It's not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish

I felt hot breath on my face, saliva spraying from snarling lips, leaving my skin sticky. My eyes filled with heavy tears that I wouldn't allow to escape. My throat ached with a sharp lump, urging me to yell, cry, purge my angry feelings.

Tyler stood in front of me, his nose just inches from mine, roaring directly into my personal space. I felt anger radiating all around him, spitting harsh words, attempting to strike me down and make me feel shame. I heard the same words over and over again. I was a whore apparently.

Mikey had texted me recently, offering to meet up and get me a coffee, just to innocently catch up and fill each other in of years gone by. He had told me he had a quick chat with Ray during the show and wound up asking for my number. But God forbid I associate with anyone else aside from my prison guard.

I had been lounging on the couch, letting my empty Sunday evening wind down, counting minutes until the day would be over; just to be able to tell myself I survived another day. I had gotten up to go to bathroom, leaving my phone face up on the coffee table, thinking nothing of it. When I came back no longer than two minutes later, I found Tyler gripping the device in his hand, staring harshly at me as if he were threatening to smash it into pieces. He was surely capable of it, even with one hand.

"What the fuck is this?" he growled, keeping his voice low, but weighed down with disgust. He shoved the screen in my face. It was lit up, displaying a text from Mikey that he had already opened. I let my eyes hastily scan over it with one sweep, my mind already beginning to race.

It was so innocent; my high school friend had only been asking to meet up for a coffee, for fuck sake. It came across in the most friendly of manners, not suggestive in the slightest.

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me!" I retaliated, being the first to raise my voice.

That only intensified his rage, prompting him to immediately leap towards me, snarling all the while. His face was beet red accessorized by a bulging vein on his forehead. He was shaking ferociously, and he gritted his teeth so hard I thought he might break them. Before I could even react, I saw his fist coming towards me. His knuckles made a hard impact on my cheek, making me stumble to catch myself. Suddenly I tasted blood in my gums; that same bitter copper like taste I had grown accustomed to.

I felt my heart begin to race with adrenaline; but somehow I felt more excitement than fear. I fought back, swinging my arms violently, returning the punch he had given me. Striking him back made the ordeal evolve into a full fledged battle. If I called him a psycho bastard, he called me a trashy bitch. If I spat in his face, he yanked a fistful of my hair.

It's a pitiful moment when you realize you're addicted to pain. It's a harsh wake up call when you discover you crave misery in every aspect: physically, mentally, emotionally. I found out long ago that this was the basis of our relationship. I felt as though the both of us thrived on the release of aggression; we started arguments for the sole purpose of fighting.

The abuse even blended into our sex life. It wasn't just that we liked it rough; it was full blown sadomasochism. He played the role of the sadist, the one inflicting pain, while I was the masochist, otherwise known as the victim who willingly accepted the agony. As twisted as it is, those were the moments I felt closest to him, cowering beneath him, bracing myself for the affliction that would bring me to peace.

That same night, we each collapsed after a furious fucking session, both of us out cold immediately. Even in his sleep, he still gasped for breath. He was a sleeping giant next to me.

Early in the morning, I could hardly remember him rolling out of bed, tossing the covers back on me and stomping across the carpet. I could barely recall him turning the light on to get dressed, making me bury my face and groan at his inconsideration. It was Monday, meaning he had to go to work to scrub shit all day long. I relaxed at the thought of being home alone for a while.

I didn't crawl out of bed till at least ten, the time at which the sun crept in through the blinds to beam dead on my face. I shuffled into the kitchen, never lifting my feet from the ground. As I prepared the dawn's pot of coffee, my phone began to ring.

I looked down at the bright screen to see Mikey's name. I quickly answered out of pure excitement of having the option with Tyler not being here.

"Hello?" I answered casually as if I didn't have caller ID.

"Brooke!" Mikey exclaimed happily. "Yeah, it's Mikey, I'm glad you actually picked up this time."

I tried to laugh a little bit, attempting to mask the tension I felt.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I've been insanely busy," I lied.

"Don't worry about it," Mikey responded still just as cheery. "I really would dig catching up when you have a second of free time though."

I nibbled on my lip, contemplating rebellion. With Tyler away, I was almost entirely free to make my own decisions.

"Ya know what, Mikey? I'm actually free today," I said, pausing as if I were checking a calendar. "What about you?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, of course. I don't do much, I'm always free."

"Well I can't wait to hear all about your boring life," I said, laughing genuinely.

"Cool," he stated. "I'm ready to chill whenever you are. What do you think about coming over? I could brew us a pot of coffee or something."

At the exact moment he said that, I was lifting my own pot from the hot plate. I looked down at it before pouring it into the sink and telling him, "That'd be awesome."

Notes

Oh my god, I'm sorry I took so long to update! School has had me so busy lately, but I'm gonna try harder to fit in more writing time.

In all honesty, this was a little bit of a filler. BUT GERARD IS FINALLY INTRODUCED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER <3