Non, rien de rien.
Alice woke up to two large hands around her shoulders, shaking her in her bed.
Jetlagged and no longer used to speaking English, she murmured in a frightened tone, “Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”
“Why did you do it?” the owner of the hands leered over her, a dim light in the bathroom next to them partially illuminating the room.
Alice rubbed her eyes and stuck out her lower lip. She was half asleep and already drained emotionally- leaving her remarkably fragile.
This was how Brendan always attacked her, of course; when she was at her most vulnerable.
“What?” she asked, starting to feel distressed as she struggled to sit up against the thick palms that held her down.
“Why did you kiss him, Alice? Why?”
Alice squinted up at the teenaged boy she once dated and thought she loved and began to take shuddering breaths.
“Why are you doing this, Brendan?” Alice started to cry and tried to move away as he finally took his hands off her shoulders, only to be grabbed forcefully by her left wrist.
“Why did you do it, Alice!” Brendan was beginning to sound hysterical as he hissed into the darkness.
Alice wept as she curled her knees up to her chest and hugged them with one arm while Brendan held tightly to the other.
“I don’t know,” she sobbed in the darkness. She was tired- she was always tired- and like always, she just wanted this to end.
Brendan hissed at her again; vicious remarks that she’d heard time and time again, whether she’d been with him or not.
So Alice did what Brendan forced her to do every time. To be without Brendan was not to be without pain and suffering. To be without Brendan was to be hounded, stalked, harassed, hurt, blackmailed and manipulated.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, tears of desperation rolling down her cheeks as she leant her head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry. I only want to be with you again.”
And she was sorry, in a way.
Brendan’s grip loosened slightly on Alice’s wrist and she begged him to let her go back to sleep.
Yes, to be with Brendan was much easier. Especially at three in the morning.
Jetlagged and no longer used to speaking English, she murmured in a frightened tone, “Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”
“Why did you do it?” the owner of the hands leered over her, a dim light in the bathroom next to them partially illuminating the room.
Alice rubbed her eyes and stuck out her lower lip. She was half asleep and already drained emotionally- leaving her remarkably fragile.
This was how Brendan always attacked her, of course; when she was at her most vulnerable.
“What?” she asked, starting to feel distressed as she struggled to sit up against the thick palms that held her down.
“Why did you kiss him, Alice? Why?”
Alice squinted up at the teenaged boy she once dated and thought she loved and began to take shuddering breaths.
“Why are you doing this, Brendan?” Alice started to cry and tried to move away as he finally took his hands off her shoulders, only to be grabbed forcefully by her left wrist.
“Why did you do it, Alice!” Brendan was beginning to sound hysterical as he hissed into the darkness.
Alice wept as she curled her knees up to her chest and hugged them with one arm while Brendan held tightly to the other.
“I don’t know,” she sobbed in the darkness. She was tired- she was always tired- and like always, she just wanted this to end.
Brendan hissed at her again; vicious remarks that she’d heard time and time again, whether she’d been with him or not.
So Alice did what Brendan forced her to do every time. To be without Brendan was not to be without pain and suffering. To be without Brendan was to be hounded, stalked, harassed, hurt, blackmailed and manipulated.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, tears of desperation rolling down her cheeks as she leant her head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry. I only want to be with you again.”
And she was sorry, in a way.
Brendan’s grip loosened slightly on Alice’s wrist and she begged him to let her go back to sleep.
Yes, to be with Brendan was much easier. Especially at three in the morning.
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