It was just a game. I could have quit any time I wanted.
Yet I kept on playing. I always had.

Chapter one
I pulled my jacket further around me, bracing against the raw, bitter cold. Hanukkah and Christmas were over, the festivities finished, and the freezing winter winds that whipped around me no longer held less severity due to the prospect of the holidays. Around me, kids were screeching happily as they held snowball fights and clumsily built snowmen, the cool yet blinding rays of the January sun threatening to turn the fat bodies of the snow people into slush.
I was walking back from work to my boyfriend's apartment, and yet it felt like I was on a death march. I suppose I was, in a sense. It could be any time, any place. All I had to do was slip up and that would be it. Game over.
At times I would wonder if he ever loved me. Or if I was just his puppet, only useful to be manipulated in his twisted games.
I came to the door of our run-down apartment, where I was expected to cook, clean, and do all the other chores, while he'd just lie around smoking and drinking. He drank a lot.
I slid my key into the lock, and as usual a little spark piped up in the crevices of my conscious mind. Turn around. I could have run. I could have escaped the world I had become so familiar with, run away to start a new life. A new life. But I would always come back. I always did, and the consequences were always catastrophic. Sighing, I turned the key, and let myself inside. The sweet, almost tangy smell I'd come to recognise as marijuana filled my nostrils. I sighed again, knowing that he'd probably skipped work again to stay home and 'relax'. He would get fired, and I would pay the price. That's just how it worked.

"So, you're back." I spun around from picking up piles of dirty clothes on the floor to find him glaring at me. The emotion- or rather the lack of it in them penetrated my skin, and the size of his pupils discretely confirmed my suspicions- by the size of them I could tell he'd probably been home smoking all day.
"H-hello sir" I stuttered. His mouth split into a corrupt smile, and he took a few steps towards me. It took every ounce of willpower in my body to not cower away from him, but I stood my ground and stared back at him. He was close enough for me to be able to smell the alcohol on his breath- and I knew that could only mean trouble. Drink turns him from the calm and collected individual I used to be proud to be involved with to the savage, brutal beast I dreaded the sight of. Unfortunately, there was rarely a day when I wouldn't come home to find him stoned, smashed, and occasionally in the company of a hooker or two. I never knew whether he did the same sick things to them as he did to me, but I was, ashamedly, glad to be taken out of the spotlight once in a while.
"I asked you a question, little fuck." he snarled, bringing me out of my reverie. "What took you so fucking long?" I clenched my fists nervously.I knew I should have taken the shortcut.
"I'm sorry sir!" I began shakily. "The roads were icy and I didn't want to fall." he grabbed my arms and shook me hard, his eyes ablaze with contempt.
"If falling means you'll get home on time, then you'llfall, god dammit!" he roared in my face. I shrank back, petrified.
"Y-yes sir. Colt, please-" I didn't finish my sentence; he'd drawn his fist back as far as he could, and with what felt like the power and strength of a professional boxer, slammed his clenched fist into my stomach. The pain blinded me, and I sank to my knees, coughing and spluttering. He yanked me back up by my hair, pulling us so close that our noses were almost touching. Almost. He dragged me over to the couch, and tossed me onto it as if I were a bag of trash. I wanted to curl up and melt away into the sofa, but he was strong. Strong and ruthless.
"No! No!" I panicked as he began to pull down my pants and underwear and straddled me. I tried to wriggle away, and he struck me hard across the face. I quietened down some, but still whimpering as he forced his throbbing cock into me. I scrunched my face up, tears streaming down my cheeks in little rivulets as he forced me into an unwanted climax. My whole world was pain; and I turned my head to the side so I couldn't see the look in his cold, hard eyes as he raped me. Again.
It was the same every time. Once he'd had enough, once he'd finished with me, he'd leave, slamming the door behind him. He was probably going to get more booze or crack or something. I curled up and wept for what felt like hours, before I heard a knock on the door. I sat up, wiping my face, and gently pulling my pants back up.
"Kyle? Open up! We know you're in there!" I groaned inwardly. Why did Stan always want to butt into my private life? I limped over to the door, and pulled it open to find Stan and Wendy on my doorstep. They both took in my red, puffy eyes, but said nothing, and I stepped back to let them in. Stan wrinkled his nose.
"Dude, it stinks in here! What's he been getting stoned on this time?" I shrugged and rubbed my tired eyes absent-mindedly.
"It's probably just stuffy 'cause we haven't opened the windows all day." I muttered. You liar. Wendy stepped gingerly through the piles of garbage to join me by the dining table. She took a hold of my arm. I knew she was trying to be comforting but I very nearly flinched away.
"You know you're always welcome with us, don't you Kyle?" concern laced her voice. I tried to smile at her.
"Thanks, but I'm fine. It... Just needs cleaning." Stan wasn't so tactful.
"You know that's not what she means." I looked away, feeling my cheeks go red. "We know what he does to you; everyone does! Hell, I bet even Cartman's stopped being a fat fuck long enough to see that something's wrong. It's only you that seems to be in denial." I pulled away from Wendy's grasp and turned away from them, only to be grabbed again by my best friend. He spun me around so I was looking into his big blue eyes. I could see he was genuinely worried, I could tell by the way his eyes implored with my own.
"Please" he begged. "Be careful." I nodded, unable to find any words to say. We all jumped at the sound of a key in the lock. I went pale, and clenched my fists.
"Shit" I whispered. Colt staggered through the door, carrying several bags of some kind of alcohol.
"Hey, little fuck. What have you been..." he trailed off as he caught sight of my friends, and I backed up a few steps. Right then I would have given anything to turn back time and not answer the door when they knocked.
"What are they doing here?" he growled. Stan and Wendy exchanged glances.
"They were just leaving" I'd tried to sound casual but failed miserably; my voice came out unnaturally high and false. Colt glared at me.
"You know I don't like people I don't know here Kyle" he snarled, advancing on me. Stan tried to stand in his way, but Wendy took his hand fearfully, and gently tugged him out the door. He turned to me and mouthed something at me, but allowed himself to be dragged out. Leave him.
Colt slammed the door after them, took one last drag on his smoke, and put it out on the coffee table. I winced. It had been my mother's coffee table.
"Get down on your knees and beg, bitch."
Leave him...