His hand flew to the side of his face and covered the sting from her slap. "What the fuck are you doing?" She slapped him again. "Stop it!" He felt naked and exposed; he stumbled by her bed. He was naked and exposed.
She was drunk.
"I'm fucking sick of your face!" She wed each word with a slap and each word and each deed beat him.
He put his hands up to his face. His hands covered the sting yet didn't muffle his cries. "Stop it!
She took her fist and punched his gut. "You suck! FuckER! FuckER! Can't you fight back asshole?" She laughed; she taunted.
"You're a woman," his lips leaked. He took her forearms in his hands and pulled her fists apart like legs on a chicken. "Hey! Stop it!"
She took her knee and jabbed his testicles. He felt the pain to the floor; tears fell from his eyes. One last backhanded slap landed her ring above his brow and carved a scar on his face. Torn tissue and tears mingled above his mouth; he silently seeped.
"Oh baby!" She fell to her knees and pulled him into her arms. Her breath reeked; his stomach lurched. Her kisses muffled his mouth. She rocked him and cooed her contrition. Jesus calm her down! he silently prayed. Her naked breasts brushed against his skin. His skin moved. Her motion dizzied her and soon she slid to her side.
When time had passed, he gathered her into his arms and lifted her from the floor. He carried her to her bed and slid her between her sheets. He lifted his boxers from the floor and fisted them into the bathroom. He stared into the mirror; he viewed her affection on his face. He turned the tap, splashed her scars, and palmed each side of the basin. Tears fell freely from his face and snot seeped from his nose. He grabbed a tissue, whisked a wipe, and pitched the tissue into toilet. He carried the trash can from the bathroom and placed it beside her bed.
He found his friend in the chapel they once shared.
"What the hell happened to you?" He got off his knees and sat back into the pew.
"She got drunk last night."
"Mark." He put out his palm and squeezed his friend's shoulder.
"Apparently this is how she feels about me."
"Get away from her!"
"I'm in love with her."
"You can't be. That's not love!" He slid back in his seat and pointed his head toward heaven.
He lowered his voice and whispered his words. "Haven't you ever felt so fucking ..."
"Dude, we're in a chapel."
"... so numb that feeling anything was better than nothing?"
"No. But it can't be right."
"Listen to me. She hits me. You get that? She's mad at me." He inhaled and while holding the breath said, "It's like I'm invisible except when I'm with her. She cares about me."
"I care about you. Lots of people care about you."
"I know. But that's all intangible shi ... stuff."
"You've got to get yourself together Mark! This isn't right. I know leaving the seminary was devastating to you. I get it. But this punishment thing is crazy. Go see someone."
"I've gotta go."
"Mark ..." He watched his friend walk out of the chapel and slid back on his knees.
He looked into the mirror and traced the torn with his finger. His friend's words fucked his mind, "Go see someone." He leaned into arms and stared into his eyes; he saw.
She sat at her table. One hand held her head; the other cradled a cigarette.
"I can't be with you anymore." His emotions ejaculated into each of his words.
"Baby, my head hurts."
"Mine too." He turned around and walked out her door.
He resprawled on the sofa and listened to Eminem's lyrics, You don't get another chance ... I’ll never stoop so low again. I guess I don’t know my own strength ...