FicWad

This is NOT my first ever SongFic. I have a few, which I'll probably wind up uploading. But for now, enjoy this! It was written for my friend mistressxwinter. Look her up; she is AMAZING at writing!
Enjoy!!

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His hand fell hard and fast into the skin on her cheek, causing her skin to turn a shade of maroon from shame, anger, and pain. She closed her eyes; bit her lip against the pain-filled whimpering that wanted to escape her mouth, and accepted the clear-cut pain. His hand drew away from her skin, only to come back down in the exact same spot.

"You deserve this," he hissed through clenched teeth, unhooking his belt from around his waist and shoving her onto her haunches and hands. She fought against her trembling body, clenching her teeth and tightening her jaw. He brought the belt around his back, and almost as if in slow motion, brought it down upon her back. He had rolled back her shirt moments before, leaving a literal field of unscarred skin.

Satisfaction stayed on his lips like the taste of something bitter. As the leather belt made contact with her skin, ripping it apart and bringing forth the sacrifice of blood, she lost control; she screamed.

"But this time, I mean it," he shrieked over her howls of pain, moving positions slightly and bringing the belt down to mark an 'x' on her back.

She lost control of herself and sobbed, hysterical in every shape and form. "Just stop," she screamed, collapsing onto her stomach and burying her head into her arms. "I'm trying, I'm trying to be better," she stuttered through her tears, feeling the blood run across her back like water. "Just stop or put me out of my misery!"

He threw the belt away from himself, stormed around to her face, and gripped her shoulders. His face was contorted in blind fury, eyes flaring and bloodshot. "I'd say we could take to the highway," he snarled, pressing his nose against her tear-covered nose, "but I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to behave yourself!"

Acting on blind anger, he took the butt of his palm and shoved it up into her nose. She cried out in agony, clawing at air, blood gushing from her nose like a sickening waterfall. "Just kill me, kill me already," she said thickly through the blood, her shoulders heaving slightly.

She sat there, sobbing onto the ground, bleeding from the two wounds on her back and her now profusely broken nose. His gaze softened, the drunken anger suddenly dying, and he kneeled down beside her.

"Baby," he muttered, touching her hair lightly with a bloodied hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for hurting you, babe, but it had to be done. You had to be taught a lesson!" His lower lip trembled slightly as he tried to fight back the oncoming flush of tears. "You forgive me, don't you? Don't you!?"

His voice, so forceful and starting to build up on anger again, startled her out of her anger slightly. "I forgive you, I forgive you," she said quickly through the tears and blood. The two liquids melded together and fell from her face, a gushing bloody waterfall. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, ripping off a piece of her nightgown effortlessly a putting it up to her nose. It was an attempt to stop the flow of blood, but she noticed too quickly that her hands were once again sticky with the substance.

Carefully and gently, as if he were going to kill her by touching her, he put his hands onto her head. She tried not to shy away from his touch, and remained as confused as ever at how it felt; it burned against her skin, like a putrid disease, but it also felt calm and inviting.

Which one to believe?

"I'm so sorry, darling," he said softly, jerking her face upward startlingly quickly and forcing her to look in his eyes. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" Then a twist of features and an angry grimace pulled at his eyes and face. "Don't you fucking dare say you need to go to the emergency room! Don't you fucking dare. How could you suggest such a thing, do you want me locked up?" He gripped her shoulders and shook her forcefully.

She put a hand up in surrender, the other still trying desperately to stop the blood. "I won't go to the emergency room," she swore as her blood began to clot in her nose. Her back ached, stung, felt as if nails were being driven into her back. She knew she would eventually have to go to the emergency room-the back wounds were bound to become infected-but she couldn't, not as long as he was with her.

"I feel like there's nothing left to do but prove myself to you," he said sadly, letting go of her shoulders and slumping back onto his knees dejectedly. "How could you forgive someone like me?" He looked disdainfully over at the table, in which three bottles of Vodka lay, all empty. "A drunkard." He spit the word out with such venom she recoiled from it.

He hopped up, forever a whirlwind of emotion, and forced her to lurch up. She yelped in pain and shock, closing her eyes as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Come on," he whispered, eyes glinting. "Let's go on a road trip. Just you and me. Let's go to Florida, spend some good ol' quality time together."

Knowing better than to argue, she nodded bleakly and let him drag her away from the house. His pants were leaning haphazardly on his hips thanks to the lack of a belt. Her shirt was still bunched up slightly, her arm sending pain waves of agony to her back from the pull of his own strength. The two got in the car and she watched nervously as he fumbled with his keys.

"Maybe I should drive," she began slowly, but was silenced by a glare from him.

"What!?" he roared. "I'm not fit for driving?"

He leaned towards her, breath reeking of alcohol. "I'll show you, you slut," he sneered.

She nodded, looking straight ahead through the windshield as he clumsily started the car and backing up. He knocked over the trashcan, and she listened listlessly as the cans of beer and bottles of alcohol rolled out of it. He obviously didn't notice; he sped off down the street faster than the speed limit, and before she knew it she was gripping the side of the seat and screaming at him.

"Slow down! There are people sleeping, and there have got to be police/! The last thing /we need is to be taken downtown!"

She immediately regretted saying it. The car came to a sudden halt, the dark silence of the night eerie in it's finality as he slowly turned to face her.

Disbelief rang in his voice. "What did you just say to me?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," she said too quickly.

She kept her face facing straight ahead, kept her eyes looking anywhere, everywhere other than his eyes, God-forbid she met his eyes and he met hers and she saw how angry he was, please don't let him be angry, please, it was bad enough this time why does he always have to get so angry it wasn't fair how come she couldn't screw up ever but he could please god, oh please, don't let him be too angry-

She closed her eyes, swallowed darkly, and felt cold metal press against her head as if it were a beacon to some sort of dark magic.

"I warned you." His voice was full of sadness. "I warned you not to upset me, didn't I? Didn't I!?"

"Yes," she whispered through frightened tears, even though she did not recall him warning her that specific night. She knew what the metal was; dreaded it as children dread visiting the dentist.

He had threatened her with it before hand, oh yes, but he had never pressed it against her head, ready to blow her head right off her shoulders.

"All we are is bullets," he murmured.

Her body froze in the sitting position she was in, hair on the back of her neck raising as if they were the hackles on a dog. Senses put on full alert, she groped desperately for the training in karate she had had when she was younger. She prayed, even though she had never believed in a God, that he would not shoot her.

Moments ticked by slowly. Finally, he lowered the gun slightly, but still held it up in an erect fashion. The metal pressed against her exposed forearm, causing gooseflesh of cold fear to come forth all over her body. A trickle of sweat rolled from her forehead down to the side of her face, all the way down to her chin before it dripped away into a different existence.

She saw, out of the corner of his eye, him shaking his head. "I have to," he whispered frantically, probably to himself more than her. "It's the only way, and she must be taught a lesson." Then, turning his attention to her, she saw his face become placed into a cool cover of granite. "Know how much I want to show you you're the only one," he said rather morosely. "But those who love others must teach those they love lessons."

"Please don't," she begged as he slowly brought the gun back to her head. Her world seemed to move in slow motion as his hand moved from her forearm to the top of her ear; it was as if her life wasn't much longer than those two seconds.

"Why?" she finally asked. "What did I do?"

He wet his lips with his sickly tongue. "Like a bed of roses there's a dozen reasons in this gun" was his response.

And then the trigger was slammed back against the gun's hard, relentlessly unyielding metal.