Justin stood there with a syringe in his hand and his pants down around his ankles. Shocked, I stood still as I opened the door to my bathroom.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snarled at me.

I watched him quickly pull up his pants and toss the used needle into the trash can. My brain hissed silently; he'd ordered steroids. My heart sank at this. I was barely hanging on as it was. How would his healing brain deal with this?

"I need to pee," I said, sighing as his eyes darkened.

"Use the other bathroom," he growled out and picked at his arms like he was digging for invisible zits. His arms were scattered with scars he'd inflicted on himself.

"This is my bathroom," I stated, pursing my lips and staring at him, accusing him of everything in one single long glance.

"Hold it then." He stared back, through the mirror, daring me to argue more. His fingers were still digging and scratching at the hidden sores.

"Why exactly are you in my bathroom?" I asked, greatly annoyed that he chose to defile my sanctuary with his presence. He had taken over every other room in the house. This was my space.

I had gone through too much today. My body still ached from the incident an hour earlier – him forcing himself on me. Anger swum through my veins. How could he stand there, in my bathroom, the only place I felt relief, and look me in the eye after what he did.

"Bitch," he calmly stated as he crossed his arms over his chest. He turned around for an instant, his hip leaning on the bathroom counter as his eyes trailed up my body. Instantly, I wished I had chosen pants and a shirt instead of cut-off jean shorts and a thin tank. A chill ran up my spine, warning me to back off.

In a beat, he stepped closer, his hot breath blowing into my face, spittle smacking my skin. I could smell the sweat on him.

"Every fucking bathroom in this house is mine. Everything in this fucking piece of shit house belongs to me. I own everything: from the stained granny panties you wear to the broom you have forgotten how to use. I own you. I own every inch of your body. And, baby, there are a lot of inches." He growled into my face, pushing me back into the bathroom door. The doorknob bit into my lower back. Fear returned to crawl under my skin. My world tilted and spun, my limbs heavy with an invisible weight.

"You don't own me. Get out of my face!" I pushed him away, freeing my face from his foul breath for a moment, and inhaling the fresh air. His hands found my upper arms and twisted the flesh of them, yanking me towards him.

"What are you going to do if I don't? What exactly are you going to do... Jessica?" he mocked, his face closer than before. His crooked nose pressed into mine. His deadly eyes stared into mine.

"Nothing, Justin, nothing at all," I whispered, closing my eyes against the victory that shown in his. I would do nothing. He would always win. I held no power.

"That's what I thought. You're just another oil field whore – won't do nothing because you whore yourself out for the money." He nastily hissed at me, and then shook me slightly as he pushed me further into the door. My head hit it with a soft bounce.

"I'm not a whore, Justin; I'm your wife," I hesitantly said. My eyes were still closed to his verbal thrashing. I couldn't look at him. The insults themselves I could take, but watching the lips I once loved form the words that ripped through my heart... No, that I couldn't do.

"Wife? You think you're my wife? Bitch, you're nothing to me. You're just a fucking leech sucking my money dry. I allow you to stay in this house because I feel sorry for you. Watching you try so hard to 'fix' me is amusing. You weren't anything to me before, and you sure the hell ain't anything to me now but a quick fuck. An expensive fuck, but a quick one." He laughed, his foul breath threatening to make me pass out.

"I don't need you. I can leave you any time I want. I stay because I love you," I said, struggling against the fists that held me against the door.

"Don't need me? What would you do without me... open another photography studio? You wouldn't last a week without my money or me there fixing everything for you. You aren't any more talented than the next 'photographer'. You're worthless. You're no use to anyone. Even the kids hate you. They won't say it to your face, but they've told me. They. Hate. You. I hate you. You're completely worthless to everyone." Each syllable had cut deeper and deeper into me, causing my struggle against him to stop.

"Justin, stop, please," I whispered, slowly opening my eyes to look into his, praying there would be something in them besides coldness. Please let me go, I whispered to myself. My arms were going numb from being held so tight against the door, the blood flow cut off from his grip.

"'Justin, stop, please' – how pathetic you are." He smirked down at me, thrusting me again into the door before releasing my arms as he backed away. "Fucking nasty-ass cunt. Go piss and then let's go. I've got other things to do today besides be with you."

"Shut up, Justin. I'm not going to deal with you calling me names. I didn't do anything to you." I called him out, rubbing my upper arms as the blood rushed back to them, leaving a trail of thorny tingling.

"If you don't like me calling you what you are... leave then." He tilted his head, his shaggy curly hair carelessly falling over his forehead. His hip once again lounged on the edge of the counter, the careless stance enraging me even more. How dare he feel so calm after all he's done? I inwardly screamed.

