Cold

8

Atlantic hit me again.

But he had a justified reason.

It was always my fault.

He thought I was cheating.

Of course I had grown to know the insecure side of him but not his possessive side, the side of him that kept me locked up in our home so the world couldnt see me.

My friend Ivan came over to the apartment, producing a ring.

He was going to propose to his girlfriend.

I congratulated him, pushing down the side of me that wished Atlantic would make me his officially. Ivan asked me for ideas, ways to surprise his girlfriend. I didn't have much to give him.

Atlantic came home throwing his bag down and dragging Ivan out of his chair. The sound of the hard wooden chair hitting the tiled floor as it fell connected with my ears making me flinch. Ivan looked terrified as he ran out and I could only stand there as Atlantic's furious gaze met mine.

I was pulled to the floor by the strength of the hit. Gravity pulling my body down, my head bouncing off the ground like a basketball. My eyes clenched as my head suddenly had a heartbeat more painful than the one in my chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I kept repeating as he delivered hit after hit until I couldn't move my jaw. I'm sorry.

Then he cried. Told me how sorry he was. And how he would never do it again.