Only he loved her,
with all her flaws and faults,
he had told her this, time, and time again, yet she still insisted;
to leave the house, when she were supposed to be home to greet him, to hang out with those backstabbing and lying friends of hers, to not clean the house when he had repeatedly told her to:
all things that were to expected of a partner.
He had tried yelling at her, but that did nothing, he had tried smashing plates, but she persisted, then finally he found the magic trick.
Hitting her once or twice, not to hurt her, but to save her.
After a couple of months, she were finally entirely his. His angel, his obedient pet.
But even pets will bite their owners hands off, if pushed too far.
He saw the rage in her eyes, her white teeth and red lips turning into a sneer, she threw everything within her reach with the intent to hurt him, forks, cups, and knives, one of them piercing through the fragile flesh of his hand. The very same hand that had painted bruises on her, repainting them when they faded.
she did not cry, there were no ounce of regret evident on her face.
she packed up her things, all while he were pitifully writhing in pain on the floor, blood tainting the white carpet.
She did not look back once, and left him nothing but the scar on his hand, reminding him to never again lay hand on another woman.