⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️
This story contains themes of emotional, physical, and psychological abuse, manipulation, violence, and trauma. It explores the complexities of toxic love, survival, and the long-term effects of being trapped in an abusive relationship.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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Chapter One
"It wasn't always like this."
"He still loves me. I love him. He is all I have."
Avery would always chant in his mind, especially on days like this.
"Fuck! Are you retarded?! You had just one simple job and you still couldn't do it right. All you had to do was spread your legs for a couple minutes—just a couple of fucking minutes—and you still fucked it up!"
Joshua's voice thundered through the apartment, every word ricocheting off the walls like bullets as they left his lips. Avery had already expected it—he always did—but no amount of expectation ever made him ready for this.
For this version of Joshua—the one that haunted his dreams, the one that crawled into his chest and curled around his heart like poison. This side of him was no stranger, but it still scared him.
He wished, every time, that he could vanish. Just disappear somewhere far away to escape his wrath. But deep down, he whispered into his heart like a prayer—no wish could save him.
Except him.
Avery's golden-brown eyes tracked his every movement, trying to slow the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat; he could hear his own heart thumping hard against his chest like drums in his ears. Joshua paced back and forth, muttering curses under his breath—too low for Avery's brain to register but sharp enough to sting.
His body cowered, fury in his fists curled into tight balls.
He was mad!
"I'm sorry," Avery mumbled under his breath, barely audible. It was the only thing he could say—the only thing that wouldn't make it worse.
Five years with him had screwed it hard into his head that talking back or saying anything apart from "I'm sorry" would only make things worse.
Don't talk back. Don't explain. Don't defend. Just say sorry—nothing else helped.
Nothing he said, or whatever excuse he had, could save him or calm Joshua down when he started. He was in trouble, and as usual, Joshua would vent out all his frustration and anger on him like every other day he managed to piss him off.
It was no different.
Why couldn't I do it?
A lone thought strayed into his mind as his eyes followed Joshua's movements and watched him scream curses at him. Watching him yell made Avery question himself all over again; it made him wonder what he was thinking when he ran out of the hotel knowing too well what would be waiting when he came home.
Why did I run?
He could have done it like he used to. He could have let the man have his way with him. He could have traded another piece of his sanity for Joshua's peace—it wasn't the first time.
But this time—he just couldn't. The thought of having yet another man on top of him made his stomach twist. He felt sick at the mere thought of it—he was disgusted.
He just couldn't anymore. So he ran.
"What did you just say? You're sorry? Really?! Sorry?" Joshua's voice dropped—deeper, more ferocious and laced with looming danger. "You just made me lose a million-dollar contract and now you're fucking sorry?!"
With every word that rolled off his lips like bolts of thunder, Avery's body trembled in fear of his known and already expected fate. Each step he took closer, Avery took two back—until there was nowhere else to go.
Then Joshua grabbed him by his hair and yanked him up, forcing him to look into his eyes.
And he saw it.
The one thing he hated the most apart from him: Joshua's eyes. He hated the way his deep brown eyes, that he once saw love, passion, and affection in, now held disgust, disdain, and hatred for him. He hated seeing it—even if he felt it—he hated how it reminded him he wasn't loved. Not anymore—maybe never.
Then came the anticipated slap.
It wasn't different from the ones he had received over the years. His face went numb instantly as his ears rang painfully. He tasted a distinct iron tang as blood pooled in his mouth and his lips split open, blood seeping out of it. Still, he didn't flinch. He just slid to the floor, his face blank and empty as his thoughts. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the cold wooden floor; he shifted but paid it no mind—it was like he didn't feel it.
He couldn't feel it anymore.
The pain and the stinging that came after didn't hurt any longer—he was already used to the pain. Pain was no stranger to him. After spending five years getting hurt, it once felt like something that brought tears to his eyes, but one day it just stopped hurting altogether—it felt like just another moment of silence.
He couldn't feel it anymore.
Like he died.
He was nothing but a painkiller to Joshua. A cash cow with no mind of his own—but he stayed. Despite knowing this, he still remained by his side.
He saved me, Avery thought. I need him. Stupid. Stupid. I deserve this. I always mess things up. I never listen and do as I'm told. I deserve to die for this.
A cold, low chuckle escaped Joshua's throat. His voice, now low and venomous, slithered down Avery's spine, making him slowly tremble in fear.
"What are you going to do about the money you made me lose, huh? How the fuck do you plan to pay me back, you stupid retard?" Each word that escaped his lips sounded more like a threat than a question. His grip on Avery's hair tightened.
He yanked a handful of Avery's strawberry blonde hair from his scalp. Still, Avery didn't yelp in pain, didn't flinch, didn't move at all. He just sat there, motionless, shaken by fear, staring at anything that wasn't his eyes.
He couldn't begin to imagine what would become of him if he failed again. He might not be alive to imagine it.
A strong grip around his neck yanked him out of his thoughtless stare—Joshua was choking him. Avery's body struggled as his toes left the ground, his throat closing beneath the crushing grip of that large palm wrapped around his neck.
"Speak! You worthless whore!" Joshua bellowed, tightening his hold. The oxygen rushed out of Avery's lungs and color drained from his face. He could barely breathe—but he didn't dare speak.
He could kill him and end it all—but he wouldn't.
He loves me, Avery told himself again. A pathetic lie he still clung to like salvation.
"Useless!" Joshua snarled before throwing him across the room like garbage. Avery crashed to the floor, his skull hitting the wall with a sickening thud. He knew Joshua wouldn't kill him—not because he didn't want to. Not yet. He still owed him a lot more than death.
If he really wanted me dead, why wait seven years to do that?
He coughed violently, gasping as air finally filled his lungs. He could feel Joshua's presence looming beside him again. He was kneeling now, his gaze piercing, filled with hatred and disdain—but Avery didn't lift his head. He hated those eyes. He hated seeing the disgust in them.
His heart thundered in his chest, hammering hard—probably trying to escape before it had to witness what came next.
And then—the kick came.
He already knew what came next.
A heavy boot slammed into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. It didn't stop there. Strong fists landed on his back; soon blood flowed from his mouth with each blow. He curled inward, bruised arms shielding his ribs, trying to protect himself from any further hits.
Joshua's growls and curses filled the apartment like thunder. The floor beneath them darkened with a pool of crimson. He didn't stop—not until Avery lay limp, clothes soaked in blood, and his body painted with red and purple bruises. His breaths were ragged and shallow—like those of a dying man.
Maybe he was.
Joshua's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"I wonder why your whore of a mother even bothered giving birth to you in the first place. You're just a worthless waste of space. Trash. A filthy whore—just like her. That's all you are, Avery. And to think I picked you out of the gutter, thought you'd be better than those street rats. You don't even deserve the bed you sleep in."
The words pierced deeper than the blows. But this time—something was different.
A couple of years ago, Avery would've cried. He would have begged, clung to him, asked him to take it back. But not anymore. It was different now.
He's right. I don't deserve to live.
He just lay there, all bruised and broken, watching him walk out of the room, leaving him to bleed on the cold floor without a second glance.
Why did she even bother? She should've just ended it when she had the chance. I'm better off dead than living like this. He's right. He should've left me to die on the streets.
Why me, all the time?
Can't I be happy too?
His consciousness slipped like water through his open fingers. The light in the room dimmed around the edges of his vision. Everything around him blurred. He could hardly hear anything. It fell silent and cold as he sank into the endless void—into an emptiness that knew no bounds.