You pulled me from that dreadful house and bed, giving me no choice but to make new friends and I said, ‘no, i would not go’, to what would be the point? I’d meet a few new faces, talk about how much time chases- away the feeling of how something that felt so real had deteriorated
and although the little yellow pill, still- from time to time it will find its way to help me sleep but nothing compares to the one you helped me find- i lost track of time now I can dream without the painful swallow of the heart that wallows stuck within the middle of my heaving throat
And I know he’s not mine, it’s borrowed time, for he will no doubt find someone better later on so just hold it out, stay true and strong, ignore the pretty little skinny red flags- in the pixilated camera pictures however, when its your heart that drags, across the clear, my mind can only occupy itself with the fear the fear of repetition, I’m always on this mission
I felt undesired- correction, I was, and had been for a very long time.
You stood there in front me, I can remember it like it was just mere minutes away in memory. You looked so sincere and spoke like it too. Your expression trying to resemble something so fucking believable it just made me want to laugh even harder than what was going on on the inside already.
You tilted your head ever so lightly, like you usually did when you tried to physically show me you were sorry. How beautiful I apparently was, how you in fact did desire every inch of me; touching me. The tiny tug at the beginning of your brows; they quivered. And I would have believed you again, but it was just too exhausting. Far too exhausting. Far too repetitive. I was sick now.
A soft, hesitant smile crossed your lips as you noticed my body, deciding to approach, my expression weary and very unsure. However, I knew exactly what I wanted. You held your arms out for the cliché ‘it’s okay..’, But it wasn’t this time. It was far from okay, and soon enough, you would be too.
It was almost too difficult to pull from the warmth and permanence of the embrace, however the rage is what kept me focused, reaching my hands to smooth up from your back, to the sides of your neck, it all seemed forgiving and romantic at the time, that was until you noticed something; you couldn’t breathe. I wouldn’t let you, and as my hands, as tiny as they were, and as much as you used to make fun of me for them for how child-like they always were, you were now at their mercy, as the power gain only increased on my behalf. Funny, for someone with so much talk and authority, you sure seemed to be struggling for words now, on your back, with the weight of me on your chest after collapsing from weakness.
I remember, I was choking you. So fucking hard I was almost too excited to fall back into the reality of how terrible this really was. Squeezing, squeezing until I felt something foreign. Something, the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. Desire. Your eyes begged. You were desiring me. Desiring me to stop. I just couldn’t. Because along with the euphoric feeling that refused to stop stimulating me, came the last tears you would ever cry. You were loosing air, loosing breath. You were dying, just like we had been.
I laid with you, holding your hand. We would no longer hurt any more, no longer would we argue or be spiteful. It was a shame though, the only time you truly ever desired me, was within the last few minutes of your life.
As I walked alley through alley way, back street after street, the hope and thrill of a dangerous approach seemed to be further away from me than what I would have anticipated. It was a friday evening. So where were they? Where was everyone? The insanes, the mindless drunks, the loonies- someone just looking to start some trouble. That’s what I needed, before I could begin to have fun and cause mine.
Suddenly- a taker. Potentially… I was just getting ahead of myself; hopeful, impatient. Hungry, rather. Hungry to put some miserable, dirty pig in his place. Or, in pieces rather.
His footsteps seemed to lag, like he was waiting for something- or someone. I was this someone, I would make sure of that.
It was never often, but tonight, she cried. Softly, she cried, wiping away the wasted amount of mascara and eyeliner that had been applied only seconds before, and moments before then, there, having to live with the guilt and mess of a person whom stared back at her from the large cylinder mirror, rimmed with the brilliant lightbulbs and feathered boas.
With one leg, mesh stocking, up, resting against the base surface of the dresser, she could only hang her head. A bottle of nail polish clinking to its side, spilling it’s gluttonous ink like matter. The smell filled her nostrils, a euphoric scent that only lasted a second or two before she bit down and against her bottom lip, watching the polish drip and pool against the dirty tiling of the dressing room floor.
How many more nights until she had enough? How many more sheets would she tangle throughout, until yet another bottle of polish was through?
A slow and regretful head lift later, she slipped into the stilettos, ballancing herself between the dresser and the affect the powdered candy seemed to be having on her shaken legs and clammy palms. She dug her painted acrylics into the polished wood, helpless.
