At what point did I stop loving him? That's the question that always seems to be on my mind nowadays. Maybe it was the first time I properly looked into Adam's eyes, and realised that they held more love for me then Warren's ever did. Maybe it was the first time I kissed him, pressed my lips against his, feeling the tender touch of his hand around my waist. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Maybe it was the first time Warren hit me, slammed his closed fist into my stomach, and watched me writhe in pain.
Kirsty groaned, lifting her head at the irritating sound of her alarm clock. She turned it round to face her in the hopes that the time was wrong- it wasn't. Slipping out from the bed covers, she cast a glance over to her still-sleeping husband, who was lying on his side with his hand still shaped into a fist. Sighing, she pulled her pyjama top over her head, not sparing a look for the pattern of bruises that was forming along her ribcage and lower back. She ran a hand through her brunette curls, frowning as the the night before's happenings became fresh in her mind.
She popped her head round Nita's door to see if the teenager was awake, half wishing that she was up just so she could see a friendly face and a smile before heading out to work. But no such luck, so she trailed down the stairs, yawning after a long and mostly sleepless night.
She skipped out on breakfast, replacing it instead with a couple of painkillers to try and shift the dull ache her battered body gave out, and left the house to go to Holby.
When we took our marriage vows, Warren promised to love me forever. Through thick and thin, no matter what. He held my hands in his own and told me that despite our differences, despite what life threw at us, he knew deep down in his heart that his love for me would never lessen. Tess
Tonight, his stare into my eyes was just as intense as it had been on the day of our wedding. But tonight, they held no traces of passion, and instead were tinged with anger and hatred.
I lifted my shirt up whilst stood in front of the bathroom mirror, and stared, almost entranced, at the various bruises on my skin, cluttered together in a patchwork of brutality.
He promised to love me forever.
But can this be described as love?
I was almost at the end of my tether with Kirsty- she had been driving me mad all week with her apparent inability to show up for her shifts on time. I knew her well enough to know that she wasn't her usual self at the time, but that wasn't an excuse for her being constantly late. I was so caught up in my aggravation that I barely noticed the girl clad in scrubs before me. I crashed into her, knocking the coffee from her hands. It spilt all over the floor and we both stared at it for a couple of seconds before I registered who it was I'd bumped in to.
"Kirsty." she looked up at me, worry and a hint of pain mingled in her expression. Some of the piping hot coffee had gotten onto her trousers. I tutted, as if it were her fault.
"Look where you're going please Kirsty. You'd better get out of those scrubs, and once you're changed you need to come and see me in my office. Understood?" she opened her mouth, but then closed it again as if she was biting back some retort, and nodded. "Good." I left her to it.
I don't think it's the beatings that's the worst thing. I have learned to block out the majority of the pain. No, it's the rest of the world that's the problem. On some level I always seem to think that everyone will know when I need leniency, when I need them to go easy on me and not expect too much. But I haven't told anybody, so how can I expect them to understand? I'd just get the same answers from them anyway.
'Call the police' or 'You know I'm here if you ever need to talk'. Always the default response, but never enough.
I guess that's what scares me. That I'll confide in someone, trust my whole life with them, and nothing'll change."Are you hungry?" I walked into the kitchen and bent down to open a cupboard. With Nita gone, the house was quiet, and the atmosphere was more than tense. "I can make you something." Warren didn't look up. He was staring at the counter.
"What are you sorry for?" I stood up slowly, confusion and doubt flowing through my bloodstream.
"What?"
"What are you" he pushed my phone towards me. On the screen was the text I had sent to Adam earlier. "Sorry for?" he looked up at me, an accusative glare on his face. Tears started to form in my eyes.
"We both know what's coming, don't we?" I let out a shallow laugh, my expression grim. "So why don't you just get on with it?" He looked back at the counter for a second, as if deciding what to do with me. He slammed his fist into my stomach, and I let out a winded gasp. I tried to catch my breath, clinging onto his arm, my mouth shaped like an 'O'. It hurt so badly; all my mind could do was focus on the searing, blinding pain in my abdomen. I dropped to my knees, still clinging on to Warren's arm. He wrenched it from my grip as I fell to the floor, and for what felt like hours (but in reality was only a couple of minutes) he watched as I writhed in pain. Eventually, he yanked me up by my hair, wrapped an arm around my neck and pulled me out of the kitchen. I struggled, but his ex-fireman's strength prevented me from escaping. His free hand hit me in the ribs or in the small of my back time and time again as he dragged me up the stairs, and a few tears dribbled down my cheeks. When we were on the landing, he pinned me up against the door frame to Nita's bedroom.
"Do you love him?" he hissed. I whimpered quietly, opening my mouth to say 'no, of course not'. But no words came, no lies that would calm the storm. Of course, my silence gave me away, and he snarled, pushing me up closer against the frame and biting down on my lip. I cried out as blood started to trickle down my chin, but he slapped me across the face and told me to 'shut it'. I did as I was told, and he pulled me past Nita's room into our own, tossing me down onto the bed. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with panic. He ran a hand through his slick hair, and clenched his fists.
"You're mine, you hear me? Nobody else gets to touch you." His calmness terrified me, and I shook my head wildly as I realised what he was about to do. He started to undo the belt buckle on his jeans, and slowly pulled out the strip of leather. Surely he wouldn't? I thought. "Undress." he spat at me as he fiddled with the button on his trousers, and I shook my head again.
"N-no... You can't!" he laughed menacingly, his lips stretched tightly. He suddenly raised the belt up in the air, and brought it cracking down onto my thighs. Even through the material of my jeans, it stung crazily, causing me to cry out. Pushing his boxers down to join his jeans, Warren straddled me. I gasped under his weight and struggled as he smashed his lips against my own. My memory fled back to the night I had kissed Adam in the toilets of a pub; recalling the way his kiss had been so gentle and loving compared to my husband's. He'd told me that this 'wasn't me', and on some level I agreed with him. Maybe it wasn't just sex I was looking for.
Maybe it was someone to hold me close, to tell me that they care. Maybe it was to feel the warmth from a pair of arms used for love, not lust.
Maybe I just wanted him to lift my shirt over my head and see all the marks on my body.
Maybe I wanted him to save me.
A/N: Hey, if you're reading this then you have my appreciation. :D I'm not sure how much response this will get, as I've read a few of other fics similar to this one on here, and I don't want it to seem like I copied them- I didn't.
One of the stories about Kirsty I really liked was by 'Kirsty-C'. I feel like I should mention her as she really is a fantastic writer, and I hope that one day I can write with the same passion and integrity as her (:
Until then though, thanks so much for reading this; it's probably shit but I spent a long time doing it.
Reviews are always appreciated, and are in fact my fuel for continuing stories.
Oh, and I know the chronological order in this fic may seem confusing... But it will all play out in the end.
Ta!