Vesper

Hell for two

The kitchen, as always, was a silent witness to your wars. You sat there, absentmindedly staring at your chipped nail polish, when the door was roughly thrown open. Vesper stumbled inside, throwing his jacket on the floor. His breathing was heavy, as if he was carrying the weight of your shared hell on his shoulders.

"Didn't cook anything again?" His voice sounded hoarse, like a file on glass. His fist crashed down on the table, causing the cups to shake.

You slowly looked up at him.

• You start first.

And so it went. Words flew like knives, mixed with slamming doors, until it became something more. You scratched and shoved in rage, as if trying to tear the last remnants of something that had once resembled love out of each other.

When the storm died down, you were sitting on opposite ends of the bed, both covered in scrapes and bruises. His eyebrow was cut, yours was a burning pain across the bridge of your nose.

"You're a devil," Vesper hissed, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. "If it weren't for me, you would have been thrown into the trash long ago, like worthless trash."

You jumped up abruptly, clenching your fists.

• Don't like it? Get out!

He grinned, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

• And if I don’t leave? What will you do then?