The lonely woman swept through dark corridors, her long, thin ebony hair, a cascade of satin blanket, as her long, frail fingers crept to coil about the brittle, chipped beam of the classroom door. She peeked her head ‘round corner, where she saw him, his posture rising to straighten after having burried his strong nose within the finest of white lines
She couldn’t help but slink silently, as she often would, now standing behind him with what appeared to be a smirk, spread with amusement. However, this time, she couldn’t place a finger as to whether she was lustful, or just wanted complication.
Chapter 01:Blow those words out the back of your head [Tuesday, May 20th; 03:45pm]
This was no surprise to Cyrus, as he stood, light headed and faint, inheriting that oh so familiar churning inside his stomach; just waiting on the vomit; only mere inches from who he thought to be someone he ‘loved’. He watched her; he watched how Noel slurred her bullshit words with pathetic hesitance; how she kept looking away; pivoting back and forth as she forced and made up excuses from her trembled, nervous lips. ‘It wasn’t working.’ She kept hinting, but Cyrus refused to pick up the hint. He knew it hadn’t been. He knew from the moment she told him ‘I’m not mature enough for this much commitment.I’m just a kid’ And that had been admitted almost a year and a half ago.They walked silently for a few moments until Cyrus decided to break their lack of words. "Alright, Noel," He stopped abruptly, swiftly turning around to face her, looking down with a somewhat fed up expression. "You leave me." He continued; monotone. "You leave me right here, now. At this moment, place and time. And tomorrow, I won’t be there; waiting for you by the big tree, in front of your junior high. I’ll just leave my high school, and go home. And we won’t speak ever again, alright? Okay? After today, Noel, I’m gone, and we’ll pretend there was nothing." Cyrus watched her; somewhat hoping she’d reconsider her train of thought. Hoping she would do what was expected. And so, like every other time…
"…Well I..-" She mumbled, handling the violin case she had swung over and around her back (she was a string student). A sigh released itself as she came forth; wrapping lose arms around his waist. "Maybe I’m just having an off day…and I-" "You what?" Cyrus asked quietly, returning with an embrace of his own. Noel shook her head, letting go and backing herself away, looking up with a fake smile. "You love me too much, Cye, It’s not healthy." Cyrus shook his head with brief laughter, cutting her expression as far out of his mind as he could. "Yeah-ha…That’s just it." Rolled eyes, humoring the little girl that stood before him. Sadly, that’s really all she was. A little girl. A little thirteen year old brat who was spoiled and would do anything to make a name for herself. And dating a boy who was three years older and in freshman year, certainly seemed to be her spotlight for the time being.
Another silence rolled on between the two as they now reached Noel’s destination, the same as every Thursday afternoon at four pm. Violin rehearsal. She would always go on about wanting to actually make something of herself, besides her foolish dream of becoming a video game maker. And how being a famous violinist would make her look so elegant. To Cyrus, it was all bullshit. All he cared about at this point, was counting down the days and weeks, surviving them with a ‘girlfriend’ and not being alone. He didn’t really care if he was miserable ninety percent of the time, at least he could say things like ‘yeah, I’ve got me a girl.’ And that was that.
Noel stopped, clearing her throat as she extended a hand and waved. "Cya tomorrow at lunch then?" Her voice still held that tone of ‘I’m being completely fake but I’m going to assume you can’t tell and think everything is back to normal.’ Cyrus didn’t buy it, but as always, liked to ignore it for something else. Something that it wasn’t. But this time, for some reason, he couldn’t do it. For he noticed something. As his eyes caught notice of her hand, noticing the ring he had bought her for Christmas that year lacked it’s place upon her middle finger; right hand, he once again regained a squeamish feeling within his abdomen.
