If you're reading this, then it's nearly complete. Yes...I'm nearly finished a story. You'll be looking for approximately 25-30 chapters. This will easily break my last record. I felt this couldn't wait until it was finished to be posted.
If you have ANY issues against the LGBT community, I don't suggest reading this story.
Also, any flames received will be deliberately ignored, so don't bother saying anything bad about this story or it's topic. If you don't like it, then just don't read it...
I can't guarantee there will be often updates as I work full time and go to college full time, but I will try to provide a new chapter at least once a week. I barely have enough time to sleep let alone have to myself. Most of my writing is done by hand, during my classes.
One more thing...I haven't proofread this, so don't mind any spelling/grammar errors...I found it was too hard to read through this once I had it typed...
Anyway...Enough about me, on with the story. Please don't forget to review, I love reading your comments.
Everything seemed to be fine. Everything in her life was wonderful. Until the day she was married to Takada. Michiru had run the perfect life until she tied the knot. She was a successful musician and established artist. Until he forced her to give it all up. He only wished that she stay home all day, becoming a homebody.
"Michiru, where the hell are you? Why isn't my dinner ready!? You know when I get home from work I just want my food and my newspaper. You can't do anything right can you?"
It was the same thing nearly every day when it came to him. She loved him dearly and would do anything for him. She gave up her entire life for him. During the day she would pull out her easel and paints from storage and work on her art. It was the only time she had alone, the only time he wouldn't yell at her for doing something for herself.
She jumped when he heard his voice and finally came back to her senses. She had been working on a painting in the office. She scampered to put all of her paints away before he came to the room, but to no avail.
"What the fuck is this? I thought I told you not to do this shit anymore!" He made his way toward her, pushed her off of her chair and grabbed the canvas, not even hesitating to break it in half. "I want all those things out of here by tomorrow do you hear me?" Before leaving the room he picked up her easel and threw it against the wall, it braking into a few pieces in the process.
She frowned as she watched him do his work. "But what am I suppose to do during the day Takada?"
"Clean the house like a good little bitch. That's what you're supposed to do." He looked around the nearly spotless study. "Look at this place. It's a fucking mess. You're useless you know that? Why don't you get off your ass and clean this pig sty?"
At least he didn't strike her this time. She had become accustomed to the feel of his hand body. He was always careful when it came to her face. Nobody else could know about what happened between them. She sighed softly and started cleaning up the spilled paint from the hard wood floor. She would deal with the broken canvas and easel later; the paint had to be wiped up before it dried.
"Michiru I'm hungry!" She jumped when she heard him yell from the kitchen.
She quickly finished before getting up and hurrying to the kitchen. "What would you like for dinner honey?"
"Don't try to butter up to me by calling me honey. And I don't care." He sat down at the table and opened up the paper.
She sighed and hurried to finish a stir fry for him. After making a plate for him and herself she sat at the table. "I'm sorry I'm late with dinner." She picked up her fork to start eating, he did the same.
"This is disgusting, but it's better than nothing, which is apparently what you wanted for tonight." He slowly picked at the meal.
"No it's not…I just got so caught up in my art…"
"That's why I don't want you to do it. Because nothing else will get done." She sighed and looked down at the table. There was no talking to him. She knew he loved her; he just had a different way of showing it.
It was the only love she knew. She was told while she was growing up that everything she read in books and saw in movies was false. She recalled the countless times that she sat in the corner as her parents fought. There were no fond memories of what her father had done. The numerous times he beat her until she passed out. The numerous times he would strike her for screaming and begging him to stop. She took a deep breath to fight back the tears that started coming to her eyes. She knew that she wouldn't exactly cry, she had no more tears left, but the feeling still surfaced.
"Now you won't even talk to me?" He didn't even look up from his paper.
"I'm sorry…I had food in my mouth."
"Stop making excuses."
"How was your day?" She watched him closely.
"It's about time you asked me that. It was horrible, my damn phone wouldn't stop ringing. Each person complaining so much."
"You know damn well I can't talk about my clients."
"It was just a question…I'm sorry."
"Sorry…sorry…you're always sorry. Why don't you just clean up and leave me alone?"
Michiru sighed, but didn't move from her seat, she was hungry and wanted to finish her meal. "Can I finish eating first?"
"No." He finally looked at her. "I said clean it up now. Besides you're starting to gain weight, you don't need to eat that much."
She sighed and stood from her chair. He was right; lately she had been gaining weight around her mid section. She scraped the remaining food into the garbage bin before rinsing it to put in the dish washer. "Are you done love?" She looked at him and he nodded. She didn't say anything as she picked up his plate to repeat the same process. While she was bent over the dishwasher she felt his hips press against the back of hers. "What are you doing?" A slight shiver went up her spine; she already knew what he had in mind for them that evening.
"Come with me."
She winced when he grabbed her wrist, his fingernails dug into her skin. She knew what was coming; he was never gentle with her when they made love. He always tied her tightly to the bed and would often choke her until she obediently did everything he wanted her to do.
"Takada…please no." The back of his hand connected with her cheek, causing her to fall to the bed with a wince. Whenever he hit her face in this manner, it never left a mark.
"Shut up and do what a wife's suppose to." He stepped in front of her and unzipped his pants…