Summary: AU. It was supposed to be Stacie's happily ever after, but it turned out to be her hell. TW: Domestic violence. Staubrey, brief mention of Bechloe.
A/N: Thanks to all of those who gave me such great suggestions, I appreciate each and every one! In the end, I decided Staubrey was the way to go and Bechloe would be close friends of theirs. I couldn't not include Bechloe in a story, even if they're only mentioned once. And, as I said before, I can't see Beca abusing Chloe or vice versa. I can't even see Beca abusing Aubrey. I can't actually see Beca abusing anyone.
If this story gets popular, I'll turn it into a two-shot or maybe a three-shot. That's only if people ask for it or want it.
So here we are; my first 'domestic violence' centred fanfiction. I've never wrote anything like this before, so be nice if it sucks! I wouldn't say 'enjoy' reading like I normally would due to the circumstances of the plot but I hope you all think that the story's well-addressed and decently written enough to tug at your heartstrings. Thank you.
Strike
Chapter One
Stacie may have married one of the country's most wealthiest, successful lawyers, but she was very unhappy. It was supposed to be her happily ever after, but it turned out to be her hell.
She'd met Aubrey Posen in her junior year of college at Barden University, the young women spontaneously sitting beside one another during a weekly lecture in Philosophy. The blonde senior was uptight and prudish, contrasting against Stacie's excitable, overly sexual nature. Though, in spite of their differences, a simple 'girl's night out' to the cinema had morphed into exquisite, elaborate dates and a committed, steady relationship. They'd married within a year of Aubrey's graduation, Stacie's intelligent girlfriend earning a first-class honours degree in Law. Twelve months later and Stacie had graduated, instantly jumping at the chance to move in with her wife. She'd never, ever been more happier and in-love with anybody before.
That was, until Aubrey began to abuse her, only mere months into their six-year relationship. At first, it was emotional abuse; Aubrey would bring Stacie down, making her girlfriend feel as though she was a wasted human being with zero talent, zero occupation and zero impact on the world. The combination of emotional and physical abuse hadn't started until their marriage. But, by then, Stacie was trapped in an unhealthy, violent 'companionship' with Aubrey Posen.
One in which she couldn't escape from.
Since one o'clock in the afternoon, Stacie hadn't sat down. She had hoovered, wiped, mopped and dusted within all the crevices of her's and Aubrey's three-storey residence; the blonde was particularly hypercritical when it came to cleanliness. Being the personification of 'perfection', Aubrey demanded that Stacie would mop and hoover the floors, wipe the surfaces and strip the bedsheets in an almost 'circadian-like' fashion; Stacie's spouse was finicky and relatively unaccommodating, especially when attempting to understand that the brunette couldn't spend her entire morning on household chores.
And thus, she never had time to wash Aubrey's work clothes.
"Stacie, you piece of shit, why the fuck haven't you washed my work clothes?!" Aubrey demanded, storming into the kitchen. Stacie flinched at her wife's choice of such foul language, but continued stirring the chicken soup she'd been cooking for the past hour, acting as though Aubrey wasn't there, "Don't you fucking ignore me! Look at me when I'm talking to you, bitch!" Again, Stacie chose not to respond, knowing if she'd answer back it would result in absolute chaos, "STACIE FUCKING POSEN, FOR GOD'S SAKE! ARE YOU DEAF OR JUST THICK?! YOU LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU!" Aubrey screamed into the tall, slim brunette's ear, edging dangerously close.
Stacie exhaled, turning to face the irritable, infuriated blonde. As much as the older woman's screaming fest had pained her deeply, she'd almost grown immune to the consistent abuse that was received almost daily; something Stacie Posen would be horrified to admit aloud, but knew it was the truth deep down, "Calm down, Bree-Bree," Aubrey snorted at the use of her nickname, piercing green eyes narrowing into tiny, cat-like slits, anger turning them from their shining, shimmering emerald to a horrifying sight; Stacie, as terrified as she was of her spouse, couldn't allow her fears to gain full control, "Look, I'm not going to talk to you when you're like this, okay? I hate it when you get into these moods. You're tired, you're stressed, you've been working too hard lately. Relax, baby, I'll make you a bowl of soup. It'll warm your tummy-"
"Do you think I care about your terrible cooking, you filthy whore?!" Without any prior indication, Aubrey struck Stacie straight across the cheek.
Stacie's lower lip quivered, her eyes filling with freshly brewed tears. Her face felt as if it were on fire, burning like a winter's flame, and her jaw grew achy and tense. She couldn't put it behind her, no matter how much she'd try; the sheer impact of Aubrey's strikes, punches, kicks and wicked torments pained her emotionally as well as physically, Stacie's self-esteem hitting rock bottom. It was too difficult to pretend it all never happened, that it was only just a dream.
Just as Aubrey was about to go for one of Stacie's wrists, Stacie managed to back away before the blonde was able to grasp it good and secure, "N-No, A-Aubrey," The younger woman whimpered, struggling to convey her words well without stumbling or stuttering; Aubrey sneered in her face, growling lowly, "I-I'm so so so sorry, Aubrey…it won't happen again, A-Aubrey. I-I'll wash your work clothes, Aubrey…I promise, I-I'll do it before we leave for the party, a-and I'll make you some instant noodles…I-I know y-you like those."
