Peeking around the corner of the hallway, you sighed in relief that he wasn't standing there, waiting for you. It wasn't uncommon for you to find him standing around every corner, just waiting for you to approach him, a cocky smirk on his face. His words were dripped with venom, no matter how sweet. You knew he didn't want you to be with you, he wanted you so that he could make Alfred feel pain. You laughed bitterly at the thought of him truly wanting to be with you . No, he was keeping you away from Alfred, to teach him some sort of lesson, maybe, or possibly just to hurt him. Though part of you knew that he also got joy from hearing you scream, or watching you bleed, not just the tears you shed, or the unheard cries for help to Alfred. You shook your head. He wasn't jealous when you pleaded for Alfred, or when you spoke of him; it just annoyed him more.
Walking into the kitchen of your apartment, you looked around, surprised that Al wasn't waiting for you. You looked up. Well, he could be here. In your room, outside the door, even a place as cliché as your closet. Sighing, you thought about leaving and going to try to find Alfred, as you did everyday. But if Al found out, you didn't want to know what would happen. You were strong; you could endure the torture until Alfred got a handle over things. You hoped so, anyway.
Leaving the kitchen, you jumped when you saw Al standing there, that stupid smirk on his face like usual. He resembled Alfred, in a way. His hair was much darker, his eyes seemed to have an amber tint to them. He wore a bomber jacket that resembled Alfred's, but wore no glasses. Just a pair of sunglasses that he wore on his head most of the time. Alfred's 'hero' smile was replaced with a cocky look that never left his face, unless he was angry.
"You seem a little jumpy this morning," He said, a cocky tone to his voice.
You shook your head. "I'm fine," You looked at the floor.
"Hm, I don't believe you," He jerked your chin up so that you were facing him. His smirk grew.
"I'm… Fine," You said, glaring at him the best you could.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
You flinched, thinking his hand would come down upon your head, but he merely laughed as you did, and dropped his hand. "Come on," he waved you forward.
"W-where are we going?" You questioned.
"Where do you think? To my place, sweetheart," He turned away from you, giving you one last glance before walking out.
His place? The last time you went to his place, it didn't end well. He said was tired of your whining, and that's why he practically had under house arrest. You knew if you left, there would be hell to pay.
Following him out the door, you clenched your hands into fists, trying to stay calm, and look brave. Like you weren't fearing for your life.
"So," He said in front of you, "did you sleep well?"
"I slept… Fine," You muttered.
"You dreamt about Alfred last night, didn't you?" He turned and glared at you.
Of course, you had dreamt of Alfred, as did you every other night. You were in love with him after all. Did Al expect you to not dream about him? "No," You lied, "I didn't dream at all."
He chuckled. "You're lying, (y/n)."
You looked at the ground and swallowed hard. He scoffed.
"Whatever, just get in the car," He opened the door and shoved you inside the passenger seat.
The drive to Al's was a silent one. You had learned by this point not to speak unless spoken to, unless of course you wanted to be slapped. You stepped out of the car, and Al grabbed your arm. Your eyes went wide and you tried to pull away. He jerked you back, giving you a reproachful look. He dragged you all the way into his house, and shoved you inside.
"So, (y/n) what are we going to do today?" He moved closer to you and whispered in your ear, "I could put you out cold, but you'd probably dream of Alfred again," He chuckled bitterly and pulled away from you. "So I'll just try not to knock you out, 'kay?"
He shoved you to the floor, and kicked your stomach hard. Oh, how you wished for some sort of self defense experience, but you tried your hardest not to scream, to cry, as he ruthlessly beat you, knowing that would give him more joy. You sucked in a sharp breath as his nails dug into your arm, pulling you up. His lips locked with yours in a messy, bloody kiss. When he pulled away from you, he lightly wiped some blood from your mouth, grinning at his work. He pushed you onto the couch.
"You just stay here, I'll be right back, sweetheart."
You hated the resent you felt toward the man who claimed to be your 'hero'. Three months ago, you had never thought you would find yourself in a position like this. Battered and bloody, crying silently, sitting in in this man's home. No, three months ago, you imagined you would still be with you so-called 'hero'. Where was he now?
As Al reentered the room, he sat down next to you. Stared at the floor, refusing to even glance at the horrible man. "Here," he said flatly, putting a wet wash cloth in your lap.
You looked at him. Was he serious? He raised an eyebrow at you. "You don't want it? You want to be bloody? 'Cause you know I can arrange that."
You took the wash cloth and pressed it to your bleeding lip. He smirked, he loved having control over you. He loved watching you cry, begging him to stop. He especially loved the way you completely submitted yourself to him, never tried to fight back. He hated it, though, when you compared him to Alfred. When you yelled for him to come save you. He grunted. That idiot was as far from a hero as anyone gets. You were probably better off with him, he could protect you, unlike that hero-crazed boy who was living in some sort of fantasy.
That was why he had done this originally. Al wanted to show Alfred what the real world was like. It wasn't all happy-go-lucky and easy. But he eventually discovered how much fun you were, and decided to keep you around. He would've been nicer to you, but you were so attached to that damn Alfred, he couldn't help but angry with you. He couldn't stop himself from taking joy out of your pain, he wanted to think of him and him only. And it seemed the only way he could do that was to make you fear him.
You pulled the wash cloth from your lips, examining the blood that it had collected. You touched your lip, knowing it would look too great tomorrow. You put a hand over your stomach, cringing at the ache of where he had kicked you. You didn't want to live like this. Was there some way, any way to get him to stop being like this to you?
You looked up at the television, which Al had turned on, he had an arm around your shoulder, and was holding you closer to him than you wished to be. Others might have found it sweet, him holding you. But it felt as though he was holding you there to keep you from running away.
Which was exactly what you wanted to do.