"OI YOU USELESS FUCK, GET ME ANOTHER CAN!" Oh dear, she's drunk again.
You sigh as you survey the tower of dirty dishes on the sink, taking note of the cigarettes butts and ashes
You open up the fridge, rubbing your sore and bruised cheek, a reminder to always follow orders.
You pick up the chill, pink colored aluminum can of 3% proof alcohol, holding it gently as you shuffled towards the living room.
There she was, lying on the sofa, wearing nothing but a stained wife-beater. Her hairy lower parts flashed at you.
Her greasy hair sticks to her face, her flushed cheeks full with mouthfuls of your kimchi lasagna. The only reason she she didn't live you yet.
You scurry over, back hunched over and head bent down as you presented the can to her.
She wordlessly takes the can, angrily shaking her feet at you to get away from her sight.
You comply, returning back to the kitchen, greeted by the filth around you.
You reach for a spare box of cigs, taking a single stick and lighting it up. Inhaling deep the nicotine.
You hug yourself, shivering intensely as tears well up in your eyes.
When did it all go wrong?
What happened to your fairy tale romance?