Archive of Our Own ^beta

He was so gentle with her.

He showered her in kisses as she walked through the door, a glass of water ready in the hand that didn’t clutch her upper arm. She accepted the displays of affection eagerly. It had been a long day since she last saw him this morning - this was exactly what she needed.

She took a sip of water as he hung up her coat, watching intently as to how his back muscles moved beneath his shirt. They worked so elegantly, pushing and pulling to and fro in a dance of silent communication. She admired this feature on him. It was most alluring.

The glass slipped from her fingers before she realised. It fell to the floor with a resounding smash, water pooling around a sea of broken glass. Anne gasped, ready for apologies, but it was too late.

This wasn’t the first time she had learnt that shame was five-fingered.

“Why must you be so clumsy all the time?” Roy yelled. He pointed down to the mess by their feet and spat. “You’re so helpless, it’s pathetic.”

Anne sobbed, “I’m sorry! It was an accident, I swear!”

“I don’t appreciate liars in my house.”

She hadn’t the heart to tell him that this was, in fact, her place; her mind was too preoccupied with protecting as much as herself as possible.

Everything turned silent and slow during these times. Anne could almost ignore the burning stab of knives paired with the harsh bitterness of his icy words. Time was languid, moving in such a way that was almost dreamy. This was her heaven and her hell, and she endured it like a soldier in battle and embraced it like an angel going home.

He never carried on for an extended amount of time. He was satisfied as long as a mark was left well into the morning.

Out of all the kicks and blows she had received, the most painful hit was his love and tenderness immediately after.

“Oh, Anne, I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “You just make me so angry sometimes, I can’t help it. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

She knew better than to ask. “I’m fine. I just need to sit down.”

He pressed a firm kiss to her lips, desperately clinging to her like a lifeline. One may have believed Anne was the wrongdoer if they only had view of this moment. The thought alone made her shiver.

When Roy’s assault of her lips was over, he gingerly picked her up and placed her on the sofa. He began attending to her; taking off her shoes, fluffing the pillows behind and around her, getting her a new glass of water. The terrors of hatred were masked easily by the acts of love.

Anne felt sick.

Later that night, she found herself wide awake in the arms of a man that claimed to love her, but hurt her in more ways than one. The burning between her thighs could be felt all over, and she could feel the bruises on her hips form with every passing minute. Roy slept peacefully behind her, his lips curled into a smile as they pressed against her neck.

Propriety be damned, so it seemed. This wasn’t the first time, and Anne refused to let herself believe it was the last. All she knew was the desire and euphoria of finding the pleasure throughout the pain. It wasn’t easy, but she loved Roy, and she knew it was something she had to do.

As the night wore on and her eyelids became heavier, Anne snuggled back into Roy’s embrace. It was dark now, but the sun would rise soon, and all would be well again.

___

The morning brought a new round of aches and pains.

By the time Anne left for her classes, she could barely walk. Her body was a masterpiece of abuse, tainted in hues of purple, green, yellow and blue. Each design was hidden under a piece of clothing, unavailable for viewing by the public eye. But she knew Roy’s artwork was there, as did he, and he had the power to add more to the gallery if he so desired.

Whilst the thought scared Anne, it comforted her more than anything. Roy was a consistent, unchanging character. She knew what to expect with each kiss and each push. He could curl his fist in a certain way and she’d know where he was about to punch; on the same token, he could lift his lips up just a centimetre and Anne knew that she was loved.

She was not weak. Delusional, maybe, but this had been her life for so long. She grew up surrounded by the devil’s incarnations as a child, and whilst she had momentary freedom with the Cuthberts’, they couldn’t save her any longer. The past always caught up to those who ran away from it.

Anne was being conditioned to think a certain way. She knew her once-strong opinions were being eradicated in favour of society’s expectations. In fact, sometimes, she caught herself wondering as to why she still attended college when her true calling was to be her husband’s wife. And then she’d catch herself and remember what the good fight was all for.

Maybe things could change. Roy wasn’t always so deliciously cruel; he was her childhood ideal of romance. And there was always the possibility that that was where she was going wrong - all her ideas of romance were childish. She hadn’t a clue as to adult relationships, save for her current one, and Roy was a darling, right? Maybe this was how things were meant to be, after all.

The bruises would fade. The scars would lighten until they blended into her skin. The ache between her thighs would lessen until it became manageable. Everything had the ability to be healed, even the most darkest of souls. Anne has faith that life would get better. All of this was simply a test from God, to assure she was behaving like a proper lady.

The darkness of the night before slowly lifted with each step Anne took towards the college. A real smile formed upon her lips, and her body slowly became less tense with every rush of wind through her hair. The sun shone a bit brighter, the air felt a bit clearer, and her breathing returned to normal once again.

Tonight, Anne would return home and find Roy there again. He would make dinner, and she wouldn’t eat it all, so he would punish her by forcing his fingers down her throat and pushing her around like a rag doll. When he was finished, he would pull her close and kiss away her tears until they dried and the house was full of laughter instead of screams of pain. And then, when all was said and done, they would climb into bed. Roy would baptise himself between Anne’s thighs, and she would speak a holy prayer in thanks. When they woke up the next morning, they would do it all over again.

He was so gentle with her.