6

I once held a gun to my head, threatening him. I repeated over and over: "Why don't you love me? Why those other women? Why not me? Am I too unattractive?"

He shook his head and I slapped him. He got angry and kicked me in the stomach, me dropping my gun and falling back sooner rather than later. I laughed and giggled until blood poured out of my mouth across the clean floor of dangerous chemicals. Fumes ran through the ears of my lover as he punched me viciously, constantly asking if I was crazy.

I replied with a nod and he left me naked against the bloody floor with a small gun right across from me. I was never going to do it, anyway.

The tears slowed down and a black and white haze filtered the thin air, stopping my teardrops halfway through. He did the usual and put on his black jacket, pulling open the door just to slam it close again. I smiled.

Slowly as my knees wobbled, I placed my toes in place and quickly sprinted out the house myself, only a bra and panties exposed to the perverted neighbors. I panted when I reached the car he quickly entered, no hesitation. I called him a liar, a crazy fool. He saw the people in the small mansions watching and knew he couldn't pull one of his abusive tricks like he does at home. So all he did was drive off and turn up the radio like I was never there. I was a plastic bag to him, floating around in the dark, polluted oxygen.

Finally, I got back home, mascara masking my pale face, and smashed every single one of his belongings with a big, blue, baseball bat.