"Noel, where’s the ring?" He demanded. "Ring..?" She hesitantly peeped. "Oh! Oh my ring; the one you- Ohh! Yeah, sorry, Cye~" He knew they were done. It had been over from the first time she pulled this. " I took it off because I got a shower this morning." "But you always keep it on, don’t you?" "Yeah…" She shyed, "But I was afraid to lose it, I’ll have it tomorrow for you, don’t worry!" A smile followed by a neck dip forward was gestured. Cyrus backed away. "No kiss?" "Figured you wouldn’t want one." He shrugged, not caring either way. "Of course, I love your kisses!~" She chimed too sweetly. "Yeah, Noel…" Came a small grunt as Cyrus made a gloomy attempt to plant just a small kiss within the corner of her lips. The effort made on Noel’s side made him cringe. Such a fake feeling took hold of Cyrus’ subconscious as he, for the first time was the one to pull away and turn his back to her. "Tomorrow I guess." He muttered; feet picking up a slow and shuffled rhythm as he began to walk away.
[Friday, May 23rd; 11:15am]
Quick and long steps proceeded down a large line of fast food restaurants as well as small and home business shops as Cyrus made his way to lunch, as he did almost every day throughout the week. He could feel, despite Noel telling him they were still ‘alright’, that things were only just about to get worse. ‘No ring? Because of a shower? Fuck that!’ He thought. This was true. For Noel had never thought even twice about removing that ring from her finger. But the more Cyrus dwelled upon his misfortune, the more of a big ‘whatever’ it became. Perhaps seperation was for the best. He entered the McDonald’s as he turned right.
Pushing himself through a wing of glass doors, his eyes began to wander about; in search of Noel. And to his dismay followed by two other of her young pathetic friends. The one sitting next to her was Kayla. Nose pierced, black hair, patted push-up bras that were way more than likely hard as rock. And not to mention an embarrassing attempt at dark make-up. She looked like something out of a vampire freak’s pop up add. It truly made him shake his head. The second teenie-bopper made him ill. There was just no words to describe her as other than a big epic failure. Kelsie. Cyrus and Kelsie went way back. Since Daycare. And even then he had hated her. Nose pierced, Spaniard, long dark hair; wavy. Body; an awkward pair shape. She gestured a hyper wave, signaling for him to sit down.
"Cyrus!! Over here; oh hey!" He rolled eyes, dreading each and every word spoken by this girl. For she was nothing more than a little girl herself; trying to act too grown up for her own good. Kayla merely waved. Not much was wrong with her; in Cyrus’ opinion. But like any other middle school student, she tried too hard. And try as he may to block out the high-pitched shrill of Kelsie dreadful voice, he somehow just couldn’t. He sluggishly slouched down into a seat as he found his way over to them, eye contact an instant fail.
"So…How were your morning classes, Cye?" Came a sweet and cheery questioning. Noel of course. She always knew how to perk up a situation. At first, Cyrus held back an answer. Instead he decided to study her for what may have seemed like the last time. Her shoulder length black hair, the same as always; a side bang. And that cute little yellow bow, and how her words seemed to mingle about like a fly in panic, attempting it’s escape from a spider’s web.Her words were nothing but bullshit…
Cyrus shook his head. His mind warping into a Gothic state of mind. Something normal for him it seemed. He released a heavy sigh as he couldn’t help but notice the guilty expression all three girls held. Noel swallowed rather uncomfortable, picking up on her ‘boyfriend’s’ lack of co-operation in conversation. Just decided to try another approach.
"So what’re you gonna have for lunch, Cye? A burger, fries, snack wrap-" "You know I don’t normally eat at lunch." He snapped. "Plus, this is shit. I’m surprised you aren’t the size of Kelsie over there, eatin’ this crap every day." "Cyrus!" Noel exclaimed, a small amount of laughter awkwardly distributed.
Just then, an awkward silence over came the group, but it didn’t seem relevant to Cyrus’ rude comment just made. Kelsie cleared her throat, obviously pretending she heard nothing. “Cyrus…” She said sternly, looking across, dead eyed center. He waited, no doubt she would try and defend herself, but he was wrong. Dead wrong. He realized this when looking down at Noel’s gentle hand, supporting her defined jaw line as she refused eye contact.
"Can I talk to you for a sec? In private..? We need to have a chat." "No.." He muttered, closing his eyes; head shaking. "What?" She questioned. "I said no. Where’s the ring. Noel? Got another shower this morning, forgot it again?"
Noel, looked up, colour drained from her face, lips trembling for words to speak. “I..-Cyrus, well you see I..” "Wow.." He chuckled, "You actually doing this, huh? Here…? In Micky dees? really?" Noel, again, attempting to justify herself, said nothing though she tried. She could feel the raise of his tone, things weren’t going to go well.
