise outside made him jump, free hand gripping onto the counter-top while his other dug fingers into his face. What was that? Was that her? His wild brown eyes darted to the window above the sink, looking out in the darkness. Was that the cops? No, he hadn't been making any noise, he was quiet as a mouse. Mice are quiet, he was quiet too, just like them.

Just like them. Mice.
    Just like them.
      Like them.

He was the victim in all this chaos, he was the one getting cheated on, getting yelled out, getting smacked upside the head. He was the one getting left behind, made to sit at home. He was the one that had to hold her hair back when she drank to much, clean up the vile messes she created when she didn't make it to the toilet. How dare she say this was all his fault. How dare she talk to him like that. Who did she think she was? TJ didn't realise it, but he was making noises: excitable, anxious, higher-pitched grunts barely weaselling out his throat. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking. All right, all right maybe he should have just done something productive other than sit and mess himself up. Maybe he should have just gone to bed, instead of waiting nervously for her to come home.

He should have gone to her workplace.
Said he missed her.
She likes it when he does things like that.

The sound of his own growling caught him off guard, and finally he stopped making sounds now that he was aware he was doing it. He released his death grip on the counter-top when the front door opened, eyes screwing over towards the entrance. Great, she was home. He debated letting her speak first before he said anything. This ought to be good, hmm, yeah, this should be good.

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The night was no longer young as Breanne decided to cut her escapades short. Her shift had ended long ago and she could only imagine what her man was thinking. But that wasn’t in her mind about ten minutes before she made her way out of a car that had showed up around 8:05, right after her shift. She was already relaxed as she closed the door and blew a kiss to the driver. Walking, nearly stumbling all the way to the road she put a hand into the air to yield a cab. A cab pulled up and came to a slow stop along the curve. Getting in she told the cab to take her around the corner to the store so she could pick up another drink to go along with the many she had already ingested so far. And with that one request she was now on her way to not only a better buzz, but a night that would only lead to worse.

I'm doing nothing wrong, just having fun…


After getting back into the cab from the store she requested to know the time. “10 o’clock.” The cabby answered as he drove on without a care in the world. Money was his motive, so the fact that the drunk woman asked questions didn’t faze him much. “I wonder what he is doing?” She spoke out to herself as she took another drink. “I bet he is worried,” she paused and pondered a second. “Bumbling idiot might just be doing something with himself. Cleaning, maybe he’s asleep. Lord let him be doing something with himsef.”

If only


Drinking more the cab slowly approached the road with which the woman lived on. “Great.” She fussed downing the rest of the can before throwing it onto the floor of the cab and wiping her mouth before forking over the money and stepping out into the chill of the night as she looked up to the house in which she knew her husband would be waiting for her.

Honey I'm home.


Reaching the door after barely making it up the steps she pushed it open and stood for a second. Walking in she threw her bag to the side and looked around. It took a few moments before she spotted him in the kitchen, Him; the "love of her life" as people used to refer to him. The man that she once was the one and only thing she cared about. That was all before s**t went downhill. “What are you so focused on!” She asked looking at him as he stood there. It only took a second for her to look at his posture before her whole demeanor turned sour. This was only the beginning of the hell that was going to take place tonight.

s**t is about to hit the fan.

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In walked everything he'd ever wanted in a woman, or at least, the shell of the female he once recognised as such. Breanne stunk of booze and regret, the same foul stench she always came home coated in. Wearing those form fitting skinnies and a low-cut top... TJ felt himself getting more and more angry as she stumbled in and tossed her bag aside. From his perch against the counter, he could see the woman in her full drunken glory, hair tossed with sweat and god only knows what else. His brown eyes narrowed, it was hard to conceive of her even wearing those stiletto heels she worked in. Maybe she didn't even go into work today.

Maybe that was all just a lie.
Another lie to go off and do whatever.

