Ella Marquez trudged up the stairs of their cramped apartment, exhaustion weighing down every step. Her feet ached from standing all day, and her fingers were stiff from hours of typing, lifting, and serving. The scent of stale beer and cheap cologne hit her the moment she pushed open the door. The living room was a mess—empty beer bottles, crumpled fast-food wrappers, and a pair of dirty socks strewn across the couch. The television blared a video game's chaotic explosions, and in the middle of it all, slouched back with a controller in hand, was Ryan.
His eyes flickered to her for barely a second before returning to the screen.
"You're home late," he muttered, pressing the buttons aggressively.
"I'm always home late," Ella said, dropping her bag onto the small dining table. "You know, because I'm working."
Ryan let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. Someone's gotta do it, right?"
Ella clenched her jaw, swallowing the words she wanted to say. Instead, she walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Half-empty cartons and takeout boxes greeted her. The groceries she had bought just days ago were already gone.
"Did you even leave me anything to eat?" she asked, her voice tight.
Ryan didn't answer.
"Ryan?"
A sigh. Then, lazily, "I was hungry. You know how it is."
Ella slammed the fridge shut, pressing her hands against the counter. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from sheer frustration. "Yeah, I know how it is. I know how it is to bust my ass at three different jobs while you sit here all day doing nothing. I know how it is to come home, exhausted, to this—this disaster of a place. And I sure as hell know how it is to starve while you spend the little money I make on alcohol and games!"
The sound of gunfire and explosions filled the silence between them. Ryan paused the game, finally turning to look at her. His dark eyes were unreadable, but there was a flicker of something dangerous beneath the surface.
"You done?" he asked.
Ella's nails dug into her palms. "No, Ryan. I'm not done. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep working myself to death just to come home to nothing. I—" She sucked in a shaky breath. "I want to leave."
Something shifted in Ryan's face. His fingers twitched around the controller, and for a brief moment, she thought—hoped—he would just let her go.
But then he stood.
His movements were slow, deliberate. Ella's breath caught as he approached, towering over her. She wasn't afraid of him. Not really. But there had been moments—dark, fleeting moments—where he reminded her just how powerless she was.
"You want to leave?" Ryan's voice was eerily soft. "And go where, huh? You got no family. No friends. No savings." He leaned in, his breath hot against her face. "You'd be nothing without me, Ella."
Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.
"I'd rather be nothing than this," she whispered.
The slap came so fast she didn't see it coming.
Her head snapped to the side, the sting spreading across her cheek like wildfire. Her breath hitched, and for a second, the world blurred.
Then, silence.
The weight of what had just happened settled between them.
Ryan exhaled sharply, stepping back as if realizing what he had done. "Shit." He raked a hand through his messy hair. "Ella, I—"
She flinched when he reached for her, and the flicker of guilt in his eyes deepened.
"Ella, baby, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that," he said, voice suddenly tender, dripping with something too practiced to be real. "It was just—you made me mad. I had a rough day, and I've been drinking, and you know how I get when I drink. But I didn't mean it, baby. I swear."
Ella stared at him, her pulse roaring in her ears.
He reached out again, this time gently cupping her face. The same hands that had hurt her now stroked her hair, brushing the strands away from her cheek. "Look at me," he murmured.
She did.
And that was her mistake.
Ryan smiled, the same smile that had once made her feel safe. "I love you, okay? I know things are hard right now, but we'll get through it. We always do." He pressed his forehead against hers. "I need you, Ella. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Her resolve cracked.
She wanted to leave. God, she wanted to leave so badly. But Ryan was right about one thing—she had nowhere to go. No family, no safety net. Her mother was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, and the only thing keeping her alive was Ella's paycheck.
And Ryan was all she had left.
"I—I just need some time alone," she mumbled.
Ryan kissed the top of her head. "Of course, baby. Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."
She turned and walked to their bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her.
Only then did she allow herself to cry.
She slid down onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. The room was dark, but the ache in her chest was suffocating.
Why did love have to feel like this?
She had spent years convincing herself that Ryan wasn't as bad as he seemed. That beneath the laziness, the anger, the occasional outbursts, he still loved her. That he was just struggling like she was.
But maybe that wasn't true.
Maybe he didn't love her.
Maybe he just needed someone to take care of him.
And maybe she was too scared to be alone to stop.
Ella curled into herself, the sobs shaking her small frame.
Tomorrow, she told herself.
Tomorrow, I'll figure it out.
But deep down, she wasn't sure she ever would.