"So yesterday?! Everything you said? Lies, right!? Fucking lies; making me think we were okay?!" He demanded, coming to a stand with slammed palms against the table’s surface. "No. Cyrus…You’re making a scene, stop!" "A scene!? I’m making a scene?" He laughed, as if in mental disbelief. "I’ll show you a fucking scene! Give me the fucking ring!" He screamed, causing heads within the restaurant to turn and settle uncomfortable eyes on the two. One boy in particular, sitting in the farthest corner; sipping kindly on a strawed beverage, ached his curious neck, covered by a large flanal indie scarf. Meanwhile, Cyrus stood, and despite him in all of his fury, felt rather foolish. Perhaps this had been as angry as he’d ever been. So angry in fact, calming down was the last thing on the mind. He slammed his hand down, open, awaiting what he demanded of Noel, only to have Kelsie place it in his hand.
"What the fuck are you doing with it!?" He hollered. "I gave it to her!" Noel defended. "I wanted her to do it…" "So, you’re a coward?" He asked, for some reason calmly. She refused a response. "You all are fucking wrapped up in one another. Fucking sluts!" He hurled insults, followed by the abrupt action of picking up what had left of Kayla’s coke cup and beaming it forth to spill all over Noel’s fine white shirt. She gasped, not being able to do much more. "Fuck you!" He screamed. "Fuck you all! You were ALL in on this! You guys knew she was doing this to me today?!" Kelsie said nothing, as Kayla did exactly the same. "This is ridiculous…" Laughed Cyrus as he then grabbed his school bag and turned about, ready to head out, ring jammed into the deep pocket of his TRIP pants. Nearing the door to depart, a small snicker stopped him dead within his tracks. He turned his head as he then saw a small boy with dark skin and glasses with a bandanna flattening his hair. Cyrus waltz over, angrily questioning him.
"The fuck you laughin’ about!?" The boy looked up at him rather calmly, smirking a little. " ‘Cuz just got dumped, eh?" He responded with an arched eyebrow. "In Micky dees no less!" "Fucking punk!" Snarled Cyrus, reaching forth to grab him by the collar, bringing him to an elevated position. "Hey!" He cried, "Screw off, kid! I was kidding! Let me go you asshole!!"
Cyrus, released his grip when being confronted by a store manager. “Hey, you punk! I think it’s time you leave here before I call the cops!” The assaulted boy landed abruptly, hitting the floor as he watched the six foot four blonde, dressed in black take an angered leave, using his steel toed combat boots to open the door for him, proceeding to stomp down the street and out of view. Despite it only being lunch time, Cyrus’ last priority was to return for afternoon classes. And so, he made his way to the closest bus terminal. Perhaps an afternoon home and of sleeping would do him some good. After all, now that Noel had nothing to do with his life anymore, perhaps things would begin to look less dramatic. Or at least, he had hoped.
Every now and again, I had to admit, Queenie would share with us, some ridiculous, fucked up, bogus idea about how we needed to spend more quality time together. Like a family should be. But this-bloody hell- this took the cake. And not just a piece. Oh no, this time in particular, that pretty little wife of mine managed to steal this cake; the whole cake, and run with it. It’s a Sunday morning. And instead of being passed out, still sloshed after drinking massive amounts of God knows what; on the living room floor, I was sitting in the fourth row, off to the right side, in a bloody pew, listening to some old bastard talk about God. God. I thought to myself. Wonder what his blood would taste like… However, this thought was quickly pushed to the very back of my mind as my attention was suddenly taken possession of by a young woman, hardly pushing thirty, in the next row over. And it was all too funny, really. She was in no way making the fact that she was totally eye-fucking me discrete. She also had done a fine job (I had to admit) of making sure I noticed her well displayed breasts, just ever so slightly peaking cleavage above her innocent button-up blouse. Yeah, no. Was my very first thought. You must be what, almost twenty? Which was surprising for a man like myself. A Man…I always found it difficult to refer to myself as that. And let’s just say, despite my youthful, mid-twenty appearance, I had no doubt been older than her father. I smirked in her direction, shaking my head. She may have had a chance at getting in my pants thirty years ago, but not now. Besides…my wife’s were way bigger.
