Its about her. No, its about him. They're still trying to sort that bit out.
She drags her feet to the darkened room. She can sense his greed, his anger, his irritation. It fills the air thick and suffocating like polluted air that surrounds a house on fire. Instinctively, she reaches for the light switch nearest to the door, marked by their fingerprints over the years, used and abused. The light does something that barely passes off as switching on; it trembles for a while and eventually settles as a pale yellow that hardly reaches all corners of the room. A room that really wasn't too big. In fact, in was as small as the heart of the man sitting on the armchair in front of her.
"Come here", he says, with a demanding edge to voice. She tried to swallow her sigh, and with her eyes fixed on their stained carpet, she walks towards the bed. The bed slightly creeks as she tentatively places herself on it, towards the edge. "You fucking whore, you called him over, dint you? ", he spits out the words. "I did not! I'm sick of living in fear because of YOU!", she retaliated. She's on her feet now, and staring down at him. "You have no fucking right to talk to me like that!", she shouts back, suddenly finding her voice.
"Oh really, not even when my girlfriend calls her ex boyfriend over and hides it from me? Are you out of your peanut sized brain?", he's now on his feet and they face one another, their chests heaving and their hot breath being the only thing covering the space between them. He holds her upper arm and presses it hard. She tries to brush him off, but his grip only strengthens. His nails start to dig into her skin, surpassing the thin layer of her shirt. "You're hurting me!", she struggles to break away by pushing his hand away with her free hand.
"Good then", he says, this time calmly, and with- if she wasn't mistaken- a smile.