A sneer cut across his chapped lips as she yelled at him, slurred words having no weight of welcome nor care. What was this, her drop zone? "Focused on?" his low voice carried well through their small flat, almost a snarl to his words, "Come in here yelling at me, and where have you been?" Yeah, that was a great idea, letting her say something first. Brilliant idea there. She did nothing but fuel his hostility, made him wish he was the one to say something first. Yeah, hmm, because if he said something first, everything would go better. Right, yeah. TJ pushed himself away from the counter to a full stand, right hand whipping up to rub his nose furiously. Their humble abode was far from anything 'humble' nor 'abode-like:' clothing was strewn about the hallway, as if someone had thrown a temper tantrum and went on a destruction spree. In the living room, the cushions had all been upturned, giving the appearance that someone, most likely the man living here himself, had been rummaging about to find something. Wait until she saw their bedroom, wait until she saw what he did to their bedroom while she was gone. TJ stopped rubbing his nose to point a finger at the woman, "Thought you got off at eight today? Right? 'Eight' you said? Right!?" His voice was escalating, fueled by his insobriety and her earlier snap at him. Why didn't she ever come home on time? Weren't they supposed to have dinner or something? Be that normal, happily married couple?

Where was that gorgeous wife of his now-a-days, and who was this skank entering into his home and yelling at him. Reeking of alcohol and sweat.

He stepped towards her, motions mechanical as if he had to truly think about how to walk in straight line, brown eyes darting anxiously over to the bag she tossed aside. "Christ, how many bags do you need, no wonder we never have any money," his face twitched, right hand whipping over to rub at his left arm. His mind couldn't stop thinking, thought after thought flooding into his skull with his heartbeat pounding in his ears. She better stop yelling at him, he wasn't in the mood to deal with her shrieking, not tonight.

He wasn't going to put up with her bullshit tonight.
    No bullshit from her tonight.
      Not tonight.

Another anxious whine came from him, and the male couldn't help his fidgeting. He kicked her bag out of the entryway into the corner, near the standing metal coat rack. Always cleaning up after her, he was always cleaning up after Mrs Breanne Marie Murdock. TJ locked the door as he glared at the girl, waiting for her response. What excuse she'd make tonight, what other lie she'd tell him straight to his face.

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Breanne watched as her husband slowly made his way towards her. She listened intently as he mentioned the time. "Yeah, I might have said eight, but it doesn't look like it's eight now does it. Looks like I lost track of time working and all that crap to get the dam money that I spend on bags for myself!" She yelled as he spoke of how they had no money. "Who the hell do you think you are! I make the goddam money here, so I can spend it as I please!" Looking at the way he was moving around she knew something was up and it was fueling the anger rising inside her. "Looks like once again you have been spending money on crap! Why don't you try to clean up instead of shoot up you stupid son of a b***h!" She said looking at the crap all over the place. Her voice was slurred as she yelled and the booze was kicking in as her blood level rose. She was shocked he had the nerve to tell her about herself when he was doing nothing better.

Nothing better than she was
Nothing at all.


She took a couple steps and looked down the hall. "What the hell did you do to our house!?" She questioned, almost sounding sad for a second before turning to him. "You wonder why I stay out so dam late! I don’t want to come home to this s**t!" She shrieked pointing at the clothes and crap that lined the hall and the living room. "God, I swear you are worthless. I don’t know what happened to you Tj, but I cant stand it!" She said glaring at him. every fiber of her being wanted to reach out and smack him but at this moment it wasn’t even at that point yet.

You're pushing me too far
I almost cant turn back.


As he locked the door she turned and looked at him. "Lock the door and try to keep me in this prison for the night, sooner or later I will be out and about doing the same meaningless s**t I do every day!" She said as she stumbled more down the hallway. She knew he might be behind her and as much as she wanted she didn’t swing at him yet. But the way that things were looking she couldn’t help but almost want to attack him. Slowly she reached the room where she stopped dead in her tracks.

Oh. My. God.


