Don’t get me wrong, I loved my boyfriend. He was one of the most amazing guys I had ever met, and I didn’t ever want to lose him. The first time it happened was when I embarrassed him in front of his friends. It was an accident, I swear it! But he didn’t listen to me.

“You, you little bitch. You think you can just do that in front of my friends?!” He yelled that night. I’d never seen him that angry before, so I got kind of scared. I went to touch his shoulder, you know, comfort him. That’s when it happened, he punched me in the face. Just once.

He didn’t do it again after that. Not for a while at least, not until I spilled ginger ale on his favorite shirt. It wasn’t even that bad, but he thought so, so he hit me. Just once.

After that, he started doing it more often. Just once a month. Over big things, my fault mostly. Not cooking his dinner right; not cleaning the house right; not doing all of his laundry.

It went from once a month, to once a week.

From once a week, to once a day.

But only once.