If I remembered correctly, Church was only supposed to last a little over an hour. So why was it that I could have sworn that it felt like another few centuries of my God forsaken life was being wasted? I slowly turned my head to glance over at my daughter, Christina, who I knew for a fact would rather be somewhere else, fucking her girlfriend. I couldn’t blame her. We were both in the same boat. Christina. Church. Irony? Nonetheless, I loved her very much. She was beautiful; taking after me in so many ways, appose to her mother. Which surprised me greatly. But of course, being the spitting image of myself in female form, she was good-looking. Narcasism? I was almost too afraid to look over at Jonah; my son. I had always heard stories about twins, and how there would be one of the two that always pushed your buttons in some weird way. But he just took it to an entirely new level. I mean, if I had wanted to surround myself with someone like ‘that’. I may as well just have never moved out of Curtis’ apartment.
Queenie’s bright idea was that, when the children were born, which was both an amusing and breath-taking experience, (The reason for this being, I was now a father, and had gotten to see Queenie in stir-ups) was that she wanted to enforce a family outing, at least once a week. Which was all fine and well. But you can imagine that Church definitely wasn’t the first thing on my mind.
Finally, as the year-long seeming sermons and Holy stories ended, both Christina and I exchanged sighs of relief, standing and beginning to shuffle through and passed groups of both the young and elderly. At once, I felt the need to fasten my palms and squeezing fingertips against Queenie’s hips; dressed in a thin layer of smooth cotton as we then proceeded together, down the hall walk. The young woman from earlier…I think she had gotten the message, considering her eyes shot daggers straight toward Queenie. Noticing, she asked, “Oh dear…Did I do something wrong?” I loved when she sounded so innocent. It never failed to bring a smile to my lips every time. The reason behind this minor action was because I think I was the only one who knew of her ‘not so innocent’ side.
"Don’t fink so, love." I said casually, and full of cockney. “Why, love?” “That woman over there…” She leaned against my chest, speaking quietly. “…she looked at me as though she had some sort of death wish.” Her tone completely changed. I knew this tone very well. She felt challenged. It was so sexy.
"No clue, Q." I grinned. "Odd…" She kept walking.
Again, my attention wandered as the Church began to clear out. But this time, it wasn’t a question of who it was grabbed by, but what. I had never taken part in a confession before, so the thought of it intrigued me as I brought my pace to a halt. "Is something wrong?" Queenie asked me, looking back. The Twins were no doubt already outside, waiting for us by the Bentley. "Not really." I shook my head. "Just a little curious." "About?" "That." I pointed to a medium sized constructed build, that, in my immature opinion, resembled the make of an outhouse. "I think it would be a great idea." She responded immediately, as if I had already posed the inquiry of a session. I wrinkled my nose at her. "Well why not? Come to think about it…you’ve never had any source of therapy, or even venting in your life so far." This was true. So I pondered the idea before Queenie basically made up my own mind for me. Something she tended to do a lot. "I’ll leave you to it." She chimed, telling me that ‘brunch’ would be saved for me when I returned home. She knew I rarely ever ate much of anything, but the thought of sounding and acting like a wife pleased her nonetheless.
As I made my way toward the confession booth, I at once gained a playful mind-set. This was going to be a blast! Me, sitting on the other side of some mesh stitched wall, spilling my years of slaughter and bloodshed. Of unprotected, both gay and straight sex and drug abuse. It delighted me to think that at the end of this fruity little ordeal, I would have some old fuck, dressed in robes, shitting his pants -and if I was lucky- traumatized over knowing the story of my horribly lived life. I was so excited as I entered the compact little space, sitting, legs spread apart, palms cupped my knees as I sat there, waiting. What now? Was there some kind of bell, or string to be pulled, so that this old fart could come and listen to me already? My ears suddenly perked at the sound of movement, shuffling almost. He sat down on the other side, I could now see him, faintly through the pin-pricked mesh that separated both of our identities.
"Good day, my son. And how can myself and the Lord help you?" Oh, God. I thought to myself. Laughing almost had been an option. It was just like in the movies. I straightened my posture, trying so hard to keep ‘professional’ and not pull out my lighter and smokes.
"Forgive me Father…" I decided to jump right into it, a smirk holding firm against my lips. "…for I have sinned."
