Chapter Text
Alessia flinched at the sound of the bedroom door slamming. Her shoulders were already tight, body uncertain of what was to come, but already not liking it. Peter hadn’t been like this when they first got together. He was nice. He heaped affection on her, brought her little things, charmed all the right people. She’d been so surprised the first time he’d been mean to her, she thought it was a one off, so out of character. Then it happened again, and she justified it. He was still charming, still brought her little gifts, but his words could be cruel. He cut down her self confidence so consistently that she didn’t even notice it.
He'd put his hands on her once when she’d tried to argue back and she was stunned, he seemed surprised too. He’d apologized, told her he would never have done that but she’d made him so mad he didn’t know what else to do. The weeks went by, enough time for her to really believe it was just a one time thing for him to grab her and manhandle her around like that, but it happened again. And again. But everyone loved him, her parents, her brothers, everyone but Tooney and Leah. He’d convinced her to leave Manchester, away from Tooney. And he hated Leah. He hated Leah so much that Alessia closed off from the older woman, pulled away from her. Everyone else was fine, but not Leah, not the one person who’d ever heard Peter say something cruel under his breath and called him on it.
He rarely left bruises, and never ones where she couldn’t explain away. He’d shoved her into a wall and she’d clocked her shoulder on the side of the mantle, she said she tripped into it. He threw her around, leaving a handprint on her upper arm and she said he’d tried to catch her when she tripped over the rug. She got a black eye walking into the kitchen cabinet when she was turned around talking to him, not when he pushed her into it knowing it was open.
Peter came stomping down the hallway already screaming at her, something gripped in his fist. He was shaking a book at her, a copy of Leah’s new children’s book that she wrote with her cousin. The whole team got a copy, but Peter wouldn’t hear that.
“We all got a copy, there’s nothing wrong with it.” Alessia tried to defuse softly, stepping in to soothe him, hoping to calm him before it got physical.
“I don’t care what everyone got. I care what you got and that you know I don’t like her and you brought her in this house anyways.” He threw the book at her.
She didn’t have the time to get back, and it hadn’t even left his hand when it hit her, clipping the sensitive skin under her eye and causing her to cry out.
He scoffed, “That didn’t hurt. I know you take hits on the field. Don’t pretend.”
And then he picked the book up and brought it down on her again, her arms flew up to protect her head. He laughed.
“Get this stupid shit out of the house. I’m making dinner.”
Peter was still fuming when Alessia came back in quietly. She’d been unsure what to do with the book, she’d taken it outside, hesitant, then put it in her car. She’d give it to a mascot or something she reasoned. She joined him in the kitchen, carefully opening the fridge to get out two drinks and offered him one. He took it with a hard smile at her. She forced a soft one back at him.
“Can I do anything?” She asked, leaning across the island bench.
“I just threw in the frozen veggie sauce I made the other night and pasta. Can you hold the strainer though, the stand one has the salad in it since you didn’t do dishes last night when you got home.”
Alessia searched the cabinet for the strainer. She’d been gone three days for a champions league match in Norway.
“I’m sorry, I’ll wash them all before coming up to bed tonight.” She soothed.
She held the strainer over the sink as he brought the boiling pasta water from the stove. He poured it too fast, she went to jerk back, to protect herself, and dropped the steaming hot strainer in the sink. He sighed, she picked it back up, and he swiftly dumped the whole pot, splashing her with the scalding water on both hands.
Alessia cried out, dropping the strainer full of pasta before she even realized she’d done it.
“You stupid bitch. You’ve ruined our dinner. Do the dishes. I’m going out.” He threw the pot in the sink and stomped away. The front door slammed a few minutes later, his car reversing out of the drive.
She sat in the floor, cradling her hands to her chest, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. The pain in her hands was searing. She knew she needed to get them under cool water, but she was trying to not throw up from the pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and plunged them under the cool stream, finally sobbing out loud now that Peter was gone.