This Is The End by Kaylee M. KayKayLuvzKookie (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

When he had first hit me, he told me it’d never happen again. The next time he held a bottle to his lips, and my skin became spotted with bruises, he told me he’d change. On the day that I had showed up out of the blue and was thrown against the table, he told me he was sorry.

Me and Malcolm have been dating for over a year now. He started off sweet, caring. A nice pre-med student, barely over the age of twenty, not that far into his studies at Vanderbilt University.

When we met, it was during a free period of mine, where he was running down the sidewalks, late for class. He tripped over a chunk of raised stone, and fell face first into the cement. Thankfully, he was okay when I rushed over to him, however he had insisted that to get better, he had to take me out for coffee that weekend.

It wasn’t long after that day that we had started going steady. It felt more of a natural thing. Everyday, even though it was new, ran smooth into place, feeling perfect and right. I moved out of my mom’s apartment, into his a few blocks away. We were happy, and it was beautiful. Cuddling on the couch, watching a movie, walking hand-in-hand to our separate classes, lunch dates to my favorite cafe.

Sometimes it felt too good to be true. I haven’t been in many relationships before him, my last one ending around the end of my sophomore year in highschool. Me and guys didn’t really ‘click,’, I spent more time on my studying, rather than doing what most seem to be into these days.

The day everything changed, it wasn’t expected. My class ended at noon, and seeing as it was a Tuesday, he’d usually be waiting for me outside near our usual meeting spot. When he wasn’t there, I shook it off, figuring he was off with his friends somewhere, which was completely fine. So I had called up one of my friends and went to lunch with her instead.

I didn’t have any other classes, but I was bored, not wanting to go home and sit alone while Malcolm was in his own classes. So for the next few hours I had driven around town, exploring some of the places I hadn’t been to in a while. Later that afternoon, when I went home, I was happy to have found his familiar mess of red hair poking above the back of the couch when I walked in. He didn’t seem to hear me enter, which gave me the perfect idea, to scare him.

The carpet didn’t pick up the sounds of my footsteps as I creeped up behind him. As I finally reached my boyfriend, I grabbed his shoulders and squealed out, “Boo!” like a child.
Everything else happened in a blur. Malcolm growled loudly as he stood and grabbed me roughly by my wrist, yanking me so I feel over the back of the couch, onto the floor at his feet. Terrified, I whimpered as tried to move back from the suddenly angry man, whose face twisted with rage.

“M, calm down, I’m sorry.” I said quickly, not used to his rage. Usually he was more playful, and probably would’ve tried to scare me back, or tickle me until we both ended up a laughing mess on the floor. I’ve never seen him so angry.

In the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of something reflecting in the dim lamp light.

It was a bottle, or more importantly, an alcohol bottle, and not a weak one either. At that moment, I noticed a couple of them, empty or half full, littering the ground around us. “Since when do you drink?”

“Where were you? You’re home late,” His voice was low, words slurred slightly together. You could hear his southern Tennessee accent with easy. His anger was more clear then the fact that he wasn’t sober. “You were supposed to be home early today.”
“I just went around town. Took some me-time. Next time I’ll tell you, if you’re really that worried.”
“I’m not worried!” He barked loudly, making my ears ring. Malcolm turned and opened the door to his room, disappearing on the other side of the door.
Confused at what happened, I sat in a daze for a few minutes, staying immobile on my spot on the floor. Shortly after, I got up and I cleaned up the bottles, and the rest of the mess in the apartment. I didn’t know what had just happened, but I did know one thing. Malcolm never drank, he was highly against it. His dad died from an addiction to alcohol, so he avoided the substance as well as he could, taking his time to study to become a doctor.

There was nothing to clean anymore, nothing left to distract me from my thoughts, as I lay back on the couch, flicking through the channels on the T.V, settling on an old sitcom. My attention wasn’t fully on the show, but more of the dull ache in my wrist and back, and on Malcolm’s behavior. When he was sober, I decided, I was going to talk to him about it.