Pryscilla felt Desiré clumsily let go of her hand, unable to regain the grip that once was, due to being whisked away ever so abruptly by the dancing, electrifying crowd. The dance floor was a dangerous place to be when left. Especially for a girl to be all by her lonesome. However, Pryscilla was more than confident enough to trust her gut feeling when a situation was getting bad. Or in her own words, ‘sketchy’. She sighed, shaking her head before making a quick attempt to blend back into the crowd, slowly grinding her hips back and forth, soon followed by fingers pushing through her luscious blonde locks of platinum hair. It wasn’t much time before she had two young men dancing at both ends, hands cradled around her waist.
Eyes watched from a close, but safe enough distance, studying Pryscilla with an almost precocious intent. Aleksandr was never one for ‘stalking’ about, but something about this over-rated, obnoxious, face-painted, trashy, big busted blonde, somehow proved to be much of a fickle interest. And had been for quite sometime. The girls back home in Mother-Russia had certainly never been so out of line. He would wait until he and Pryscilla could meet under, a little more quieter circumstances. But until then, looking down from the sky-bar sidelines, studying every inch of body language she gestured was all being retained. And all too carefully. And then, opportunity struck. He followed her with his eyes at first, then with his own movement. The hour-glass blonde was on the move, no doubt for a breath of fresh air. He would meet her outside…
Pushing past, and of course thanking both young gentlemen for the heated dance, Pryscilla hurried outside, quickly lighting up a cigarette, ever so gracefully leaning against the wall. She took one inhale successfully before being bothered. What was it this time? She wondered.
"Excuse me…" Pryscilla’s attention was drawn immediately. “Oh.~” She recognized his face at once. “You’re that guy!” She pointed, leaning over, her dress baring more than enough cleavage. Aleksandr studied her more. A perfect opportunity now that they were so close. He raised his eyebrow at her, releasing a quiet chuckle. "That guy? I need auh…lighter. Please." "Ya here ya go!" She laughed, pulling a bubbly pink lighter from between her breasts. Aleksandr carefully played his fingers against its warmth as he pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it, almost like it was a task to take great pride in.
"So…you’re in one of my classes." "You’re smart girl, aren’t you?" Something about his words, and it not being the alcohol, forced a stirring Pryscilla indeed felt wasn’t the least bit nessecary. Yet it intrigued her; dangerously. However, she insisted on playing hard to get.
"I can be." She giggled ever so innocently. Bullshit. Aleksandr knew exactly what she wanted. But strangely enough knew she could care less of who it was shared with. He could tell by the way she pivoted on her little shiny stilettos, leaned from one soft porcelain leg to the other, occasionally moving her hips in attempt to stay up right. He was thinking so unlike himself.
"Mhmm.." He nodded, carefully extending his arm out to give her back the lighter. "Thanks." She quickly tucked it back into her cleavage, fixing herself briefly. She then tossed her finished cigarette to the concrete, stepping down firmly.
"Friend of yours?" Aleksandr muttered casually, his thick Russian accent hard to hide, referring to the approaching boys who now surrounded Pryscilla. Her expression was lazy, as her eyes quickly tried to keep up with their movements. "Hey baby. Goin’ ‘ome wiff anyone tonight? Fuckin’ lush you are." "Yeah! Owe us somefin’ dont’cha? Bought you a good deal of drinks." "H-ey!" She pushed back, jerking away from them. Aleksandr was not amused. Boys disgusted him. Not men. For these were not men. Only mere, pathetic, hormonal little boys. Enough. He pushed himself past the drunken chavs, gripping Pryscilla’s wrist and pulling her along with him.
"Why don’t you boys find someone else to harass with your obnoxiousness? Leave her to me." He growled, simply walking away with her on his arm. He was finally intrigued. "Fuckin’ weirdo, you are.." The chavs scoffed, stumbling off to no doubt bother some other unfortunate harlot.
"Where are..we going?" Pryscilla demanded, stumbling about as she looked up at him. "Glupaya devochka*…" The foreign words smoothly rolled from his tongue. "…you should watch who you lead on." "I so~ didn’t..!" She argued. " And…what was that bit..before?" Aleksandr grinned, his footing coming to a slow halt; turning to her, his eyes scanning her one last time; to fully make up his mind. He wanted her. All of her.
