super frictonal {diza}

chapter: 1

treach·er·y
/ˈtreCH(ə)rē/
noun
noun: treachery; plural noun: treacheries
betrayal of trust; deceptive action or nature.

"stop," i mumbled, hoping he would hear. but i knew he couldn't because him screaming was the only thing going through both of our ears. he saw me there on the floor as i cried and screamed and shouted, just for him to stop. he saw me. did he do anything to comfort me? i'll let you answer that question.

"please," i whispered, still hoping he'd hear me. "stop."

he was angry. he always was after he was out drinking doing who knows what with who knows who. he was that drunk guy. the guy who would punch the wall if he saw a slight change of color on it. he'd go insane over the littlest things. but when he was sober, let me tell you. it was like heaven on earth.

why was he angry, you might ask? he got mad at me because he had the munchies after drinking so much and i told him i'd make him a banana sandwich after i was done doing the laundry. ah yes, the famous banana sandwiches filled with mayonnaise salt and of course, bananas. it was good, don't let the mayonnaise and salt fool you because it was amazing. my grandmother used to make them for me when i was a little girl and passed the recipe down to me and of course, i share them with the one i love. the one i adore. also known as the one who hates my guts.

ok, it sounds absolutely absurd, which it is. he got mad at me because i was busy doing his laundry. but it honestly didn't surprise me when he basically started screaming at me to get him a sandwich. either this means he absolutely loves my sandwiches, which he should thank my grandmother, or he just really needs to lay off on the alcohol.

i cried. of course i did. i broke and shattered each time he started aiming at me for a punch on my head, but thankfully he always aimed at the wall. possibly on purpose so he doesn't actually hurt me. but let me just tell you, it hurts. really bad.

suddenly he stopped yelling and i got scared that he was gonna' hit me for real this time. i laid on the floor in a fetal position, covering my head with my arms so i could at least live with a broken arm and not a concussion. but there was no words escaping his tongue. no fists meeting my eyes. no nothing. just his breathing. loud and heavy, hard and shallow. it was like he was underwater gasping for air, as was i from how hard i was crying. we both were drowning underwater.

i moved my arms slowly away from my face so i could see him, so i could at least prepare for the outcome of his harsh words spiting into my ears and his fists meeting my chubby cheeks. he stood there. he was a statue with a feeling of skin. he stared at me, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was frozen. the vein on his forehead was no longer popping out of his skin and his face was no longer cherry red. it was like he was frozen in time. like he had been living in cold conditions for years.

once i knew he was over having his little "temper tantrum", i got up slowly, still slightly afraid of him exploding out on me again.

our faces were just inches apart and i looked at him with tears spilling out of my eyes. these, are the tears i cried because of him. he knew what i was about to say, and he knew it dead on. i said it every time, yet i got hurt again. each day. each time.

but before a simple mumble could slip through my tongue, my body froze as my eyes stared at his neck. a simple red, almost purplish hue of imperfect circles surrounded the skin of his neck. they stood out like any strand of hair out of place. they shined brighter than any twinkle i had in my eyes when he held me tight. it was brutal.

it knocked the wind out of me. i forgot how to breathe.

"david," i mumble. "w-what's that on your neck?"

it was quiet, so very quiet. you could hear the thump of my heart pound from outside of my chest, and you could hear his the second he saw my eyes stare at his neck.

    he said no word. he knew i knew. and what does that say about him? that he doesn't love me? no. maybe i'm witnessing a fictional character or maybe i'm just delusional. maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. maybe i'm a psycho girlfriend. and maybe this is fake. please, tell me this is fake.

    "david," i said as a tear streamed down my cheek. "tell me i'm wrong."

    he shakes his head and looks down.

    "i'm sorry,"