And there it was, in plain view. Everyone could see it, but half of them didn’t want to believe it. Her lips on his. His lips on hers. Oh sweetie, it takes two to tango.

“Christina!” A male’s voice screamed, well, slurred, as he stood up, chasing after the girl that was rushing away. He pretty much ignored the squeals of protest from the little whore that was just straddling his lap. And even in his drunken state he seemed to notice what he had done was wrong, now if he would remember it in the morning that was another story.

“Go away.” She muttered, tears slipping down her face. Her sober face. She’d definitely remember this, even if he didn’t. And she wouldn’t let him forget it. Not until the day he realized that this was the final straw. The first time she forgave. The second time hurt worse, and this, this was it.

“Don’t be like that sweetie. She doesn’t mean anything to me.” He said, watching his girlfriend get into her car. Though, as she reached back to get her seatbelt his hand, almost on its own, snapped out and grabbed her wrist, dragging her out of the car. One hand holding her hair and the other holding onto her wrist. “Look at me.” He spat.

Her eyes went wide. Not this again. She forced her terrified self to move her head and open her eyes, staring into his. The smell of his alcohol coated breath brushed against her nostrils and nearly made her gag on the spot. It had killed her father, and it could be the death of her.

“Now, I want you to tell me it doesn’t matter.” He demanded, holding the beer bottle in his hand still. Of course, you know, he wasn’t drunk enough to completely forget it. He knew he wanted his beer, and he wanted his girlfriend to suffer for making him look like such an idiot in front of all of his friends. If she hadn’t walked in they wouldn’t have looked at him in shock.

“It does matter.” She muttered, her eyes looking away. She stared down at the ground which seemingly got further and further away. Was that figuratively? Not really. His grip on her hair pulled her up off the ground, the beer pouring a bit into her hair, his free hand holding her shoulder, tight enough to leave an immediate bruise. She whimpered in pain, looking towards the door hoping someone would walk out.

“It. Does not.” He replied, giving her a glare. When she contradicted him again that was the last straw. He let go of her, smacked her across the face with the beer bottle, once she was on the ground, he kicked her side and made his way inside like nothing had happened.

It was four hours before someone walked outside and saw her like that. They had called the police, after of course getting everyone out of the house so they didn’t get in trouble for drinking. And it was then, a couple hours later, that she woke up, with a serious headache, a couple beeping monitors, and a pair of people staring over her.

“Sweeite! We’re so glad you’re okay.” Her mother cooed, hugging her tight.

“Who are you?” Christina replied.