I warned you.

He coughed against her knee, pressed against his throat, his hands scrambling to grab her hand. A move that proved futile as her knee moved from his bruised neck and into his face.

It would never last.

"I-Ira—" His voice came out in a gurgling gasp as blood trickled from his nose and onto the pillow, before she grabbed his hair and slammed him onto the floor, his vision going white as his head collided with the fur covered wood. He whimpered, attempting to curl up, only to scream as she stomped on his side, his head leaning back as the bones cracked and split under her feet.

Is this the 10th time she broke your ribs? Do you need to count on your toes next?

His hand lifted above his head, grabbing her wrist, desperate to peel her vice grip from his scalp, "Pl-please, stop. W-wake up!"

You wake up. Wake up and smell the thorns.

Her voice was nothing but inhuman mutters and growls. Her eyes, bright scarlet, stared forward as she shoved him onto his back, one foot pressing onto his chest. His nails tore at her wrist as she ripped it free, deep tears closing with the smell of smoke and ash. She kept muttering, whispering under snarls as her freed hand pulled back and slammed against his face.

Repeatedly.

This surrender will give you.

This is your fate here.

A living dildo.

A punching bag.

The arousal from the agony could not overpower the horror. Despite her promises, despite her proposal, her passionate pleas and warm affections, the pain will never stop. Her hatred and rage will tenderize him and cook him alive.

You are going to die here.

Her bloodied fist lifted from his bludgeoned face, lowering towards his neck. She gripped the front of it, just under his jaw, her nails drilling into his flesh before she squeezed, cutting off his air.

She is going to kill you!

"She…pro-promised…" His vision darkened. This was just like the spa, just like the penthouse. He was dying. She was killing him.

"She promised me…" He pushed himself up onto his forearms, fighting against her tightening grip and looking into those glassy, far-away eyes, "You pro-promised…"

No matter what you say, no matter what she promises…this is who she is.

He reached one hand forward, pressing against her cheek, his thumb brushing just under her bottom eyelid, "Ira-Ira!" Her nails were ripping into his neck, like a lion whose fangs dug into the throat of a gazelle. "I…I can't breathe…please…please wake up!"

Please listen to me.

She won't.

That judgemental voice rung coldly through his head as Ira removed her bloodied hand from his neck and gripped his wrist, snapping away hope as she bent his hand sharply back, snapping his wrist.

He screamed, his head snapping back as lightning shock of torment burned through his arm and up to his brain. He tore his wrist free, grabbing her hand with his unfractured one, "IRA! STOP!"

"Or-Ori…"

That name hung in the air, separating itself from her guttural muttering. A name spoken with the smallest, gentlest voice he ever heard.

His eyes widened and his grip loosened, "Ir-Ira…I'm not—"

Idiot.

Her forehead smashed into his jaw, popping it out of place. The blow knocked him back onto the floor and before he could grab at her wrist again; she got his fist and the back of his hand onto the wood, knuckles crunching and shattering at the impact. He tried to scream again, but her knee hit his jaw again. He was almost grateful for it; his jaw popped back into place, while that same knee pressing against his throat, cycling back to the beginning of this nightmare.

"IRA! STOP!" His tattered wrists screamed as he futilely tried to push her leg away, "You're-you're KILLING ME!"

He could barely speak. His voice come out in a hoarse, coughing rasp and he gurgled on the blood that spewed down his face. He barely understood himself.

Yet she froze. She was a statue, stiff and unmoving, nonsense spilling from her lips in the darkness. "I promised, I promised. Protect Ori and she will come back. Protect Ori, we'll get help. Kill, I have to kill, I can't let them hurt him—"

I will never hurt you again…

"Even me?"

That question made her head tilt suddenly, her eyes fluttering as his voice penetrated the night. "Tristan…?"

Her knee shifted off his throat, and he slammed his forehead against her face; bludgeoning her back out of her nightmare and into his actual hell.

Thunder cracked through the room as she reeled back, hitting the floor and gasping back into consciousness. She coughed, spitting out a tooth with blood. Black smoke billowed from her healing nose and she sat up, wiping her nose as she stared up at Tristan.

Silence held suspended them; his nose still bled while hers reformed. His jaw, chin, and neck were coated in fresh bruises and burgundy brown blood. While her face was back to bronze perfection, his was ivory cracks, blazing neon glaring into stunned scarlet.

Her lips parted and he could see a new tooth had replaced the one on the floor.

