I hopped into his pickup truck. We were finally leaving Jason’s party. He put it in gear and sped back home. Driving fast, with my hand out the window makes me feel so free, free from all the hurt that I endure. It helps me forget.

            We arrive at Dylan's house. Dylan’s parents were out to dinner with some friends, so we have the house to ourselves. Right as we walked into the door, he walked to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

            “I’m hungry for a pizza,” he grunts as he carries the bottle of booze and a glass to the living room, where he plops in front of the couch and turns on the TV.   

            Without hesitation, I preheat the oven. Then, I begin prepping the salad. Dylan always likes to have salad before dinner. He read somewhere that it raises metabolism. I do not know if that is true or not, but I am definitely not going to question the man.

            Dylan likes his salads finely diced, with blue cheese crumbles, bacon, croutons, and French dressing. I was chopping the lettuce and I looked up to see Dylan staring at me, watching my every move.

“What did you and Andy talk about during the game?”
            Here we go with the questions again, I thought. He is always paranoid that I am cheating on him or trying to leave him.
            “We didn’t talk very much, we concentrated on the game.”
            He took another chug of whiskey, as he moved closer to me. I could feel his breath on my neck and I could smell it to. This was not good, I thought. I tried my hardest not to cringe in fear as he placed his hands on my hips. I knew what I had to do. I turned towards him and kissed him, trying to ease his mind and reassure him that I love him. I didn’t see his hand coming until it slapped me across my cheek. It burned, like bee stings across my face.
            “You dirty piece of trash!” he shouted. “How dare you talk to him! He is nothing but a worthless piece of dirt scraped from the bottom of my boots!”
            Holding my cheek, I back away from him. “I am sorry!” I plead, noticing his bloodshot eyes.
            Dylan takes a step towards me and I start to run away from him. I couldn’t get away fast enough. His fist penetrated into my lower back knocking me to the floor. I collapsed. Pain shot through my legs and up my spin. I couldn’t move.
            Looking down on me, he hollered, “You’re a selfish piece of trash!”
            He continued to tower over me, glaring at me like I was worthless. I said nothing, for there was nothing to say. I knew I couldn’t cry, that only made Dylan angrier. After a minute, I managed to find the strength to push myself off the cold, hard, kitchen floor. My hands were shaking. I knew what I had to do. I walked to the island, picked up the knife, and continued to finely chop the lettuce.