I've not to this day worked out what was more hurtful; the names you sprayed like poison at me, or the fact you genuinely couldn't remember them afterwards. 

l'm also not sure whether I'm more ashamed of the fact I allowed you to hit me more than once, or that I stayed to allow it. 

Red wine coating walls like blood. The smell of bleach as I scrubbed them clean, mixed with the taste of angry, delirious, tired tears.