The soft sizzling of oil echoed through out the silent home and the loud timer of the heated oven ticked noisily. The sound was a constant reminder that the sun was setting and seven o'clock was right around the corner. The sound was a constant reminder of the hell Asher called home. Her grip around the oven handle tightened, her tan knuckles fading into a pasty white as the front door slowly pushed open. The tall dark haired man marched in without a word, he only threw his heavy coat on the glass coffee table and stepped into the kitchen. His hot breath was on Ashers neck and his toned arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame. She hated the way he felt against her body, it was so wrong, so sickening. "Baby," He mumbled into her ear and let his chapped lips graze her soft ear lobe. "I don't want this shit for dinner." He whispered and grabbed her ass as she bent over the open oven to pull out the baked potatoes. "I want you," He groaned and pinned her against the cool, white refrigerator. "I want this," He looked her dead in the eye and ran his callused hands in the inside of her thigh. She tried to move away from him but she knew from past experiences that he hated it. His dirty hand made circles near her most private areas and she couldn't help but whimper. Not from pleasure, but pain. She hated the way his scummy fingers touched her, the way his rough lips left bruises against her skin, the way he was never gentle. "We need to eat," She bravely pressed her palms to his chest and shoved him back. Asher immediately saw the rage flash in his eyes and she regretted the moment she stopped him. She knew she could have just let him fuck her as she laid there, like most nights but for some reason, something in the back of her mind was telling her, "not this time." "I told you," His voice was raising with every word he spoke. "I told you I don't want this shit for dinner!" He screamed and pushed Asher back against the fridge. She let out a gasp as the metal handle stabbed into her skin. "Are you fucking useless?" He hollered and picked up the clay tray holding the potatoes. "I come home, I've just been fucking laid off and you won't let me fuck you? Let alone make a decent dinner? You're pathetic!" He lifted the tray over head and watched as Asher cringed away; she thought he was going to throw it at her. He slammed the clay dish into the wall and charged at Asher. She tried to run but before she could make it to the front door, he had her on the wooden dining table, his hands firmly around her neck. "E-Erick!" She choked and let the salty tears pour down her cheeks. "St-op!" Asher screamed and kicked her knee hard against his groin. This only angered him more; he threw his fist back and landed it against Asher's left check. She let out loud sob and sucked in the last bit of air she could get. He was going to kill her tonight, just like her friends had warned. She had to do something, anything to stay alive, but she was on the verge of passing out. Eric's arm raised once again but just as he took another swing, a large hand wrapped around Eric's forearm and pulled him off of Asher. Gasping for breath, Asher watched as the stranger threw Eric dead across the room, into the glass coffee table. Her chest heaved at a rapid pace and sweat was dripping down her forehead, her eyes shut tightly and she let out a soft cry. Asher wished so desperately that she was eight years old again, wrapped up in her princess bed spread, clutching her stuffed Panda tightly. She wished her mother would be next to her, reading "My Monster Momma Loves Me So." and they would keep their voices low as they laughed because Ashers father was dead sleep in the next room. "Open your eyes," She heard someone whisper. "Asher, open them." Asher's eyes shot open. How did this person know her name? Suddenly she was staring into the most familiar green eyes she had ever seen. Her heart was beating rapidly as he stared intensely into her blue ocean eyes, the intense stare, she remembered, was from her childhood. "Zachary," was all he said and it clicked. He was her "imaginary" friend that came to visit her every night up until she was nine. "Zacky?" She whispered with a cracking sob attached. "You're real?" She gasped and let her fingers slide against his rugged jaw bone. "I'm real," He smiled and gazed down upon her shaking frame. He moved closer and pressed his palm gently over her eyes. "I'm sorry," He whispered and pressed his soft lips against her neck. "I'm sorry," His tongue dragged across his razor sharp teeth before he dug them deep within the veins of her neck.

Notes

This is a repost from a long time ago on mibba. I finally decided to get around to finishing it. I apologize about the first few chapters, I didn't spell check them. I refuse to now, I'm lazy, ha.