"Maybe I will," I snapped, crossing my sore arms over my chest.

"Jessica, actually get a real job and support herself? That'd be the day. You're too lazy to leave. I worked my ass off for years while you sat around and got fat. Guess what, princess? Friday was my last day. I got fired. And it was perfect. I hated my job. Hated getting up early every day just to make sure you idiots had everything you want. You fucktards need to realize that I don't fucking care about what you want anymore. I loathed watching you spend my money. So no more. What you gonna do now?" He sneered at me, his eyes alive with hatred, causing me to gasp.

"Justin, you need to go see a doctor. You're getting worse... Today proved it. You need..." I stumbled over my words. He got fired from his job... What was going on? He never let on that anything bad was happening at work. He never said anything. Why wouldn't he tell me?

I wasn't entirely surprised though; he hardly said anything about anything to me. But today was Monday, and I'd thought nothing of him not going to work because, lately, he'd been going in later than usual. The oilfield was complicated; the hours he worked were never constant. I should have seen this coming.

What are we going to do? I asked myself numbly.

"I don't need a fucking doctor. I'm fine – the best I've ever been. Maybe it's you that needs a fucking doctor. Have you thought about that?" he bellowed. "Of course not. You're fucking perfect. You're so fucking perfect you might as well be God. Right? You do no wrong. I'll take all the blame for all your faults, which are many... princess." He walked forward and grabbed my shoulder, leering at me. His face was emotionless as he smiled, his perfect white teeth too bright for the darkness that surrounded them. "You're a fucking mistake; one I wish I fixed years ago. "

His hand fell away from my shoulder, and I stepped away from him. My feet faltered as I backed up, touching the bathroom door again. The white of his eyes was filled with red veins, and sweaty rivers cascaded over his splotchy olive skin. The only hint that he felt anything about the exchange was the slight uneven rises of his chest as he took a breath.

My own chest heaved with no control as his words stuck to my brain.

"I hate you. The kids hate you, and I hate you," he spat out again, one last nail in my heart.

I heard nothing else as I ran from the room, my hand running along the walls to guide me to the front door. Tears blinded my sight as I fumbled for the door handle. His words were still slicing through me, cutting the very veins that brought life to my heart.

Wrenching the door open against the Texan summer heat, I ran across the warm grass, the sharp dead blades stabbing my bare soles. Yet, I felt nothing, just the dull beating of my broken heart.

I had nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. Finding myself on Lydia's porch, I rang the doorbell repeatedly.

"Jess... what happened?" Lydia asked the second she answered the door. Her familiar voice brought no comfort to me as I rushed past her, into the house.

I knew the layout of Lydia's house, so I quickly found my way to the kitchen where I sunk down behind the island cupboard, my attempt at hiding from the world. My hand dug into the edge of the counter as I took deep breaths.

"Jess?' Lydia touched my shoulder. There were no words that I could say yet to explain the pain. My throat choked up as I endeavored to speak, to insist I was okay. That everything was okay. But, of course, it wasn't. Nothing would ever be okay again.

"Can I do anything for you?" Lydia asked softly. For an instant, I felt air fill my lungs, and I was finally able to take a normal breath.

Afraid to talk, I shook my head, my long auburn hair tickling the back of my bare arms. I felt the need to laugh. Would I ever laugh again? My hand fisted the counter as I recalled Justin's words. The kids hate you. I hate you.

My chest heaved as the tears broke through again, falling down my face. I burrowed my face into my arm, biting into the flesh of it, hoping the pain would distract me from my own self-pity.

However, it did nothing.

I tried. I tried to fix him. I tried to fix us. There is nothing I could have done. Why is this happening to me?

Embarrassment flooded through me. I had foolishly thought for a moment that, because of the gentle way he'd touched me in the kitchen, things were better. I can't believe I actually thought he was coming back to me! I inwardly screamed.

My chest palpitated with another sob, each heartbeat sending spasms of pain through my chest. He'd led me into the bedroom like a damn dog, promising love and tenderness, only to turn on me. That's all I was; a piece of meat. A dog.

My fingernails dug into my palms as I made two fists, trying to fight the war in my soul. After letting go of the counter, I curled up into a ball on the floor. My heart was done. This was too much to deal with. I craved a break from reality; a moment where there was nothing.

"Jess, please let me help you," Lydia pleaded, kneeling down and wrapping her arms around my shaking shoulders, gently pulling me onto her lap.

In my friend's arms, I searched for the safety but found none. Lydia couldn't help with this. Or fix it.

"No one can help me," I whispered to her.

I had lost everything.

He had lost everything.

There was no victor in this battle.