She was still so beautiful.

She was still Wrath.

He held up his hand, his upper lip twitching as his fingers cracked into place, each nerve in each joint sparking burning torment to his battered spirit and broken mind, "Don't speak, don't you fucking speak."

She blinked, shaking her head, disoriented, "W-Wait, Tristan I-I can—"

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!" His words came out with venom, a hiss under them that sliced through the humid air. "You shut up! You shut the fuck up!"

Her eyes watered and she looked more like a punished child than the rabid beast that was pummeling the life out of him, "B-but it was…I was having a night-nightmare."

"You?! You were having a nightmare?! Look at me. LOOK AT ME!"

She whimpered, her eyes looking over his face, over the pained anguish that coated his face, his body, and his expression, "I didn't mean to—"

He ran that healing hand through his hair, rubbing his scalp vigorously, "You keep saying that, you keep promising me and it ends the fucking same! It always ends the same way!"

He knelt down before her, grabbing her hand and pressing it against a fresh tear along his collarbone. "A fresh scar!" When she tried to pull her hand back, he kept it in a death grip, pulling her violently into him and pressing her palm against his jaw. "A new fucking bruise!"

"Tristan, let go of me!"

He tugged her to her feet, slamming her body against his while ignoring the screaming of his broken fingers, "You tried to kill me..again! AGAIN IRA!" Spittle and blood accompanied his rasping voice, his grip on her wrist unyielding. "How many times?! How many times will this keep happening?! How many times will you break your promise until I fucking die!"

She jerked in his grip. "Let go of me!"

"I tried to fight it. I tried to ignore it. God, I tried to fuck it away!" The lights in the room flicked again, crackling and then jolting as if struck by lightning. There was a storm in his eyes, violent and unforgiving tempest that rocked through him. "I played along! I even—" His voice hitched, his eyes closing tightly, "I even BELIEVED YOU! Like a fucking idiot! I believed you! AND LOOK WHAT THAT GOT ME!"

Her eyes narrowed and the more he shook her, the more she bared her teeth, "I'm warning you—"

"You will NEVER change! You always be a fucking monster! I can't even sleep without you tearing off my skin! You can't help but hurt me!"

"Tristan stop it!" She jerked her head back, but he dug his nails into her left shoulder, ripping into the scarred stump.

"Why?! Why do you keep doing this?! If you love me, why do you keep beating me?!"

"Why do you destroy the things you like so much?"

"I don't know…"

"ENOUGH!" She ripped her hand free. "LET GO!"

With a swift moving across her body, her fist collided with his cheek. He fell back, skidding across the floor and slamming into a bookshelf. His arms moved over his head as books fell to the ground, his body curled up as the shelf into a tattered pile of cracked shelves, glass, and bounded papers.

Silence fell between them again, Ira lowering her fist, her chest heaving up and down. She gripped her forehead, drums ringing in her ears, matching her pounding heartbeat, "I-I warned you. I said let me go. I-I warned you…"

"…yet you won't let me go…You won't set me free." He stayed on the floor, curling into a tight ball, "You promised you wouldn't hurt me…but can't even give me peace."

Her eyes stayed on her fist, before shifting to the ground, "I…I told you I wasn't a good…" She grimaced as the excuse exited her mouth, "Sleeper."

He laid there in tatters, fingers curling into his arms. "…I can't do this Ira. I can't live like this and I can't live with you."

"Wa-wait, stop…I…" She walked towards him, crossing the room, "Tristan, wait I can…this can be fixed. I can make you happy."

"No. You can't." He turned his head, his glare stopping her in her tracks. "I can never be happy here. I can never be happy with you."

"Tell me what you want, just…tell me what to do." Water filled her eyes, ruby eyes sparkling like gems as her expression crumpled. "Tell me and it's yours."

"Get out."

Those two words were more effective than any headbutt, "Tristan—"

"Fuck off, Ira! Fuck off and leave me alone!" He turned his face away from hers, gaze on the floor, "Please…go away. Just go away…"

"…" Three familiar clicks echoed through the room and he could hear her tiny, hesitant steps back away from him, "I'll send staff to check on you." She gulped, her voice wavering, "T-Take some time to-to think. Okay?"

He didn't dignify that with a response.

The door buzzed, and he listened to her disappear into the night, hell following her.

There was only one thing he could think about through the shattered remains of his will and his broken body. The only thing he should've thought about.

Escape.