"YA dumayu, chto* …." Pryscilla looked up at him with almost a worry embedded within her blue-green eyes. "…you should come home with me." He looked at her with deep narrowed eyes. "Vy yedete domoĭ so mnoĭ segodnya vecherom. Da." Pryscilla shook her head as wincing eyes attempted to keep up with his words, but no matter how clearly she thought she heard, she still couldn’t understand. "I promise…" He whispered, leaning into her. "You won’t be disappointed…" Pryscilla felt her knees weaken, falling into his chest. And before she even had time to rethink all of this, she was getting out of the cab, quickly climbing and stumbling up the stairs to his apartment. Just barely making it into the hallway. Aleksandr roughly gripped a hold of her underarm, spinning her to face him just before firmly pressing her to the wall. "Are you…ready Pryscilla..?" He asked, breathing against her collar bone, dipping to kiss them tenderly; nibbling. She released a faint exhale, arching her back.
"Mmh…yes. I know what you want…" He gently placed a hand to cup her pelvic area, massaging ever so boldly, pressing two fingers firmly. ”..Fuck.” She groaned, not knowing exactly what to do. “Yes…” Aleksandr teased. ”You want it…I can smell it.”
He led her to the bedroom, sitting on the end corner of the twin sized mattress, looking up at her. Pryscilla arched her leg up onto the bed, Aleksandr, quickly wrapping an arm around her waist, gripping a palm’s worth of her backside, squeezing. Her breathing increased, chest heaving as she looked down at him with narrowed eyes. " I hope you know…" She smirked. "Come Monday…Aleksandr, who?" Aleksandr bit his lip, arching a thick eyebrow. "Well then…? Make it good…" His voice bellowed, his fingers caressing her fine, soft, skin. "Oh, it’ll be good, foreigner." Pryscilla straddled him quite confidently, lustfully looking into his eyes. "Now, did you bring me here to play? Or to fuck? I’m a little bit of a Princess. I only want the best, and My patience are like, zero." Aleksandr was surprised, but in an amused fashion, in which forced him to further question, could she really handle it? "A little bit of both my dear girl…and like I said, you won’t be disappointed." He smirked, caressing her cheek. Her chin. And then her lips. Pryscilla gasped faintly, her body tensing up at once. She could feel his eyes. She looked up with an expression of hesitance. "Something wrong?" He asked. "Y..yea actually." Aleksandr was puzzled, leaning back some. However, his eyes remained upon her bubble-gum pink frosted lips.
"I like, don’t really know you that well…and well, no kissing please?" "My…you’re a very odd one, Pryscilla. You’re willing to have me inside of your body, but…I can’t even have a taste of your precious lips?" "You’re…really creepy…" "It’s a serious question." "It’s…different." She looked away; Aleksandr grasping the emotional concept of it going deeper than just. "Very well then." He cleared his throat, looking back at her with a relaxed, yet at the same time, cocky expression. A smirk once again visible. "So, as I was previously saying…We will both play…and fuck." Pryscilla swiftly reached behind, un-zipping her strapless dress. In the act of pulling it down to reveal her near naked body, practically covered in tattoos, in which Aleksandr had never really noticed before, she looked up at him with a rather cocky grin herself.
"Just say go…" Her eyebrow arched; daring him. She licked her lips very slowly before a sharp inhale was taken, due to the surprise of Aleksandr’s swift movement and grip as he now had both wrists gripped tightly, forcing Pryscilla onto her back; leaning over her. Pryscilla had indeed no idea as to what she had now gotten herself into. "What the—!?" "Peryeĭti*." He whispered closely against her ear, biting down. She winced, biting her bottom lip. Aleksandr proceeded to kiss tenderly from her collar bones, down to the very tip of her nipple, further, until, "What’re you…doing?" She whined, a curious panic lingering to her voice as she couldn’t help but scrunch her expression uncomfortably. He bit her softly, however, this would have only lasted until he too burned with such a devious passion for sex, bitting harder upon her lower abdomen.
