Broken

Prologue

He didn't mean it.  I know he didn't.  It was my fault anyway.  I shouldn't have stayed out so late.  I should've been more careful.  I had been so close to my room — so close to safety — and my excitement and temporary rush of adrenaline made me forget about the pattern of creaky floorboards.  One wrong step and it was over.

The first blow had been excruciating.  Not only was there the obvious physical pain, but also a mental and emotional one as well.  An ache of disobedience, a pang of guilt.  I knew he didn't want me staying out too late.  He'd told me multiple times.  He said it was dangerous.  That anything could happen to me.  So, when he caught me, it was words, ripping from his throat like metaphorical knives, followed by a beating.

But I get used to it.  The first few are the worst, but then I go numb and the pain melts away, leaving me with only my mental instability.  Tears, sobbing, the usual.  He might call me a whore.  He might say nothing at all.  Depends on the scenario and how much I disobeyed.

When it was over, he stormed back to his room and slammed the door, leaving me alone and whimpering in the hallway.  I managed to drag myself to the bathroom, rising shakily to my feet, and staring at my reflection.  There would probably be a mark on my face the next day.  I could already see the bruise forming.  My gaze ran over my face; the swollen eyes, the tear-stained cheeks.  Broken.  Battered.  Belittled. 

I held back a sob, wincing as I lifted up the hem of my shirt to see the large black and blue mark on my stomach.  It hurt to breathe.  Though whether that was from the repeated kicks to my torso or the absolute worthlessness I felt, I didn't know.

It took almost an hour for Jean to come into my room.  Longer than usual.  That meant he was mad.  Really mad.  He closed the door behind him and sighed, looking over my bruised and bleeding form.  "Armin," he spoke, his voice raspy from the yelling.  I could feel myself trembling.  "Babe, I'm sorry."

He walked towards me, climbing onto my bed and wrapping his arms around me.  "I don't know what came over me.  I was just worried about you."

I returned the embrace, feeling a little better about the whole thing.  "I'm really sorry.  I love you, you know that?  I love you so much."

"I-I love you too." I whispered, sniffling gently.  There it was.  Another apology, another 'I love you', another broken promise.