"You fucking better, slut! It's all you're good at!"
Late into the evening, Aubrey and Stacie were returning from Chloe and Beca's engagement party. The tiny 'alt-girl' and redhead were such a lovely, genuine couple, often 'goofing' off and endlessly cuddling in corners. They were almost the definition of 'perfection'; something Aubrey strived for, but never seemed to achieve.
The home to the Posens' Beverly Hills mansion was a hushed, noiseless journey, Aubrey's concentration fixed solely on the winding, endless road ahead. Houses on the streets grew in size as they'd driven through Los Angeles, neighbourhoods gradually becoming more illustrious and grotesque. Aubrey often drove when she was in Stacie's presence; after all, Stacie was too frightened to drive her wife's half a million-dollar sports car, petrified that she'd accidentally dent the sleek, smooth paintwork or damage the metallic structure. Aubrey could pick a fight over the most pettiest, irrelevant and insignificant mistakes Stacie made, so Stacie hadn't wished to imagine how the blonde would react if she'd mutilate the lavish, costly vehicle.
Once they'd arrived in the outskirts of Beverly Hills, Stacie couldn't keep hushed any longer, "Aubrey, I-I'm so sorry I never washed your clothes. Your job means the world to you, I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm really ungrateful over how hard you work, you're the highest-earning lawyer in the entire West Coast a-and I take advantage of that. I'm so so so sorry-"
"Hush, it's okay, baby," Aubrey flashed a pearly-white, sickly-sweet smile that sent chills down her wife's spine; was it truly genuine? Her tone of voice had shown little to no remorse, but her words were sympathetic and sorrowful, "I'm the one who should be sorry, I shouldn't of blown up like that, it wasn't right and it made things at the party a little awkward. It wasn't fair on Chloe and Beca, they'd been looking forward to their engagement party all year and we put a sour mood to the situation. Oh, and I'll get you some ice, honey-pie. It'll sooth your cheek. Honestly, I don't know what comes over me sometimes, I just all wound up and stressed out. I promise I'll change…and I mean it, Stace. I will, and I'll change for you."
"Thank you…a-and it's okay, Bree-Bree, I know you don't mean it," Whenever Aubrey begged for forgiveness, Stacie grew to believe that the violence would cease to exist; that Aubrey would stop hurting her. But it never did. And Aubrey never stopped. Stacie refused to come to terms with this, thinking her wife's apologies weren't entirely meaningless, "I-I bought some Ben and Jerry's, we could snuggle up in our onesies and share it?"
"I'd love that, Stacie," Steering the car with one hand, Aubrey placed her palm atop of Stacie's, fiddling with her wife's diamond-encrusted wedding ring, "I love you."
"I-I love you, too, Bree.…I love you too."
"You worthless, stupid bitch!" Aubrey grabbed a fist full of Stacie's hair, tugging harshly at the unwashed, chocolate brown locks.
Stacie squeaked in surprise, not knowing what she'd done wrong; she'd minded her own business during that bright, beautiful Saturday morning, gradually completing her household chores. Only, Aubrey had found an unknown way to break out of her long-lasting 'honeymoon phase' (one that had dragged out for almost three days), taking the succeeding step in the 'cycle of abuse'.
"Get the fuck out of my way. Nobody cares for you, nobody wants you, nobody likes you," Strike one; the blonde's petite palm smacked across Stacie's face, "You're only tolerated, and just barely. Honestly, you're such a fucking slut, all you're good for is having sex with, I bet you're fucking some dickhead behind my back, you're so needy and desperate and ungrateful," Another strike, "If you disappeared into thin air, no one would give a shit, nobody would miss you. You actually think your parents and our friends would even take a second glance at your absence? I doubt anyone would even notice you were gone!" And another strike, this time intentionally harder than the previous two.
By this point in time, Stacie's left and right cheeks were bright red from Aubrey's spanking, her greying, khaki-coloured orbs glazed with unshed tears, "A-A-Aubrey, y-you're hurting m-me-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Aubrey kicked into Stacie's shin with such brute force and power; Stacie screamed out in pain, collapsing down onto the solid, wooden flooring with a loud 'thud', "Stop crying, you pussy!"
The tears had finally fallen down the sides of Stacie's face, thick mascara melting and staining her hollow cheeks; she couldn't keep them in, all bottled up inside, for a millisecond longer, "P-Please, Aubrey…y-you're hurting m-me-"
"Good!" The first punch had just about glanced Stacie's chin, a stream of blood trickling down her battered, bruised face. This was followed by a several kicks to Stacie's abdomen and another punch, this time making contact with Stacie's right eye. The brunette's breathing became shallow and erratic, sudden jolts of pain cruising through her body; but Aubrey didn't stop. More slaps, kicks and punches were sent Stacie's way before the blonde had arisen and stormed out of the room, leaving Stacie alone with her thoughts, pain and tears.
Aubrey hadn't changed in the slightest. She never would. And Stacie knew this, too. It was a never-ending cycle of domestic violence. A lifelong, never-ending cycle.