~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~You were lying on the kitchen floor, shaking, breathing heavily.
Steve had come in, alcohol on his breath, swaying back and forth, not able to walk in a straight line.
“Steve, are you…” You start, but are cut off with a slap.
“Shut up, bitch.”
You sank to the floor in disbelief as he staggered into your bedroom.
And the tears ran down your face, and the hyperventilating began.
So here you were, lying on the kitchen floor.