Diary of a Masochist (boyxboy)

June 27

Dear Diary,

I'm not used to sharing my life with anything or anyone. I haven't since high school. I'm not quite sure what persuaded me to start a journal, but maybe it'll be good for me. Maybe.

My name's Brett. Brett Miller. I'm twenty-five years old and have been with the same man for eight years. We haven't married yet, though. It has nothing to do with the legality of gay marriage. I'm actually not quite sure why we have yet to get engaged. I love Alex, he loves me. We're both aware of that. But every time I mention the topic to him, he gets mad. It's those moments in which we fight the most.

Our friends say we fight too much, all the time practically. They think our relationship is unhealthy, dangerous even. But I swear it's not, all they see is the fights, they don't see the good times.

Last night, while Alex and I were hanging out with our close friends Michael and Grace, it was one of those times. The not-so-good ones.

"Hey, Mikey, can you pass the pizza?" I asked, sitting on a soft dining chair with my boyfriend's arm loosely drape around my back. Alex's grip on my shoulder tightened a bit as I spoke, but I ignored it.

"This is your fourth piece!" Michael laughed, handing over the platter with the pizza his wife had made.

"You shouldn't be talking, chubby," I scoffed. As he laughed along with me, Alex's fingers dug deeper into my shoulder muscle, making me wince in pain. "Umm... may I help you?" I glared at him as I realized he was wearing a scowl. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grace's dark brown eyes bulge out of her head in disbelief that we were actually going to fight in front of them.

"Let's not do this here, okay? Sorry, Michael and Grace, but we really have to get going," Alex said as he stood up, planting a firm arm on my forearm and forcing me to stand with him. I tried tearing my arm angrily out of his grasp but it only tightened, surely leaving bruises.

"No, guys, please don't leave," Grace begged, knowing what would happen if we were alone. "Uh, you need some time apart. I'll take Alex outside, and Brett and Michael stay in here." I gladly obliged, finally ripping my arm out of my boyfriends suffocating grip.

"Brett," Alex growled, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Yes, Honey Bunches?" I mocked, grinning, moving closer to him and raising my head up a bit in order to stand eye to eye.

"You know what," he muttered through clenched teeth. I rolled my eyes and motioned behind me at Michael.
"He's just a friend, Alex. You know that." I made a step closer, glaring at him, noses almost touching.

"Then how about you stop flirting with him, you little slut," he growled as he put his hands to my chest and shoved me back, sending me stumbling into our shocked friends. Michael caught me and stood in between us with his hands up.

I grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him out of the way. "I can do whatever the hell I want. You don't own me," I spit. Alex stormed towards me, halting just before my face.

"You're MINE," he growled against my lips before slamming his fist into my abdomen, knocking me on the ground. He jumped on top of me, throwing punches at my jaw as I screamed profanities at him. Michael ran behind him and held his arms behind his back while Alex was kicking to free himself, yelling, "YOU WHORE! YOU FUCKING SLUT!" I jumped up and tackled him, slamming us over the dining room table, breaking several dishes while we wrestled, screaming at one another.

The next thing I knew, police were pulling the two of us apart. I watched in shock as two cops started pulling Alex out the front door. I tried ripping myself out of the strong grip of the officers, screaming his name as he called back to me frantically. This time it wasn't in hatred. It was in love.
I woke up in a hospital bed. I'm not sure when I passed out from exhaustion, whether it was in the ambulance or in the waiting room. I'm told my nose is broken and my ribs are bruised pretty badly, but that's not too awful. More policemen came in a while ago to tell me Alex had been held in the prison overnight and asked if I'd like to press charges, which I denied, of course. This has happened way too often, and it hurts me every time to think he's had to stay there for even a short period of time. I've been in there too, a couple of times even the both of us were in there together. We've had the cops called on us a total of seventeen times just this year. It's completely unnecessary, though, because I know he'll never hurt me too bad, he loves me too much.

He visited me after they released him. He looked horrid and I apologized immediately. A large purple bruise surrounded one of his vibrant blue eyes (which, I think, makes them pop and look extra gorgeous, but he'd be mad if I ever mentioned that), a brownish-greenish bruise splayed across a chiseled cheekbone, and the skin on his neck burned red from when we had tried to choke each other. We both look much better than we have looked some of the times, but it's okay, because we look awful together. And that's how it should be. We're in this together.

Brett