Seraphine

one

Seraphine 

Loud, heavy rock music swirls around the thick air of the apartment, the sound coming from quite an expensive record player. Vinyls surround the gleaming player, favorite albums displayed head-on, still in their protective wrapping, next to well-loved albums stacked vertically on shelves.

The music crescendos as the singers' voice gets louder and raspier, and Seraphine squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus on the music as she gets thrown backwards onto the floor.

This was their routine. Their ritual, of sorts. He would come home, pent up anger evident on his once devilishly handsome face; she would back away, wanting to escape but never having the strength to leave. A doe trapped in the woods, a wolf stalking towards it--predator and prey. 

"Derek, please," she would beg him hands up in surrender. Her eyes pleading, her body trembling, her heart and soul exhausted. He would fist his hands at his sides, seemingly holding himself back, but then she would accidentally bump into the table and a fork would fall, and it was a record scratch: set off like a firecracker, he would rush towards her and rear his hand back. 

Seraphine holds back tears as her back comes into contact with the floor, a cry escaping her busted lips. She barely has time to roll over onto her stomach and cough before her boyfriend's boot sinks into her soft stomach, knocking the wind out of her once more. 

"Derek," she croaks, reaching for him, pleading with him to stop. Her eyes sting with unshed tears, her heart races, her lungs burn. Her usually well-kept, long blonde hair is messy and becomes knotted when he fists it with one hand, yanking her up off the floor as she whimpers from pain. 

"Now, Seraphine, why would you go and do that? Why would you make me do this to you?" Derek never pleads guilty to his beatings--he accuses Seraphine of forcing his hand, making him hurt her. It was always her fault, never his. 

"I...I don't know what you mean," she whispers once she's caught her breath, her eyebrows furrowing. She blinks back tears as she tilts her head to look up at him, his brown eyes glinting in the fading sunlight streaming through the slivers in the blinds. 

At this, Derek crouches down to her level, his fingers gripping her chin tightly. He turns her head this way and that, dragging her head down and then tilting it back up. It's a show of power, of control, and Seraphine knows it. Her eyes don't leave Derek's, her nostrils flaring as she breathes heavily in anticipation. 

"Think, Seraphine. What did you do today that would've forced my hand, shown me that you needed to be taught a lesson?" 

She despises this game: he makes her think about all the things she'd done wrong that day. It was his way of teaching her to be obedient, usually silent, unnoticed...the perfect girlfriend. 

Her train of thought is slow, the pain clouding her brain. But, after a minute, realization clears the flog and her eyelids flutter shut. She hears Derek's inhale above her, and she flinches. 

"Dr. Reeves." She says, and Derek's grip on her hair tightens. 

"There you go. Now, walk me through what happened, and we'll figure it out together, hm?" 

Seraphine nods and clamps her mouth shut to hold in her whimper when Derek tugs on her hair, dragging her up. He finally loosens his fist, untangling her locks from his fingers and dropping his hand to grab the top of her arm. She hisses as he digs his nails into her skin, but doesn't protest as he yanks her in the direction of the couch. 

Derek shoves her down onto the broken leather and follows suit, sitting next to her. He stares at her for a moment, his eyes searching her face, before his hand slowly comes up. Seraphine flinches, and he frowns, sending her a warning look. She leans back into him, and he starts caressing her face. Seraphine feels that confusion swirl within her whenever he does this.