The floor is so built up with cans, clothes, and weapons that the carpet is invisible. You have to wade through it like a swamp.
He enjoys video games. You remember the good times where you sat on his bed and watched as his chair swiveled through the mess. You don’t remember if it smelled.
You remember him violently tossing you out of that same chair. You were angry at him, but you didn’t think he’d hurt you. You didn’t think he’d toss you to the floor where the hard weapons and cans stabbed at your back.
He commands fear like a noose around your throat, love like a vise around your heart.
Was this what people meant when they talked about an abusive relationship?
Couldn’t be. You’re only in high school, and that’s something that happens to adults.
You are now the mouse in the viper’s den and he will take pleasure in injecting you with his venom. His sweat. His seed you’re lucky to miss. He wasn’t wearing a condom, he finished outside of you, but you’ll still be terrified for months.
You said no, stop. The first time, he stopped. You thought you were safe. You tried again, giving him a chance.
The viper struck.
The blood stuck with you, yes, but more than that, the sweat. The sweat became burnt into your mind as panic. The undulating motions knocked off drops onto your face… your zombified, poisoned, frozen face.
That is what makes a bad male.
