Nora should’ve been used to it by now. To the orders, to the demeaning comments and the bragging about women that weren’t her, but really how could you ever get used to someone you loved purposely making you feel like shit? Her boyfriend, Michael, and his friends had been out all night and had just gotten back from whatever bar they’d chosen—the lot of them looking a little worse for wear. Mike’s first order of business had been to bark an order at her and, for once, she was glad for it. Fetching beers allowed her a few more seconds of peace. It didn’t last long, however, as she heard her name being called from the other room way too quickly. Juggling three bottles of beer, she walked into the living room to a very familiar scene. Her boyfriend and his friend, snickering about whatever they got up to that night and ignoring her presence for the most part. “Sit, babe,” he ordered her once she had given each of them their bottle. She obliged, immediately feeling a hand creep up on her thigh. At this point, she usually zoned out and smiled weakly whenever she heard her name being mentioned. She might not have noticed he was talking to her again if it wasn’t for the hand that suddenly squeezed her legs a little harder, snapping her back to reality. “What?” She asked, absentmindedly, looking at her boyfriend who was now sporting an impatient glare. “Are you stupid? I said give us some food. Please.” The added please was dripping with sarcasm, of course, because he would never show her any gratitude for all she did for him. Not that she should be surprised since she let him get away with it every damn time. Wordlessly, she got up and went into the kitchen to see what she could find. She was going through the fridge when she heard footsteps behind her, causing her to look back apprehensively. As fucked up as it was, she was relieved that it wasn’t her boyfriend. “Can I help you with something?”
