A black eye was blossoming around her left eye. A small dribble of blood leaked down, over her lips. Her bottom lip had been split from an erratic fist right in the centre, as though she had it pierced. Countless cuts and bruises littered her arms as she continued to sob. What was her crime, she wondered. She had not done anything to warrant such abuse. Her crime had been spending a little bit more time out shopping so she did not get the house cleaned completely in time for His Majesty’s arrival. So he had beat her.

Their shared hotel room in Calpe, Spain, was a tip. After Eirene had broken her back, picking up after her arsehole of a boyfriend, Dagon after he left it a mess. Dagon the dragon, she secretly named him. It was suitable. And then all her hard work had been undone the second he came in just as she was finishing.

She walked around the hotel room in her shorts and t-shirt, a multitude of scars littering her arms and legs, proof of the sheer violence that dominated her relationship.

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She worked solidly trying to clean up without anybody realising that the room had been trashed until it was eight in the evening, when Dagon returned. Eirene stood up, and instantly silently reprimanded herself. She was acting as though royalty had just entered the room.

But then again, thought Eirene bitterly, he thinks he’s royalty, so he expects to be treated like royalty.

He faced her with an evil expression. A flicker of lust glimmered in his eyes, and Eirene knew what was coming. He was obviously randy. She risked a glance and saw all the evidence she needed bulging out of his trousers. He came towards her and grabbed her roughly, dragging her to him, more painfully then passionately and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

Dagon dragged her off into the bedroom and literally ripped her clothes off. Eirene tried to will her body into submission, trying to force her body to enjoy what her pig of a boyfriend was doing. If he got so much as a hint that she was faking any positive feeling with him, then it would be another beating. She wondered why she did not just leave him, but remembered a conversation she had with an ex-girlfriend who was treated in the same manner. He continued to pound and pummel her body, even after their relationship had finished. Eirene had attended her funeral, but Dagon did not. He did not want to go to the funeral of the ex he had accidentally murdered.

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An hour later, when a sexually satisfied Dagon finally climbed off his poor excuse for a girlfriend, he announced that he was going down to one of the local clubs and wanted her to come along. This surprised Eirene, as normally, when he wanted her to come along to a club somewhere, he only wanted to show her off, but that was when her cuts had healed and she had pasted a ton of concealer over her scars.

She attempted to protect her modesty and clothed herself so she could still look stylish, but not show off her signs of abuse.

‘For God’s sake woman, just put the slap on your legs! Don’t spend half a fuckin’ hour in front of the Goddamn mirror when you know what you can wear and look great. Jesus, women kill me,’ snapped Dagon, breathing out and smothering Eirene in second hand cigarette smoke. She coughed pointedly, hoping against hope that he may do the first considerate action in his life.

‘What you coughin’ about?’

‘Your cigarette, Dagon. Can you please either put it out or smoke elsewhere?’

Wrong move. He slapped her roughly over the back of her head. Her long blonde curls flew past her shoulders.

‘Don’t you dare tell me what the fuck to do! I can make up my own shittin’ mind, thanks very much!’

She sighed and retreated into the bathroom, where she kept all her makeup, and possibly the largest amount of concealer known to be owned by one woman and started dutifully slapping it on her legs, wincing slightly as the makeup worked its way deep into the cuts.