Cleaning my head

Normally this would be part of a story or novel but I can’t really think of a novel or plot I would use this for and this has been running in my head for the last few days and I was listening to The Unseen all day on repeat so this just kinda needed out of my head. For those who are not sure of the inspiration for this after reading I will attach a GIF of the scene at the end.

P.S. Trigger warning: Implied Abuse? Implied Violence and Control (Something like that I mean I don’t normally use Trigger warnings since I assume people around me know how ed up my head is so I’m not used to it but in this day and age I do have to add them so just be warned my brain go brrrr and end on dark every time
Honestly, this one is very tame and soft for my brain so I’m not sure I need the trigger but better safe than sorry)

I hated the feeling of the cold glass against my shirt. The fabric was thin enough to let the cold of the ice through and I hated it. It wasn’t the cold itself I didn’t mind honestly, I enjoyed it after all the place was filled with lights and loud music the air heated from the heat drifting off the dancing bodies. No, I hated everything that feeling of cold was implementing. I hated the cold because I knew what it meant I knew, and I couldn’t change it. Hated the helpless feeling of drowning in regret unable to change it hated the looks of disgust I assumed people threw at me after, but I couldn’t change it. I hated the blinding heat I was used to finding at the end. Most of all I hated him. The hand warped around the glass as it was softly touching the fabric of my shirt. The arm following the hand warped around my shoulder. The veins on his hands and arms disappearing under the rolled-up dress shirt sleeves. I hated it all. I hated the shoulders towering over me as he was standing next to me. The cold glass still ignored I was reminded of one more thing I hated. The chain around my neck marking me as property. As he was softly yanking it waiting for me to take the glass. I hated the fact that he had this power over me. That I was nothing but property. I hated how much I was paying for one mistake a horrible mistake but still, I hated paying this much for it. I hated him and I hated the cold glass. But I could feel his impatience as he was reducing the movement the chain was giving me. I could only take the glass. My fingers closing around the cold glass mostly filled with one big round ice cube. At the bottom of it were around two fingers' worth of alcohol. I didn’t care what alcohol I never did. After all, it wasn’t about the alcohol. I once before had refused, throwing the alcohol at his face, but it only led to harsher punishment. I hated how much I had given up and accepted everything. The ice was softly clashing against the glass as the two fingers worth disappeared and I could feel the chain loosening as he hummed in agreement turning his attention back to his friends. I was good at handling my liquor always had been, but this wasn’t about the alcohol. The voices soon distorted the laughing ringing louder. I was familiar with this feeling, but I hated it, hated him for it, but I knew it all too well. The music distorting the beat vibrating stronger. The air heating up even more. Unable to distinguish between music and voices, between human and empty spaces everything turned into one blanket of confusing stimulants while I could feel my brain slowing down. But I couldn’t slip couldn’t drift into forgetful bliss. There was one cool controlling line of connection keeping me conscious and bound to reality. As the world started losing shape the cool metal of the chain closing around my neck quickly snapped me back just enough to distinguish between touch and auditory cues. The music was losing the soft caress it was blowing over my skin and I could once again hear the laughter instead of feeling it against my skin like small needle cuts. I hated the control he had even over this. I hated it, every second of it every moment. I hated giving up control hated what he would do what he did every time the world started to distort. I hated how much I was at his mercy and how little attention he would pay to me. Hated that he had me wish for his attention as the cold chain return my brain long enough to reality to distinguish his laughter from his friends. Oh, how much I hated the fact that their laughter was like needles cutting my skin but his was like a stun of electricity landing deep in my body. I hated how much I was waiting for the next time he would laugh for the next time the chain would pull me back to the verge of full distortion and auditory stimulants losing their feeling. Waiting for that moment it happened at the same time as his laughter. I hated him for how much I was mentally begging him to laugh again. What I hated most was the burning heat he was softly extruding as his skin was close to mine. Hated that I could feel it even through the distortion, hated that my mind was bathing in that warmth. I hated how much I just hoped for him to move so the warmth would caress me. I hated that I wanted to push him away but couldn’t, hated that I couldn’t say no, couldn’t stop him from doing what he did. Hated the attention, hated the lack of it. Hated everything. I hate everything. I hate the voice softly speaking when he finally is paying attention to me. The distortion and fever he is inducing me with. I hate the softness of his touch. Hate the rough needy moves preceding the softness. I hate burning away under his touch, hate that I can’t push him away, hate that my brain is too slow to form words of protest. How much I hate him. Every moment of it I hate him. Every moment of my life I hate him. Everything about him. I hate the fact that I have no choice that he controls me and that I never gave him this control. I hate how he just claimed it with no regard for my decisions. I hate that my fingers slip away weakly whenever I try to push him away. I hate the cold feeling of the glass against my skin. I hate everything it implies, and I hate the distortion and what effect he has on me during the distortion. I hate that I can’t run away can’t hide can’t escape. I hate that the prison he has built around me is too strong. I hate him, hate everything about him and still I can’t run, can’t leave. It is easier to lie to yourself than to others and it is easy to replace the word love with hate to justify your anger. But the truth is I hate him, and that fact is putting me in such a strong prison unable to run away unable to hide. Constantly running away from the fever while chasing it at the same time.