She looked around and that was the end of her trying to resist it. "What the fu..." She stopped and tensed her whole body up. "Why would you do this!?" She yelled as she drunkenly tried to smack him. "This is why I hate being around you! You're an idiot!" She yelled as she continued after him in her drunken rage.

My points been reached and now you are in for it.

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His back pressed against the door, and once again TJ was furiously rubbing at his face, teeth grit with his eyes closed tight. God, she was yelling again, her shrill voice carrying through this god forsaken house and scratching at his brain. "If you came home on time, this place wouldn't be such a ******** wreck!" his volume met hers, raising louder to get the upper hand. Her squawking was driving the addict up the wall, his nerves and anxiety already high and now escalating with her hateful speech. Could they never have a civil conversation? No, he was far too strung out and she was never sober. This was as civil as their conversations could ever get, and she was stumbling angrily down the hallway. Her hands curled into fists, and he couldn't help but follow her, his eyes narrowed as he took in her words.

I swear, you are worthless.
    Him? What was she, the picture of perfection?
I don't know what happened to you.
    Him? Did this blabbering brunette mess never look in the mirror?

Her glares, her demeanour, everything about her seemed to scream right along with her voice that she was going to take a swing at him. His fingernails scratched at the back of his head, curling into his light brown tangle of hair, "So I'm the ******** up huh? This is all because of me? I'm trying to find a job, a real job. Not settling for being some slut on a pole!" Lies. He hadn't been looking for a job in months, but how did she know? She was gone every day, all day, but she had no proof whether or not he was trying to seek legitimate employment or not. Besides, he could always trade and sell to get what he wanted. The woman came to a sudden halt, and now a lop-sided smile spread across his masculine features.

"You like what I've done to the place?"

He used to give such warm, loving smiles. He used to really be happy with her. Now he was only happy to make her life a Hell. Make it as much of a Hell as she made his life. TJ's contentment and amusement couldn't be mistaken, not on that thin, pale face. The remark was snide, no longer the yelling volumes they used against her. This time his tone was mocking, tease nowhere near playful and instead hurtful. The bedroom was completely trashed, rubbish thrown about the floor with the larger possessions, such as lamp, small portable television, radio, clock, all gone. Sold. Who was the bread winner now? His moment didn't last very long as the female whipped her head around and commenced the yelling, swinging an arm at him.

Wrong move Breanne.
    Not putting up with your bullshit tonight.
      Not tonight.

"Don't ******** come after me you goddamn whore! We can't live off your s**t pay cheque when you buy bottle after bottle!" His voice was back to that familiar yelling, large hands grabbing onto her tank top by her straps as he yanked her forward, "Why would I do this? I have to sell s**t to afford food on the table, food you don't even bother coming home to eat!" TJ managed to dodge the first slap, but his reflexes were dulled with the amount of chemicals he'd always put through his system, and the second connected cleanly with his jaw. The male staggered backwards, not letting go of his wife's clothes, back colliding right into the doorframe. Had he been sober, he might not have even stumbled, or maybe he would have felt the impact, but as it was, he had too much adrenaline running through his veins. Without even thinking, he thrust his own hand out to swiftly backhand her. Theodore James Murdock had shoved, yelled, and even spat at this woman, but this was the first time he'd retaliate to her swings with one of his own, and he intended to connect square across that foul little mouth of hers.

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The screaming had stopped and the only thing heard was his smug little remark. "Whore! At least I do what I have to do to get the little dirt money I can! If I have to be a whore to feel appreciated for thirty minutes of my dirt poor life! If I want to feel pleasured then goddammit I’m going to feel pleasured because you can’t help me with it due to all those goddam drugs in your ******** system." The hate was coursing through her as she realized that things they had were no longer there. "A woman wants to feel appreciated Tj not used and abused!" She yelled whilst she swung at him once and missed. The second one connected and she smiled, but that was a short lived victory.

What the ******** just happened?


