The Monsters We Didn't Want to Be

Note: This is a complete work of fiction. I wrote this a few years ago. Hell, I don't even remember writing this until I saw it again while browsing through some files on my old computer. For the life of me, I can't recall what urged me to write this. I never liked writing fiction because I suck at describing things realistically. I can't even imagine writing about something I absolutely have no idea of, but apparently at some point in my life, I decided to go for it and I wrote this. Here you go. I was basically grasping at straws here so constructive criticisms are welcome. If there are parts that are offensive or ridiculously off the mark, please tell me. At the end of the day, writing is writing and there's always something new to learn about the craft. :D

How did everything come to this? Where did we go wrong? When did we start to fall apart?

My heart was pounding as I pray that he’s not there yet. I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy to put up another fight.

Although it's hard to admit, in the deepest recesses of my mind, I also can’t help but hope that if he’s already inside, he would be waiting for me and he would be the same man that I fell in love with.

The house is dark as I made my way to the front door. I slowly opened it, hating how I’m shaking and already dreading what was to come as I anticipated the worst.

I stepped inside and for the second time that night, I dared to hope that everything would be okay this time around, that there wouldn't be any reason for shouts and hurtful words that we could never take back to be hurled at each other.

I made my way slowly into the kitchen and tried my best not to make a sound. As I walked past our living room, I saw him sleeping on the couch, his steady breathing loud in the dark silence.

The faint light from the window illuminated his face and I couldn't help but smile sadly. He looked so peaceful and at ease, and I longed to run my hands through his hair, like I used to do whenever we were on the couch and binge-watching some shows on TV.

It seems like an eternity ago but that used to be us – always watching our favorite shows together, eating out in hole-in-the-wall places that we just discovered, and going on spur-of-the-moment road trips without a specific destination in mind - that was us until our world started falling apart.

I caught myself before going too deep into memory drive and slowly tiptoed my way past the living room, careful not to wake him up.

Not even bothering to turn on the lights in the kitchen, I used the light from my phone to guide my way through as I made myself a cup of coffee before heading out to the back porch.

After closing the screen door slowly behind, I placed the mug carefully on the floor as I settled on the porch stairs. I lighted a cigarette and took a long drag, a habit that I had sworn to kick to the curb countless of times but always ended up doing more.

Perhaps just the same as the number of times that I thought about leaving him since the incident happened.

Sitting there and watching the starless sky above, I couldn't help but think about what happened and had been happening to us these past few weeks.

It's such an ugly word to describe something that started so beautifully but in this moment, alone in my thoughts and with no one to hear them, I could say it as much as I hate it - abuse.

My heart refuses to accept that something I had dreamed of all my life would turn into something so horrible that would border on abuse.

How could that be? He was everything I ever wanted in a man that I want to spend my whole life with. He was the man that I fell in love - he was kind, generous, and always ready to help anyone in need.

I later discovered him to be so much more than the man that I had known for three years before saying our I dos, but I just shrugged it off as normal – his unreasonable jealousy and possessiveness that I had no idea would take a turn for the worse.

That was until things escalated.

Whenever I came home later than usual, he would greet me with questions that would eventually turn into an endless tirade of accusations. Any attempt to explain on my part would just make things more heated so I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut to calm him down and not add to the tension.

Accusations would turn into insults, and insults would turn into shouts and before we know it, he would be in his car and speeding away to some place that only god knows where, while I would be left alone and crying my heart out.

It had been like that lately, a sickening routine of arguments, screaming, and shouts.

Until last night when things didn't just stop at words. He hit me.

For the first time ever since we’ve been together, the man that I love and have vowed to love beyond everything, my best friend, my husband hit me.

It was not so much as the slap that was unexpected but what I couldn’t immediately grasp was the fact that the man that I love was capable of doing so, and that he could do it again.

I winced in pain as I placed my hand over my cheek, the sting of the slap still fresh, as I reeled in disbelief at what had just happened.

I could see that he was about to slap me again and couldn't help but whimper as I raised my arms to protect myself. I was scared, it showed, and he saw it.

I guess that was when everything started rushing back to him – his abusive family, his fear of becoming physically abusive like his father, his firm resolve to never to be one.

I loved him more for being honest with me and telling me that part of his past. I vowed to myself right then that I would love him no matter what and promised him that I'd always be there by his side.

But here we are now and the cycle had started. He knew it. He saw it in the fear in my eyes, in my cheeks, and in his hand that was about to hit me again.

The realization hit him like a douse of cold water and in a blink of an eye, he was gone. He stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him. The sound of screeching tires was the last thing I heard before he drove off into the night.

With the memory still fresh, I take a long drag of the cigarette and laughed at how everything had turned out now, like a movie that I don't want to watch but have no ​other choice.

I could hear footsteps behind me and I know that he was up and heading to where I was. I could sense him stopping at the door and just looking at me, with my back to him.

I don't know what to expect anymore, how we're going to be okay again.

I dropped my dying cigarette on the tray and watched its burning end fade. Once it was completely out, I gathered my now-empty mug and started to head back into the house.