Title: Three Words
Fandom: Original
Characters: Another random girl & another random guy
Genre: I'm not even sure
Rating: PG/PG-13
Category: One shot.
Word Count: 993
Warnings: Tiny tiny blood part, lots of yelling, and...yeah.
Summary: She's ready to leave, and all he wants is to stay. He's too dependent on her for his own good.

The blood was leaking from his nose in a steady stream, and he pressed the dirty t-shirt against it angrily. "I can't keep doing this every day, I just can't handle it," he fumed, looking at me like it was my fault. I nodded, and continued to wipe the counter off. "You don't give a damn do you? You don't care if they bust my head in!"

I didn't answer, of course I cared, but it was better not to answer when he was in one of those moods.

"DAMMIT," he shouted, slamming his fists into the wall. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He walked around so that he was staring at me, close to my face. He took my face in his hands, dropping the bloody t-shirt onto the floor. There was a bruise on his cheekbone, it looked like it hurt. The blood was almost comically running out of his nose, but he ignored it. He stared at me, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to crack.

"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked him, trying to shrug him off, but he wouldn't let go of my face. "Would you let go of me?"

"You don't even love me do you? You don't care if I'm dead or alive, if I even come home every night?" I went through this at least once a week.

"What is wrong with you? Why do you always start this stuff? I obviously care about you or I wouldn't put up with you. Why do you always have to be so paranoid? Huh?" I questioned, I was getting pretty angry at that point, and I threw the dish rag into the water. It caused a lot of soapy water to splash out, soapy water that I'd have to clean up later.

"You don't...you don't..." I thought I detected tears in his eyes, it was always the same story, I went to work and I made the money and I came home and I kept the house in order, and he sat around and whined and cried about me not loving him.

"Shut up! I love you, I love you, I love you. OK? What do you want me to do? You go out and you do a little bit of 'work' every day and then you hang around downtown and you get drunk or do whatever you want to do, and you start a fight and you come home and you want me to coddle you, and baby you, and drop everything I have to get done."

"You don't love me," he whined again. I wrenched my face out of his hands and turned around, my breathing was getting labored and I was very angry.

"I wish I didn't love you so I could get out of this town. I don't want to stay here, I never wanted to stay here, but I met you and now I'm stuck. I'm stuck here because of you," I screamed. I could see his reflection in the toaster, he was standing behind me, his face had gone slack, his eyes were wide, he looked like I'd slapped him. I hadn't meant to hurt him, I truly did love him, and he was so sensitive...but I was so angry that I couldn't focus on him at the moment, so I kept hurting him. "I should've packed my shit and moved on when I got the chance, I wish I'd never met you."

"You...we...I...there is nothing wrong with this town. Why do you hate it so much?" He loved the town like it was his first born child. I didn't know how he did it, how he could love something that kept you so tied down. I didn't understand how anyone could love a place where everyone knew everything about you, everything.

"You make it harder and harder for me...I keep a job, I take care of the house, and you come home drunk or stoned or bleeding every night. I can't take it too much longer. You don't know how badly I want to leave you and this town and just get out," my lip was trembling and I willed it to stop, I refused to cry and let him win again. I stomped my way down the hall and to the bedroom where I threw myself onto the bed. I felt my forehead, it was very hot, probably from anger. I felt the anger flowing through me like static electricity, it was almost tangible.

After an hour or so I felt him at the bedroom door, looking in at me. He thought I was asleep, and I gave him no reason to think any differently. The smell of alcohol followed him as he sat down on the edge of the bed, close to my legs. He put his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. I didn't know if he was crying, or angry, and I didn't really care, or, at least that's what I told myself. At long last he pulled his face out of his hands, and sure enough they were glimmering with tears. He wiped them on his jeans and swiped his arm across his eyes to dry them. He leaned across the bed so that his torso was crossing mine and he brushed my hair away from my face gently. He sat there, looking at me, for a long time. Then he kissed my forehead, softly. He moved away from me slowly, and I opened my eyes a crack to see what he was doing. I found myself staring into the barrel of a gun.

"I won't let you leave me," he said, sobbing, "I won't let you leave me." I felt fear shoot down my spine, I was horrified.

"Don't...do...this," I murmured, trying to keep my voice soft, and maybe talk him down.

"I love you," were the last words I heard.