Later on I ended up falling asleep, only to be woken up by the sun peering at me through the blinds in the morning. I was in my bed, wrapped in my fluffy yellow blanket, so instantly I had knew that he was awake and about. Yawning, I stretched and slid off the mattress, holding the blanket tight around me as I walked into the living room. Malcolm sat there, hands wound tightly around a water bottle, his face in pain, no doubt from a hangover. No better time to talk about last night.
“Hey,” I said softly, still nervous that he might still be angry, though, when he turned his head towards me and gave me a tired smile, I was relieved.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Malcolm put the water down and pulled me gently by the wrist over to him, sitting me down.
My wrist was still a little sore from how tightly he gripped it yesterday, having really low pain tolerance did that. So naturally I winced, and he noticed.

“Becca, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His smile faded as he grew concerned, wrinkles creasing into his forehead.
He mustn’t remember last night, if he doesn’t remember that he caused that. I didn’t exactly want to say anything then, so I figured that later was probably a better time to talk, when we both felt better. After all, I had just gotten up, I was still not half-asleep. “Just a little sore is all, I might’ve laid on it some last night to make it feel as badly.”
Malcolm nodded, believing my words, they weren’t exactly lies, but it wasn’t exactly the truth. His hands gently wrapped around my arm, and his fingers softly massaged my wrist. “Just be careful, alright? I can’t let you get hurt.”
“You’re only saying that because you know if I’m hurt, I won’t want to cook for you,” I teased, smiling childishly.

He mocked a shocked expression. “I would never!” His voice dropped to a whisper, “You’re cooking is terrible, anyways.”
I gasped, “You did not just say that.”
“What are you going to do if I did?”
The male wasn’t expecting me to lunge, but I did, I came at him with a couch pillow and hit his head. “Take it back, now.”
Sticking out his tongue, I got a response of, “Never,” Before I was tickled to the point where tears were coming out of my eyes.

“Okay, fine! You win,” I admitted defeat, kicking his leg. “Asshole,”

The smile on his face grew, “C’mon, get ready, my head hurts and we need to leave soon.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“It’s just a headache, nothing new.”

Nothing new. Does he even know that he’s hungover? It doesn’t seem right, a pre-med student, who usually is refusing himself to intoxication, now getting drunker than ever, and elapsing into the aftermath sickness. I wonder if this has happened before, and I just didn’t know about it.

It made me really curious of how much I didn’t know of his activities.

It’s not that I don’t trust Malcolm, I do. He’s a person I’d trust my life with. I know he’d never cheat, or steal from me. His actions will always be right, his words true. No secrets are kept between us. We couldn’t lie if we wanted to, we’re stuck in a habit of telling the truth to one another, being able to trust each other, as our other half.

This was a great relationship, one that I knew would last a long time, despite petty arguments or fights we might have. We will have a nice, happy life together, and that’s what got me through each day. Knowing I had a blessing, a miracle, on my side, one that would stick with me until the day I die.

And the fact that he loved me as much as I loved him, made it so much better.

Malcolm cooked as I left to get ready, in a better mood than I had been after I came home last night. I was eager to be around him more today, to forget about yesterday, so I took no time in doing what I needed to before leaving my room.

“Hoodie thief,” Malcolm called, looking in my direction, “That’s my favorite one too,”
A giggle escaped my lips as I walked over and hugged him from behind as he worked at the stove, “But I’m your favorite girl, am I not?”
“Yes, you are,” He agreed.
“Good,” I reached over and kissed his cheek, before walking away to find my bag. “Just don’t forget that you’re buying groceries this week.”
“I know,”
I smiled at him, and he returned it, quickly finishing up an easy meal for us to eat before we left. He didn’t eat a lot, telling me he felt a little sick. However, even though I insisted he stayed home, he refused.

“I need to go to class too, keep up with the grades, so I can get good scores, Becce.”
“I know, but I just can’t help but worry.”

He patted my hair, “Worrying is fine, but shouldn’t worry about me too much.”
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered quietly, “Let’s just go.”

Malcolm nodded, grabbing his materials. “Mhm, let’s,” He took my hand in his as we left.

“Oh, and Malcolm?” I said hastily, as an afterthought.

“Hm?”
“No more alcohol in the apartment.”

Publication Date: 04-15-2018

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