It took only his one backhand to knock the drunken woman sideways as she fell to the floor and leaned against the wall. All the adrenaline he had within his body must have been the reason that his hand connected with her mouth I almost in a crashing fashion. She was shocked as she looked up to him. There was so much going through her mind. Her hand reached up to her mouth as she held it tenderly. "I.. I can’t believe you just... hit me." She said looking up. It seemed to have knocked the drunkenness right out of her as she felt tears welling up in her eyes.

Did this really just happen. Did the man I love hit me with the intent to inflict pain?
He sure the ******** did.


Her face remained shocked and her attitude sad as she let her head hang for a couple of seconds. "You just hit me Tj." She said in a low monotone voice. "How ******** dare you!" She said standing up, using the wall for support. "Now you ******** wonder why I let other men see me in all my glory. They would never do the s**t you do." She said smiling. "And I bet you would just love to see how they like to run their hands all over my body and show me they appreciate me." She said knowing it wouldn’t be a pleasant image. As she spoke she picked up what looked to be a broken piece of a chair and chucked it with all her might at his chest. "Think about that you ******** a*****e!"

I only hurt you because I see you like to hurt me.
You hurt me, I hurt you.
It's only even.

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Everything was happening far too fast.

One minute the woman was yelling at him, those venomous words pouring out of her lipstick painted lips, the next minute she was sprawled against the wall of their shattered bedroom, gaping up at him with those tired, crystal blue eyes. Had he just... did he really. Her own shock had to be mirrored into his own long face, the thin male using the door frame for support as he gawked back at her. This wasn't happening, none of this was happening. "I... I'm sorry Bree, you were... I was just..." He couldn't bear seeing those tears welling up in her eyes, that glistening threat of hurt in her countenance. TJ staggered forward, pulling himself away from the wall as the room stretched out long before him. Christ, what was that... something he must've taken earlier must be kicking in right now.

"No, no I--- Bree, stop---" she was furious now, her choked words escalating and overriding whatever he was trying to say. He may have smacked her once, but she was continuing on berating him, stabbing him with words and insults. His hand rubbed at his face hard, fingers scraping against his flesh as he whined against his palm, "...stop talking, Stop talking, Stop Talking!" The room needed to stable itself out and follow the laws of physics: this expanding and contracting business was starting to make him nauseated. She wasn't letting him say anything, even his aggressive action only gave him about a two second window before she was at his throat again, spewing hateful venom ruthlessly. Something was coming at him now, at high speeds as if thrown.

TJ ducked into the hallway for a moment, the wooden chair back slamming into the door behind him and swinging it further open before it bounced as if to close. His left hand slammed onto the door to reopen it before it had a chance to make a barrier between him and the b***h. "Your glory? Nothing's glorious about a beer gut on a stick, and a Grand Canyon of a bird's nest!" She was talking openly about her escapades now, knowing very well that he hated it. He hated it so damn much, and he hated her for throwing it all in his face.

To have and to hold, through sickness and health.
    What a bunch of s**t.

His hands groped along the wall for something, anything, finding that chair leg busted off the backing she'd chucked at him. He wielded it like a club, and came back into the room, bloodshot eyes locked onto the young woman, "You want me to run my hands all over that disease ridden body of yours? You ready to feel pleasure now?"

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Breanne looked to the door as he disappeared out of it. She hated him for hitting her and making her feel the way that she was feeling. But as he disappeared into the hall her mind registered the look on his face when he had hit her. She paused for a second after speaking and listened as he called her diseased along with other hurtful things. "I hate hurting you!" She screamed as she heard him fumbling in the hall. "I ******** hate you for making me hate myself Tj. All I wanted was to ******** love you, you idiot! But the drugs were all you cared for!" She yelled as she tried to calm down before she started bawling. "You just don't ******** know!"

Just when I wanted to calm down, it only got worse.

