He slapped me hard across my left cheek. I felt the shape of his hand sting onto my face. I looked back at him, tears threatening to spill. He looked back at me with a hard look, but it softened just a bit when he looked into my eyes.

"I'm sorry." He said in a whisper, reaching to touch my shoulder.

   I backed away and slowly started walking to the stairs that led to our bedroom. He didn't go after me. I walked into the bedroom and looked into the mirror. My face was red from the hit. I sighed and thought to myself, it's no big deal. He does this all the time. It should be nothing by now. He just got a little angry, and that's okay, because he loves you.

   I plopped onto the bed and caressed the mocha bedsheets.

"I love him.  And he loves me. It's only a little slap." I said to myself.

   I pulled out my phone, entering his name, which was my password. I went into messages and started to text my mom. I paused for a brief moment and decided not to tell my mom. Everything is fine between him and I. This was just a little argument. He walks in as soon as I put my phone back into my pocket.

"We are going to the club in a bit. One of the guys hit me up. Everyone's gonna be there. Get ready, we're already late. You have 2 minutes, so hurry up." He told me, and with that he walked out.

   I awkwardly grinned to myself and picked out my favorite dress, a maroon halter dress. I quickly put it on and put on black heels. I had to redo my hair, but I was too lazy to and was already in a rush. I quickly put it into a bun, some curls crazily sticking out of it. I put on a garnet-colored lipstick. That was the only thing I could really apply to my face with the time I had so, I just left it at that. I quickly applied my favorite perfume and ran out of the room, rushing down the stairs.

   He was waiting for me, wearing the same hard expression he always had on when we were alone. He was always smiling and flirty with me when others were around. Why can't he be like that all of the time?

   When we went inside the club, his friends quickly spotted us and yelled at us to come over. One of his friend's girlfriend was already drunk. She reeked of alcohol.  And so did most of his friends.

   We danced the night away. I avoided drinking, since I knew I'd be the one driving us home tonight. I took a few shots, but that was it. When I got tired, I sat down at a table where I could see everything. I looked around trying to spot him, and I did. He was dancing with another girl, their bodies touching. I grew livid, rushing over to them.

"We're leaving." I said angrily.
"Why?"
"Let's go." I pulled at his arm.

   He waved at all of his friends with a huge smile on his face. When we got home, I slammed the door behind me.

"Who was she? And why were you on her?! You don't dance with me like that!" I crossed my arms across my chest in jealousy.

"She's more fun." He smiled at me.

   I attempted to push him; he didn't budge. I punched his chest and it was at that moment that I knew that I messed up. He grabbed my hair and pushed me onto the floor. He went on top of me and I tried to slap his hands away from me. I squirmed around crazily, but he still managed to punch my face and my chest. I felt bruises start to form. He hit me with all of his strength. I felt every punch vibrate through my body. My lips were busted and I had plenty of bruises on my face. I felt weak and gave up trying to fight back. Soon after I gave up, he stopped beating on me. He lazily got off of me and went into the kitchen. I stayed lying on the floor in pain and fell asleep there.

   I woke up the next day on the sofa, a fluffy, baby pink blanket covering me; my favorite blanket. Pain rushed into my face and I groaned loudly. I shut my eyes tightly, as if that would help the pain go away. He walked into the room and stared at me. I looked at him with fright and he slowly began walking to me. He kissed my forehead lightly and hugged my body. I wanted to push him off, but I just couldn't. I didn't know if it was because I was so weak or because I liked the affection; the affection he rarely gave. He walked speedily into the kitchen and started to pour something into something else. He came back in with my favorite mug.

"I made coffee," His voice was light, "Wait for it to get warm. Then, I'll give it to you."

   He changed the channel from the news to a talk show. I stared at the TV screen, the four girls on the screen blurry and of no importance to me. I look at ceiling fan above me, watching it spin. I looked back at him and he grinned at me.

"I love you." That's what he said.

   I knew he was lying, but the words were what I've been wanting to hear for a while. I didn't care that he was lying. I loved him. He was something that I craved. First, abuse. Then affection. Abuse. Affection. Abuse. Affection. It was like a cycle. And I wanted it. I wanted him. And I can't get enough.

LexiLou04 Okay! I'm done :)