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I have always been told I had to love my man. I had to take his hand, hold it tight, and never let go. No matter what evils he did.
The society I grew up in, the words he told me, always pointed at me suffering for him. I didn't understand- I was human, so shouldn't I be able to be happy without a flaw? No, apparently not.
I won't lie and say that my relationship was horrible all the time. In fact, I loved him very much. He was my reason for life, and the only thing that kept me from dying most days. I loved his smile, his laugh, and the way he would hold me if we slept in the same bed. He preached I was his everything, and that if I left, he would be lost. My man called me his universe, and promised to never let me go. He made me feel like I was the only thing on this entire planet, and I believed him. He kept me protected from the evils he feared of this world.
For that, I started to hate him.
And trust me, I hated him. So much it hurt my heart, and made me want to scream at my own stupidity. He was a cheat, a b*****d, and someone I shouldn't have ever fallen for in the first place. All of the good never seemed to outweigh the bad. I knew I should have left, I knew I should have turned around. Yet I had been a stupid, naive girl who didn't know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. I felt as if this was some sort of curse I had walked myself into.
Essentially, it was.
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Gin Ichimaru had been my childhood friend. He took care of me when no one was sober enough to care. It only seemed natural that he would become my life partner. He got me out of the hellhole I lived in with my auntie. He fed me, clothed me, and even fed my horrible habits. Hell, the man had done more than my dead parents could have done if they had still been alive to this day. That honestly didn't really say much, my parents had been drug addicts, and had left me with my coke snorting, stripper, drunken auntie. They had both died when I was four, and I honestly didn’t mind. I was better off without them. At least auntie had remembered I was alive.
The love for my family was so evident. My love had been transferred to Gin.
Yet here I was, sitting on the floor, bleeding, and cussing out my 'savior'. He had come home drunk demanding sex, I said no, and he smashed the nearest beer bottle into my head until I crumpled. My man was a real catch.
I didn't move much as he began to pull his shirt off, and open the front of his pants. He used to be so attractive. A god that would cause my hormones to go into frenzy. Yet all I saw now was a monster that was covered in scars, covered in my own filthy blood. He bent down over me and began to lick at my neck, as if I would enjoy it. Moving, or turning away would mean another blow and a possible endangerment to the small child that lived in my stomach. Not that I wasn't already, nor did I really care. The kid should have been dead by now with how much booze I was pumping into my body. How much coke I fed into my system in hope that it would die- But the little b*****d kept fighting, as if asking for life. My fingers clutched at my stomach, holding onto the bump that was another heartbeat. I could almost swear the child had reached out and put its little hand on mine. It was a small comfort to know I wasn’t alone.
I could almost weep. Didn't it know its mother was a piece of s**t, and its father a monster? Couldn't it read my mind when I begged for it to die so that way it wouldn't have to suffer? This child was pure, it was something holy. It shouldn’t have the pain I had. My little angel should have it perfect.
Before you point any fingers and say I wasn’t doing everything I could, I actually had tried. When I had found out about the child, I had tried to run away. That had failed. I tried to escape to get an abortion, but he found me. I tried a few times to off myself, but he had caught me. I even attempted a self abortion, but he had walked in, and beat the living s**t out of me.
Once, I tried to fight back. I had thrown a chair at him, even a few punches. I remember I made him bleed, I made him suffer. In retaliation, he starved me. He beat me every night for a week. He took away most of my clothes. He even killed the kitten who would visit outside of my window.
He wanted the child. He thought it would fix everything and make us happy. He wanted me to remember him as the man he used to be. He wanted to be the man he used to be. Yet we couldn’t turn the clock back anymore.
My mind shut down as he started to rut on my body. Drifting off into a happier state of mind that would bring me some comfort, I found myself dreaming of a Barbie doll life. A life I wasn't ashamed of, the perfect husband and child. That was a pleasant thought, and a smile almost graced my bleeding lips. Yet the smile faltered and died back down into a frown. It still hurt, and my body was slowly starting to shut down due to the coke and booze.
My last thought was that I wished I had taken more so this would be the last time I fell asleep.
________________________________________
Sunlight drifted past my face as I began to awake slowly. It stung my eyes slightly, and I had to stop the small pained whimper from my lips. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the sun, in fact I loved it. It was just that my eyes hurt so much. My entire head hurt.
Stirring, I found I was alone on my spot on the floor. That was alright, and I was happy for it. I began sitting up and clutching at the nearest stable object to pull myself into a standing position. My stomach hurt, and the blood was caked on my face and upper torso. I didn't even bother cleaning it off anymore; I knew that if I did that, he would just cause more.
Dirty b*****d. I hoped a car hit him on his way to work.
Not really. I didn't have a way outside of the apartment, and if he never came back, I wouldn't have the drugs, or the food to keep my body running. He was the only thing keeping me alive, and it was depressing.
I hobbled my way towards, stopping briefly to grab an apple from the counter, the patio of our apartment and looked out the glass door. Gin had welded it shut, to prevent me from going outside. All the windows stayed locked (Welded as well), and the front door had no way to open it unless you had a key. This was my jail, my hell, my nightmare. I didn't know another way to live honestly, and I had stopped looking. It was frightening to know such a strong girl had turned into such a weak little mouse. I felt like the princess who was locked in a tower.
A small snort came from me as I attempted to hide a pained chuckle. Some princess I was, huh? I took a bite from my apple and chewed it as I mulled over my shitty habits.