She saw him rip around the corner with a chair leg in his hand while he screamed at her. Listening to his words she stared at him as the rage sparked. "Yes Tj! Show me! I want to feel it! If this is how you want to give it to me then ******** do it big man!" She yelled as she looked to him and flung her arms about as she yelled. "You gave it to the house now do it to me. Make yourself into the man you think you are you ******** druggy!" She yelled as she started to kick the clothes and s**t around. "Do it!"

Hit me.
Show me your hate
Let me feel the pain I put on you and don’t you dare hesitate.


Breanne didn’t know what he would do so she went on with the yelling and kicking things. She turned to him, her eyes wild with anger as she walked right up to him. "Don’t wait, do it." She said smacking him on the arm. "You hit me once, beat me!" She said before poking him dead in the forehead. "You wouldn’t dare." She said glaring straight into his eyes. There was something inside this woman screaming for her to stop, but she loved getting a rise out of him since he never did anything unless they were fighting. "Go ahead, show me what you think I deserve!" She yelled loudly. "You already think I’m a whore. Beat me like the whorish b***h that you think I am!"

Bring it on, Big man.

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"All you wanted was to love me?" he laughed, almost maniacal in his taunting gesture, "Right, right, that's why you took a job I ******** hate, that's why you never come home. That's why you call me names, that's why you sleep around, that's why you yell at me!" The woman burst into tears, words hardly coherent as she bawled, streams of salty pain washing down those once lively tinted cheeks. Running black mascara down her painted mask. She was just as much of a wreck as he was, emotions going on a rollercoaster right alongside his and fuelled by her own demons. Their highs and lows never matched up, one gaining clarity while the other was clouded in rage, never falling into a second of rationality at the same time.

"I don't ******** know right?" he swung the chair leg, connecting it with the wall and leaving a heavy indent in the drywall. As if it was weightless, he yanked it back out of the wall, his wild dark brown gaze never leaving hers as pieces of plaster dusted into the air and crumbled down the wall. Now he mimicked her, kicking his voice up an octave to make fun of her, "You just don't ******** know!" The distance between the two of them closed, and now she was back to raging, coaxing him to hit her, yelling right in his face with that whiskey-tainted breath of hers. Spittle flying from her teeth as she passionately shrieked at him.

Don't play games with me Breanne, I'm done with this s**t.
    Stop playing games Breanne.
      You're playing a dangerous game, Breanne.

It was as if madness had settled into the room: now his wife was screaming and kicking about various items, knocking shoes airborne and stomping all over scattered clothing. His fingers tightened about the chair leg, hands shaking with chemical intoxication or with adrenaline, he wasn't sure. The shorter female jabbed at his forehead, smacked his weapon-weilding arm, egging him on to go through with his threat. Give her what she deserved. Telling him to go through with it. Name calling. She was always ******** name calling.

When did it all go wrong.
At what point did they fall out of grace.

His free hand whipped up and grabbed a fistful of that damp, sweat-ridden caramel mess she dared to call hair. TJ tightened his fist and yanked her down, ignoring the fact the room was practically swimming, hazing out of his vision to where he could only see this wretched excuse for a woman before him. "I'm the bad guy, huh? I'm the one ruining your perfect little life?" they fed off each other's rage and anger, and now he was nearly blinded with it, his pulse thudding wildly in his ears, "You ask your boyfriends to hit you too, you little b***h?" He let go of the chair leg, the wooden object bouncing on the ground between them as he came up with an open palm to her face. His backhand was impromptu, but this course of action was not. "You like my hands on you?! This what you want?!" His yelling matched hers, eyebrows furrowed with contempt.

Why do you make me hit you?

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Breanne listened to him while he started to scream and he busted a hole into the wall with the chair leg. "Keep ******** mocking me drug boy! Keep ******** doing it." She yelled as she listened to him say that it wasn't his fault. "Drugs, that’s the ******** problem Tj! You! Your needle! Your ******** drugs!" She yelled as she felt him growing angrier. "Tell me why you started with them Tj. Then I will tell you why I started! I ******** hate you! You did this to yourself and I did it to myself." She took a breath and looked to him, "WE ruined us!" She yelled.

