You and (bf/n) were at his apartment. You were sitting on his kitchen counter, eating a Milky Way. You were talking about how stupid the Kardashians were, him seeming to be better today.
He laughed, then his phone began to ring. "Give me a second, babe," he said, "it's Kyle." He grabbed his phone but as soon as he grabbed it, it "accidentally" turned off.
"Crap, (f/n), can I use your phone? Kyle never calls me unless it's an emergency."
You nod and give it to him. He steps outside. You didn't hear any talking, at all. You wondered what he was doing. He stepped back inside, marched towards you, hatred crossing his face. He grabbed you by the shoulders and got you down on the ground. "Him again? Really, (f/n)? I thought you would've learned your lesson from talking to him in person, but now you got his number and you were calling and texting the guy? What is wrong with you?"
"You were looking through my phone?! You weren't actually calling Kyle back?! Or did you turn your phone off, having Kyle call you just so you could have an excuse to use my phone to call him back after your phone "died"?"
"You slut," he yelled, spit flying on your face. He slapped you across the face and gripped on to your arm hard. He held you down while he got a fork off the counter and brought it down into your stomach. You let out a gasp of pain, but he covered your mouth.
"Don't ever speak to him again, that is if you want to stay in this relationship," he said, you could smell the alcohol on his breath.