Challenge #24 QuickFic #8
Title: The First Sign
Prompt: How about no, clocks
Bonus? yes
Word Count: 1333
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: original (Blurring the Lines)
Pairings (if any): Mark/Devon
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Non-Con, Violence
Summary: Mark and Devon have been dating for a few months now, but something isn't quite right.
The First Sign
Devon was definitely an eye catcher. A few months ago we met at a party and seemed to hit it off, I wasn’t convinced right away due to the amount of alcohol I consumed, but when we continued to get to know each other things were very promising indeed. The most recent couple of months we have been pretty smitten with each other, send cutesy messages to each other, have date nights where we snuggle on the couch and watch movies, then he asked me to move in with him. I was pretty excited, I had never been in a relationship long enough for someone to ask me to move in.
Everything was going great for the first few months, we had our little disagreements like most couples, but most of the time we got along famously. One day I had to stay after work to finish grading the music theory midterms for my symphonic band classes, the band room has horrid cell phone reception and my office just happened to be in the back corner so when I left the building every day my phone would practically shake itself out of my pocket with all of the missed texts and voicemail messages. When I started my car I glanced at my phone and noticed I had six new voicemails from Devon and almost twice as many texts that seemed to get angrier. While I was dialing his number my phone started ringing, he was calling yet again.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t respond sooner-”
“What the fuck? I thought you were going to be home almost two hours ago!” Devon growled.
“I was finishing up some grading and I don’t get very good reception in my office,” I barely squeaked out. “Y-you know that.”
“A decent human being would have used the office phone to let me know he was going to be late.”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to get my work done and get home. I’m on my way now.”
“Be prepared for an argument, I’m fucking pissed,” and he hung up on me. Fan-fucking-tastic. My heart beat steadily faster as I grew closer and closer to my house. As I pulled in the driveway my hands started shaking and I was chewing on my lip so hard it was almost bleeding. The last time he told me to prepare for an argument he almost hit me, this was not going to end well, though there is a good chance he calmed down and we’ll just brush it off. I sigh and gather my things to head into the house. When I walk into the living room I notice the coffee table is littered with empty beer bottles and I know all hope of Devon calming down is out the window. Proceeding with caution, I venture to the kitchen to find him searching the refrigerator.
“Devon? I’m home. Are you alright?”
“Where is the rest of the damn beer?”
“By the looks of the living room, I’d say we don’t have anymore.” I immediately regret saying that. Devon whips around and gets within a foot of me, glaring right into my eyes. His breath reeks of booze and stale cigarettes, he only smokes when he gets drunk so this is not a good indicator of how my night will end.
“You calling me a liar, Mark? I know we had more beer.”
“Maybe it’s downstairs, I can check for you,” any excuse to leave a bit of distance between us. He takes a step closer and I flinch, this makes him pause and his face immediately softens.
“Oh my god, baby I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just so worried when you weren’t home when I got here and I got a little crazy thinking the worst had happened.”
“I’m sorry too, I should have called you from the office phone but I didn’t think it would take that long. Let’s get something to eat, hm?” I tread carefully with my words, anything could spark the argument right back up again. He smiled and moved closer, grabbing my hands, kissing my neck.
“If you’re hungry, how about some sausage?” his husky voice whispers in my ear as he wraps my hand around the hard on protruding within his pants.
“How about no,” I chuckle slightly and try to pull away but he tightens his grip.
“You missed dinner, you’ve gotta have something to eat. I’m thinking a meal in bed,” he lets go of one of my hands and practically drags me down the hall to the bedroom, I resist the whole way.
“Baby I’m really not in the mood right now, can we do this when you haven’t had so much to drink?” My heart is beating in my throat and I start to internally panic. I have never been in a situation like this and I really don’t know what to do.
“I’m fine. I’m horny, so you’re going to satisfy like I asked, got it?” Devon’s voice had a growl tinge to it and all I could do was shake my head and hold back tears. Wrong choice, my face was stinging before I realized he had backhanded me. “I don’t want to have to ask again.”
“Devon no, please. I don’t want to right now. You’re scaring me.” Tears streak my face and I’m shaking, not knowing how to fix this. If only I would have called from work this would not be happening right now. His jaw tightens and this time I have a slight glimpse of fist before it meets my eye and I yelp in pain.
“Am I scary now? Are you feeling more up to fulfilling what I asked?”
I don’t respond, the tears are dripping off of my face, my hand covers my eye, and I stare at the floor. After a moment I think he is just going to pass out for the night but then more punches follow to my head, my stomach, my sides. Within a few minutes I’m a tear soaked, bleeding, swollen mess curled into the fetal position on the floor and Devon is standing over me breathing hard. I can’t even think, I’m just waiting for it to be over. His hands grab my shirt and pull me up into an unsteady standing position, when he lets go I think he has had enough. Wishful thinking can get you into trouble. Devon literally rips my shirt off of me and pushes me back on the bed before he removes his own shirt and undoes his pants. When he grabs a fistful of my hair I know my nightmare is just beginning and resisting will only make it hurt worse for me.
After everything is said and done Devon passes right out, I lay as still as possible and stare at the back of his head. One damn phone call and this night could have been avoided, it’s all my fault. I don’t sleep a wink all night, mostly because every time I close my eyes it replays over and over. When he gets up for work in the morning I pretend to be asleep though I almost blow my cover when he kisses my forehead, it took all my might not to flinch. When he left I called in sick to work and stood in the bedroom for close to an hour just staring. I mustered enough motivation to clean up, looking in the mirror started the tears all over again. I took a shower and got dressed but I didn’t feel clean, I ended up scrubbing until my skin was bright red and even more tender.
By tomorrow the bruises will have set in, I’ll be less sore, and everything can get back to normal. I just have to remember to call him if I’m going to be late.
Throughout the day I catch myself staring at the clock, counting the hours and minutes until I have to face him.