I should have given him the truth. Anything but the silence lurking inside my mouth making me mute.
Just as I pulled the band away from his body his grip crushed my small hands so hard I felt myself wince. “We aren’t doing that here… I don’t need your pity,” his words might as well have been venom.
It was well-deserved, my body screamed: use me to bury the pain and my eyes were glazed over in sympathy.
“Bowen…” I was trying to slice through the immediate anger cocooning him when his grip didn’t let up, holding my hands still too tightly.
He looked down on me like I personally insulted him in less redeemable ways. “It doesn’t matter how damaged you are when you look at me like that. It would have been easier to just sit pretty and be the wife I don’t want. No demons except me. Now there is nothing holding me back from making sure that fake halo is replaced with horns.”
Standing up right instead of looking down at me like a silly girl who couldn’t handle his demons, his fists clenched making the wraps get even more taunt around his hands.
My mouth was still gaping open but no syllables or sounds came out. Not one word while I watched him square up to the bag hanging in its place. “You always wanted to match.”
My eyes stung with tears and I felt myself suck in my bottom lip like it was the key to holding back tears.
Hitting a small remote in his pocket music flooded his home gym, too loud to think or talk anymore.
Bowen’s fist drove into the bag over and over making me flinch every time. I pushed him to be someone to me and didn’t take into account how askewed how my expectations were.
My expectations were soul crushing.
My expectations were selfish.
My expectations disregarded trauma altogether.
I mumbled a quick sorry around my trembling bottom lip hoping that would suffice.
Few steps forward and ten back seemed to be the dance with the devil. He promised to fuck my halo into horns and now I felt overwhelmed by the need to be just as broken as him.