(Authors Note: I am not in a abusive relationship, I am not in one at all period. I have never been in one. This story, to ME, specifically, is fiction, but I do know that it happens. I am AGAINST this sort of relationship, no matter what the reason for staying is. Please leave a comment when you finish reading, please.)

My brown eyes shut tightly as he hits my ribs again. I tremble and try not to cry as pain shoots through my body. A bundle of nerves increase the miserable, flaming pain, right where his fist made contact. He grabs my upper arms roughly and forces me up close to him, I slowly open my eyes again, tears threatening to fall while his green eyes glare into my light brown ones. He forces a kiss on my lips and spreads them apart, his tongue practically down my throat.

He forces me onto the bed, his tongue tasting heavily of alcohol, like it always does lately. My clothes are ripped off, my bra hooks break as he just pulls it off, the straps ripping. My panties are forced off and in seconds his hard cock is thrusting in and out of my cunt. I close my eyes tightly again, pain welling up from the lack of lubricants and his erratic behavior has kept me completely turned off lately.

Shortly after his seed is shot into my pussy and there's rather loud banging on the door. I hear him grumble while I lay on the bed, tears slipping down my cheeks, my eyes on the diamond ring he gave me a year ago. Below the seed slides out, but it doesn't help me now, burning my insides with a hate for myself. He makes himself decent and he answers the door. Quickly there's yelling and I sit up, worried that they'll see me. I hear more yelling and things being broken. I quickly grab a robe and I cover my bruised and broken body while I hide in the shower.

I hear my husband curse at the police while they talk in loud, but irritated, voices. Something about domestic violence and rape charges against him... from our neighbors? But there is no way any of them could know about this. And the only person I confided in was a psychologist I met by chance yesterday. And he promised he wouldn't tell anyone. I even showed him my scars. I hear movement in the bedroom and I curl up more, closing my eyes tightly, trying to make it all go away.

"Amara..." I hear a soft voice call my name, I look up at who it is... and it's the psychologist.

"- I—Ian...?" I murmur softly. "Y-you promised... you wouldn't tell..." Another tear slips down my cheek as I mention the promise, a look of worry and sorrow in his eyes.

"Amara, I had to." He kneels down just outside of the shower, "I tried to keep it to myself, but the thought of you getting hurt MORE...-"

"So you DID tell him you lying bitch." My husband shoves him away while his temper gets the better of him, causing him to beat down on me harder. I close my eyes while a noise of pain and terror escapes my throat.

It all happened so quickly. He's suddenly pulled away from me while Ian pushes him to the ground, glaring at him. Words of hate and anger are exchanged between them and the police quickly come in and arrest my husband. I tremble in the corner, my body feeling broken, trying to breath even though every nerve inside me is in pure pain. Ian looks at my frightened body then crawls over and hugs me close to him. I let out my tears and sob in his arms, paramedics coming in quickly and helping me onto a stretch. I didn't think I'd need one, but when I failed completely to stand up it was obvious I'd need it.

Ian was with me the whole time while I cried like a baby. Almost everywhere they touched caused more pain. The only place where it didn't hurt was my head, but that didn't stop the headache from so much happening at once with so little time to comprehend it. Ian refused to leave my side, even after they took me into get x-rays and scans. Ian did a lot of paper work for me, but it's still only half done.

Soon enough they put me into a deep, numbed sleep so they can help two completely broken ribs, claiming I was lucky to be breathing so well and that my lungs weren't punctured. Yet. I remember bright lights above me, doctors and nurses around me, and up behind a glass window was Ian, his eyes on mine until I closed them. Then I didn't know where they went.

I look out the window, a bright, sunny, blue skied day. Three days after the shock of my husband being arrested so suddenly. Ian has visited every day, and I've acknowledged that he'll continue to visit, but I haven't had the strength to talk back to him. Or really even look at him. I don't know if I'll thank him... or hate him. And I don't want to know which.

A few moments pass calmly and the door opens. It is quietly shut behind the person and they sit down next to me. I can tell it's Ian from the reflection in the window. And I can tell that he's close to being fed up with absolutely no reactions from me. He stares at my eyes through the window and I can't help but keep the contact. He seems to smile a bit at finally having a connection with me again and he speaks.

"Amara, why did you stay with him for so long?" He has asked this question four times.

The first time he asked that was when we first met, when I told him everything and showed him my scars, limited to my torso so no one could see. The other two times were when he was visiting before. And now he has asked it again. I haven't given him an answer. I had to really think about it. And now I've found one that makes sense. I finally turn to him and answer the question.