Why can’t we stop this?


Breanne felt his hand in her hair as she heard the clunk from the leg of the chair hitting the floor. She looked up to him while he wrapped his hand in her hair. There was pair in his tight grip so she closed her eyes slightly. As she opened them the only thing she saw was his hand across her face yet again. The loud echo from the smack filled the room as the shock filled her again. Why was she so stupid, why did she ask for this? Why couldn’t she stop? She just didn’t know.

Help me remember what we used to be.


There was a split second that Breanne just blacked out. Feeling the sting from the contact she opened her eyes as her legs gave in and she fell to her knees. "Please stop... I’m sorry." She said almost in a whisper as the tears fell slowly. "Tj I’m sorry." She looked up to him. "I love you, please don’t hit me again." She pleaded as her face remained red and her eyes leaked. On her knees she looked up to him as she cried. "I’m begging you, don’t hit me." She asked as her mouth seemed to have a little red substance in it. She was hitting rock bottom of her drunken rage. "I love you." She whispered looking right into his eyes. "I only love you." She looked down as she cried. "I’m so sorry."

Deep down I need you.
I just try to hide it.

Offline
The woman seemed to crumple under his grasp, shutting her eyes tight as his palm collided with that once pretty little face of hers. Now decorated with smeared, running makeup, dark bags under her eyes, and a foul mouth. His hands were shaking, and she was asking for this. She asked him for all this. She was the one that was telling him what to do, she was calling the shots. He bent at the waist when she went down, keeping his hold tight on her hair as he pulled his free hand back, fingers curling into a tight fist. TJ felt sick, throat tight and stomach pitted. Her ******** life was rolling just as she asked.

Just
    as
      she
        asked.

Her voice was nothing more than a whisper now, pleading in her tone. He tried to focus on her face, pupils wide and dilated with his intoxication, blinking as if she were bright and he couldn't see her straight. She said it. She said those three words that she used to say to him all the time. Those three words that made his heart skip a beat three or four years ago, now seeming a lifetime away. Breanne was sobbing and through her choked words she said it.

I love you.

His fist whipped up to instead roam through his hair, now soaked with his own perspiration as his face twisted with pain. Her words were tearing at him, begging that he stop hitting her. A direct opposite command in every way from her earlier challenges. That confidence, that frustration, that hostility, all of that was gone, replaced with a mess of tears and saliva. TJ's throat felt tight, and he couldn't help but slide down to the ground himself, loosening his grasp on those lightly coloured locks. His lips twitched, mouth opening to say something though no words escaped him. What had just happened? What was going on? The room was fluctuating again, shifting in and out of clarity and seeming to engulf the pair. Swallow them whole. His wife's face had melted, become this blob of flesh, black, and red. Her eyes were running, her eyeliner was running, her lipstick was running. He placed his free hand on the other side of her face, gingerly as he struggled to find words.

"You know I'd ne-Ver hit you baby," his voice cracked, holding back his own emotional tidal wave. He shook his head, and the room seemed to not want to cooperate, remaining inert before it jaggedly followed suit. "Don't make me hit you anymore, don't... I... I love you too, girl, you know I always have. Don't make me hit you." The brown in his irises were nearly engulfed by his dark pupils, trembling hands hardly staying put on the young woman's head.

"I can stop," he'd said it a million times over, and she'd heard it a million times over. But this time would be different, she had to know this time would be different. "I'll stop doll, I can stop. You'll quit that job, and I'll go clean. We'll get through this Bree, I love you too." He sniffed, feeling his nose running. Carefully, he moved his left hand off her face to wipe at his nose, get that snot out of the way. Crimson streaked his hand, and the male didn't even notice the beginnings of a nosebleed, sniffing harder. "We'll get through this." His hand washed back over to her face, and now he tilted his head and leaned forward to give her a kiss.
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