(Caution: This fiction explores the psychological toll of being in a relationship with someone like Eirc. Reminder: He is not a good person)

I laid feebly on my side at the edge of Eric's large, familiar bed. My back was turned to him and my eyes were focused on the grey wall across the room. My skin was cold but I made no effort to reach for a blanket or warmer clothes. The dull ache in between my thighs was the only thing grounding me in reality.

It subtle reminder of the night before. And I hadn't slept since.

I couldn't do it anymore.

From the very start, Eric had played and used me like a fiddle. I had fallen right into his trap. What's worse is that I'd played along to the point where any respect I had for myself had long since disappeared. He'd taken it away and I let him keep it.

I was his.

My friends were more like distant acquaintances now. People from a normal past that I couldn't return to anymore. It left me alone with only Eric for comfort.

It started off as a dangerous, but exciting game, yet in the end, I'd lost.

I felt lost.

With slow movements, I sat up right on the edge of the bed. My back still turned to Eric, he'd hardly glanced in my direction and instead stayed focused on the newspaper in his hands.

My dull gaze was now settled on the cold, wood floor. I blinked once. Maybe twice.

"I can't do it," I mumbled, not louder than a whisper.

"What was that?" Eric asked from behind me.

I made no effort to respond other than standing up and walking with slow steps to the kitchen. My feet seemed to drag along the floor, my body felt laden and inanimate.

I could feel Eric's steel gaze follow every step of the way. Unrelentless as ever.

He only made a move to get up when I picked up a short kitchen knife, the kind you used to cut fruit, and let it hover over my wrist. I'd used this same knife a hundred times before. My breaths came out in labored huffs as my chest contracted suddenly.

"I can't do it a-anymore," I said again, my voice breaking. I didn't realize I was crying until I felt teardrops falling onto my exposed forearms.

Eric was standing now, his face an impassive mask and his sharp eyes fixed on the knife in my hand. I didn't look at him, my vision already blurred by the tears that now streamed down my cheeks.

"I can't be used anymore. Not-not like this," I sputtered, my throat suddenly wanting to close up.

Eric had taken a few steps closer and subconsciously back up into the kitchen counter with no where else to escape.

For what might have been the last time, a flare of anger surged through my body. It started in my chest and spread all the way to the tips of my fingers.

"I don't deserve this!" I suddenly yelled. I could barely see through the tears but Eric had certainly flinched back, at least a little, at my outburst, delaying his approach.

"I should get to be happy! And to be loved by someone!" I continued, my voice raising to a screech. "By someone who doesn't treat me like a pet! Like pr-property!"

Eric continued to inch closer with slow, non threatening steps. His jaw was tight, almost clenched shut. His cold eyes didn't betray the new found panic and worry that had surfaced.

He'd always been in control of the game you two played, but in this instance, he wasn't so sure.

I suddenly turned the knife at Eric, pointing at him with the tip of the blade.

"Say it Eric! Tell me I'm pathetic! Tell me I'm weak!" I persisted, becoming hysterical. "Say it!!"

I kept the knife pointed at him, it trembled in my fingers from not fear but anger.

"I don't know wh-who or what happened to you to make you like this," I said, my voice lowering. "But I c-can't take it anymore."

I flipped the knife back so it would hover over my wrist again. I had to blink several times to clear my vision enough to see the exposed veins. Eric was close now but that didn't stop me from raising the knife a few inches and then driving it down at my wrist.

Eric was a blur. He closed the distance in less than a blink and just managed to push the knife back and away from the veins. But he couldn't stop the blade from slicing through my upper forearm. I screamed and jolted away, reacting to his sudden touch as if it burned.

My body crumbled to the ground, my legs giving in. I pressed myself up against the wooden cabinets, still trying to put as much distance as possible between us. I pressed my bleeding forearm against my stomach. The warm blood seeped straight through my thin top, offering me the most warmth I'd felt in days.

I was still crying, more sobbing now. My breath came out in rapid huffs and my nose was running.

(Pov switch)

Eric quickly picked the small knife off the floor and set it safely on the opposite counter. He turned to look down at the female he considered to be his. The one who used to test him and make his blood boil.

The one he now controlled like a puppet.

She hardly ever cried. He disliked it when people started crying whether it be from pain or sadness. He thought it was weak. Eric didn't realize that the reason he hated her crying was because he was the reason for it.

She was sobbing uncontrollably with her knees tucked into her chin. Blood was smeared all over her arm that she kept pressed tightly against her stomach.

"I can't d-do an-anymore," She stuttered, her head turned away.

Eric hesitantly kneeled down beside her.

"I c-ca-can-t-," She sputtered quietly before suddenly knocking her head against the side of the cabinet. Eric's brows furrowed as she repeated the action, resulting in a loud clack. She went for a third head bang, this looking to be the loudest and most painful before Eric instinctively placed his hand on the side of her head, providing a barrier between the cabinet and her.

"Get away..." She said almost inaudibly.

Eric kept his hand on the side of her head until she stopped banging. He delicately removed it before deciding to put his arm around the lower side of her back and hook his other arm under her knees to pick her up.

She didn't fight against him as he lifted her. Her entire body had gone limp; almost lifeless.

He set her down on the bed where she sat up right with her eyes glazed over. Slow tears still seeped down the sides of her red cheeks.

Eric disappeared into the bathroom before returning with a first aid kit. With the most gentleness he'd ever used while handling her, he slowly lifted the wounded arm away from her stomach. The slice was shallow and had thankfully hit nothing important. But if he'd been any slower, a split second later, it might have been a different story.

She didn't react, or even flinch, as he disinfected the wound and then placed a thick bandage over it. Eric cleaned off the blood and took off her shirt, before cleaning the blood off her stomach replacing the shirt with a clean one.

Her hollow face held not an ounce of recognition. He reached out with a calloused hand to wipe away the tears. His touch was feather light.

She didn't recoil. She didn't even seem to realize he was there.

He had done this.

Eric had pushed her from the start. Ever since she decided to challenge him all that time ago. He knew precisely how to manipulate her mind and body to his will. He'd been doing it for months without a second thought on how it affected her mind. He hadn't noticed her drop in weight or deceased social interaction. He'd been satisfied knowing he had a women like her under his total control and power.

Eric gripped her gently under the arms, careful to avoid the bandage, and laid her back on the bed with him pressed, in what he hoped was comfort, behind her. He lifted a hesitant hand before soothingly brushing her hair back so that it was out of her face. The simple action was foreign to him. Normally he used her hair against her, pulling and yanking it if need be.

It was always a game to him. A fun, terrible, powerful game that he had won long ago. He liked the game, and at first she did too, but things had changed. It had gone too far.

"I'm sorry," Eric said quietly. Two words he couldn't remember ever saying in memory.

She blinked once in response, her eyes still centered on nothing but empty air.

Slowly, her small hand slipped off the side of her leg to find his, which rested on her stomach. Her fingers intertwined weakly with his, the only indication she gave that she was still in there before drifting off into sleep.

Eric continued to brush her hair back with his free hand as he felt her breathing shallow.

A single tear slid down the side of his cheek. He didn't make a move to wipe it away.

He'd broken her spirit.

And for what?

(Obviosuly not your typical fluff but if there's one thing I've learned after reading the Divergent series again, it's that Eric is not good,bhes evil. I know I wrote a fluffy little fanfiction, go check it out btw, myself but I had little understanding of his true character and was similary captured by his looks and prescence like other fiction writers. I feel this captures the domineering, unfeeling, and sadistic nature of Eric with a hint of redemption. But I not condone toxic relationships and this is purely fiction)

Btw, I do take some requests so hit me up if you want.