"I loved Robert. I really did. He could make me feel like I was his one and only and nothing else in the world mattered to him. The way he smiled at me made me think I could be his and his alone and I would want for nothing. And every charismatic word that came from his lips sounded like they were meant for US and there would be nothing to stop it. When he came home that first night and his anger got the better of him... when he first hit me it wasn't even a second later that he realized what he had done that he started apologizing right off the bat. He swore it would never happen again.

"A month later the same thing happened. Four weeks later... Three... two... one... Then I became lucky if it were every other day. But by then we were married for six months. And his busniess wasn't doing as well as it should have been. Then he went out to bars every night. Some he just came home and went to bed. Others it would be a beating and then sex... or maybe sex while being beaten..." I trail off the horrible memories flood my mind, the images of the violence he used fresh in my mind and as painful as ever. "I stayed with him because it was supposed to just be a rough patch. Because everything was supposed to get better and we would have gotten through it and we would still love each other. Because I thought he loved me too..." I look down at my lap while tears sting my eyes then slide down my cheeks.

My heart aches with pain when I say those last six words. My body trembles and my hands clutch the sheets. I close my eyes tightly while a sob escapes my lips and I try so hard to stop the pain. But no matter what I do it resurfaces with extra power.

"Ian-" I choke out his name and look up at him, positive my hair is all over the place, my eyes are red and puffy, "-I was considering suicide last week. How easy it would be to end all the pain with the knife I had in my hand."

His brown eyes widen and he switches places. He sits down on the bed next to me and he gently pulls me into a hug. I sob in his arms, my not broken hand clutching his shirt while I stain it with my tears and some snot. His hand smooths my hair, combing it out with his fingers, and he shushes me in a sweet, caring tone.

"Amara, you don't have to think about any of that anymore. I promise. I am going to make sure he is sent to jail for a long time." His words are supposed to be soothing, but they just scare me more.

"I-Ian... I've been m—married for the past year, without a j-job..." I stutter, trying to breath but I keep sobbing and crying, "I don't know... what I'm going to do... or how I'm even going t—to pay this hospital bill..."

"Amara, I'll do EVERYTHING. All you need to do is promise me you'll get better and you'll never think such dark thoughts again." He pulls away a hint, looking into my eyes.

"- I-Ian- You can't-" I try to protest but he brings his finger to my lips.

"I don't want to see you in anymore pain. And I don't want this to be a burden on you. I promise I will take care of you and all your needs if you promise me you'll get better and keep dark thoughts at bay. Or if you do have them, you TELL me immediately." His eyes are sincere, he means every word, but it sounds like so much so fast and after my husband is going to court.
"I- don't... know... It sounds... too fast for me..." My heart aches with the want of saying yes but every other part of me says 'no'. It sounds wrong to say yes after what just happened.

"Don't you worry about what other people say. Or think. Or anything. Just worry about yourself for once, please. I have enough worry," He smiles and laughs a bit, "for an ARMY. I need help carrying it around. Please... PLEASE do me this favor."

I look deeply into his eyes, trying to find a real reason to say 'no'. But after six months of pain, of a misery I didn't know what to do with, I just can't say it. I feel my heart beat faster and my mind continue to find the reason that makes sense and would work. But if I have a depression and if I'm this badly injured, I will need someone to keep an eye on me.

My sister has her hands full with twelve kids, and my parents are already in a retirement home, they can't be bothered with me. My grandparents died two years ago and never got to even meet Robert. And all the rest of my relatives live in ambiguous places that I can barely remember the names of. And I can't help but feel safe and trusting with Ian.

Ian is practically an angel sent from God. If I had never met him... Perhaps I would have that punctured lung by now. If he hadn't noticed that I was generally kinder to my left side at the coffee shop than usual we never would have even spoken. And, granted, he did use a pick-up line on me, but everything just melted away. I had no barriers around my heart and I just felt an immediate connection to him.

And now, here he is. Offering his home to me. Offering his services he would originally ask pay for and offering to pay my every expense. I want to say he doesn't know me, but I'm positive he knows me better than I know myself. He's willing to put up with me for I don't even know how long just to make sure I'm okay. I can't remember the last time someone has ever done anything like that for me.
"... Alright... I'll... I promise... everything you said." I look up at him and smile a bit, not able to help it.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I will make sure nothing will happen to you again, I swear to you." He hugs me again.

And. Honestly? That's the last thing I remember. I don't know what happened after that, but when I woke up, I was laying in clouds. I stood up, figuring it was a dream, but when I saw how real it all was, it was obvious I was dead.

No one is telling me how I died, no matter how many times I ask. And whenever I try to remember, I black out and just remember Ian's hug. I've decided to stop trying. It's no use. I don't even want me to remember. So I'm just going to close my eyes, pretend Ian's arms are around me and hugging me in that gentle way again, and just be content with that. It's all I have left, after all.