I had started coke a few months back, I couldn't help it. Yes, I know it's a stupid excuse, but s**t. When you are locked up in a prison, with nothing other than a couch, a bed, and a few other things, you started to get desperate. Coke gave me the comfort, the safety of knowing that one day I would die, and leave this place. Not even to mention that it gave me a bit of pride knowing that I could think of other things while he raped and abused me.
I had been drinking for years; I probably started when I was 16. Gin and I used to get s**t faced with the other street rats, and we enjoyed it as children. Even now, he was an alcoholic, and I wasn’t any better. However, I usually waited until the afternoon or later nights to start my bad habits. Gin got drunk in the mornings, sold drugs in the afternoon, and then came home to get high and ********. I knew his schedule like the back of my hand. I had spent years learning it.

My hand reached up to press itself onto the glass of the window, enjoying the warmth the sun was giving me. Like it was crying for me to step outside and run away. I didn't have the strength, so I apologized to the sun and closed my eyes, letting out a deep sigh. When had I turned so weak?
Another bite was taken and my hand dropped from the window, stopping to rub my stomach.
________________________________________
It was my seventh time walking back to the glass door, watching the passing world under me when I saw him. He had white hair that stuck out in awkward tuffs, and eyes so blue they haunted me as they looked upwards. A slight bit of panic washed over me, I hadn't bathed the blood off of me yet, and I hadn't bothered making myself look alive today.
I pressed my hands up against the window and looked down at his face. Hot tears began to cloud my vision until I couldn't see him anymore, and then they began to spill. He just stood watching me, his eyes unreadable, and a frown on his face. Part of me wished I could beat my hands against the window, screaming in panic, pleading him to get someone. Yet I couldn't even move my hands more than a few inches, and all I could do was sag against the window.
He turned and walked away while flipping open a cell phone, speaking into it animatedly. He turned back once before he reached the corner, his eyes on me, before he vanished.
Sobs full of self pity, something I hated, began to roll out of my body. My lungs hurt, my eyes hurt, and my cuts hurt. Hell, everything on my body hurt. The child in my stomach stirred and I began to feebly talk to it. Telling it to flee, to die and not return until it could come back to a better mother. At the same time, I clung to the small life inside of me, pleading it to stay. I didn't want to be alone in this apartment anymore. I didn't want to be the only heartbeat in this room. This was my child, and I was its monster. We needed each other in a ******** up way.
Nothing was easy anymore.
________________________________________
The next day I stood in front of the window, sporting new bruises. The blood had been washed off, and replaced with a swollen eye. My eyes watched the people walking past, almost willing someone to look up, to come rescue me. No one had bothered looking up for years, other than him. Yet I still watched the people scuttle back and forth.
Eventually the white haired man was back. I got to notice how he walked, confident, like he knew he was everything. His shoulders tensed as he frowned at a small child that ran across his path.
This time he stood on my side of the street, watching me. His lips moved, but I couldn't read them.
I could move suddenly, my body deeming that this was appropriate. My fists hit the window, my mouth opening and screaming. I was trying to show him I needed the help. I needed him to come get me. I needed someone.
He walked inside the building, and I rushed to the door, waiting. I stood there for a good hour, and he never came. I wept by the door until Gin came home. Then he beat me, and used me.
All I could do was fall asleep in the spot I had fallen.
________________________________________
The rush from snorting coke was intoxicating. I couldn't help it anymore. My body was in jitters.
I paced in front of the window, waiting for my white haired watcher. It was becoming sort of a tradition, he would come watch, then leave. This had been going on for nearly two weeks.
Sometimes he would sit and look up at me, others he would just walk past. I never tried to get him to help after the incident.
And part of me wasn’t surprised. I chalked it up to me being a horrible person.
A part of my mind started to wonder if I had made him up. The other part told that part to shut up, and be happy. My mind was a mess.
It wasn't until the month had passed that he came back with force.
________________________________________
My door was broken down, and a group of men came storming in. The white haired watcher found me on my couch, screaming in pain as I began to give birth to a dead child. He called for someone into the radio in his hand, and then his face was above mine.
"You are real. You are real. You are alive" was all I could get from my lips between strangled sobs and screams. My body cried in pain and all I could do was hold onto the ride.
My baby had been alive nearly five months. And now it was dead. I had figured it out earlier this week. I was lost, yet I hadn't told Gin.
We had gotten into a fight today; he had punched me all over, and then without thinking, kicked me in the stomach. The abuse on my dead child was enough to send me into labor. Gin had just chalked it up to me being a “drama queen”.
"You are going to be alright. Damn it! Takezoe! I need that ambulance now!" My watcher yelled out as he clutched onto my hand. His grip was strong, and I felt myself squeezing back, as if he was the only thing that mattered in this world. Another stab of pain had me screaming and crushing his hand.
I heard yelling from the other room, and I could see Gin being dragged out in cuffs from the corner of my eyes. My head turned to look at him as I fought off the urge to cry. I hated him, but god. I needed him whispering in my ear, telling me that everything would be okay. That he would still love me, even if I had lost the child.
"You b***h. You told them!" Gin screeched on the top of his lungs and attempted to lunge at me. One of the police officers, a redhead, bashed Gin on the back of the head, sending him into unconsciousness. He was dragged away by the other officer and the redhead came over to lean over me as well. I let out a sob and turned away towards my watcher, pain that his love was gone for good swept over me, I clutched onto my stomach I let out a long wail of grief. I could already hear the sirens coming down the street. My watcher kept mumbling things and stroking my forehead, like he was the man I loved. I suddenly found myself drifting, my body going fuzzy, and eventually, all I could focus on was his blue eyes.
"Hey. Don't fall asleep. Stay with me Ma'am! Dam-"
Silence and darkness.

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