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He would hit me where the bruises wouldn't be seen. He would grab my face with his hand, bringing our faces close together and shout in my face, flecks of spit flying everywhere. His tirade of abuse could last seconds or it would last hours. I was alone. I couldn't tell anyone. I wouldn't know where to begin. No one would believe me and Marcus was sure to find out and reprimand me for letting the cat out of the bag.
One time after a particularly bad day, when Erudite wouldn't comply with his ideas. Marcus was walking up towards the front door. I opened it for him and as soon as he stepped over the threshold, his hand was on my throat and my back was against the cold wall. The door closed.