Burying himself between her thick tattooed thighs, Aleksandr insisted he used his tongue to the fullest of his abilities, thrusting a little too quickly for Pryscilla’s liking. She whined, throwing her head back, and arms; gripping the pillows that propped her head up so endearingly. It had been quite sometime since anyone had touched like this, let alone stole a taste. Their progress was quick, for it was only mere moments before Aleksandr ordered her by hair being coiled around his slender but firm fingertips, pulling, tearing into the position he now wanted.
"Na spine*." He growled, eyes fully occupied with a scary lust. "YA skazal: na spine, zhenshchina!*"
Pryscilla whimpered, looking up at him, as if knowing exactly what to do. He wasted absolute no time forcing himself inside, creating a slow at first rhythm, however it didn’t last very long at all before Pryscilla felt herself tear. It had been forever since penetration. She felt the warmth of her eyes letting loose a single tear from each as she gripped his shoulders, clawing, digging. "Oh, fuck!" She hollered, riding out the throbbing pain that took longer than usual to turn to complete pleasure. However, once it did take place, another sharp pain interfered. Aleksandr looked down at her, back hunched as he still made rugged exhales and forceful hip thrusts inside of her. He grinned, kissing her neck tenderly, licking, sucking, finally breaking the skin ever so abruptly. She let loose a scream before a sweaty palm covered her quivering lips. She muffled, he moaned, chuckling almost as he felt himself at a full release.
"You are mine now." He spoke in almost a warning, looking into Pryscilla’s eyes, calmly, forcing a soft kiss against her mouth. She flinched, in a state of swollen shock as he slowly pulled out.
"Now," He looked at her with a soft expression, smiling. "Why don’t you wash yourself…and dress that wound. I won’t have you dirtying my sheets."
If it weren’t for the liquor, she definitely would have had something to say. This would have never happened. She quivered, as Aleksandr watched her struggled to walk a proper step to the bathroom, which was located in the very same room. She looked into the mirror at the stained lipstick and eye shadow, then the mess of spilled blood that soaked all the down from her collar bone to her navel. She touched the open sore, deep teeth marks that would no doubt scar nice and pretty. What did this mean? Little did Prycilla know, this certainly wouldn’t be the first and last time she would be in the company of Aleksandr Khrushchev.
The address was right, but the eerie feeling of sinking that ceased to rid it’s condescending churn within Christina’s chest and stomach-…not so much. Was she an idiot? Or was it the dangerous curiosity of inappropriate intrigue? Nonsense. She shook her head wearily as her attention had soon been grasped by the small griddy apartment that stood three stories. She smirked. Head shake count; two. Gallow had told her ‘it wasn’t much’ after all. Early that day, he had almost begged her to drop by.
"I mean…if you want." His voice, for once didn’t sound so much like a scheming dirt-bag. "Just drop by, just for ….- Five minutes! Five? S’all I’m askin’ here. It’s my birthday after all. Dress up real nice for me?"
As Christina reflected on hours beforehand, she could clearly remember Gallow’s smirk, and eyebrow arch, followed by his panicky cover up. “…The last part was uh…was a joke. Hah…” Something had told her, that wasn’t all necessarily true. "…Plus," He had also said to her, before leaving, his slender and tall frame bending to almost enclose her against the door-frame. "you should bring your little drawings. I wanna see ‘em. Maybe I’ll even be sober for ya." This was of course, followed by a chuckle, as if to also say, ‘God, I crack myself up.’
Christina, gripped her binder, in which had never really been shared with much of anyone other than herself. Which also brought her to ask herself…why? Why was it that with just a few simple words, Gallow had been able to almost immediately con her into showing up at his place? Why was it that she even cared whether or not he saw her work? Her private, most dedicated work. Gallow was, in almost every way, the opposite of Christina, and all she stood for. It baffled her to no end; just thinking, how they ever did begin speaking in the first place. It would have been a month ago, no less. Her father never did make the best of friends. Or the soberest for that matter. But, he was, for that time being, a guest within the Aensland-Christianson household, and had to be treated with; at least being stomached. But not respected, Christina argued with herself. He smelled too much of various street-corner queens and one too many pints of Jack Daniel’s, to be respected. He was a pathetic creature, who saw pleasure in toying with any girl who wore a pair of heals right. So why was it that she now found herself entering the dump of a building; not at all surprised to see that the name and apartment number contents had been completely destroyed by, no doubt, lighter-happy low-life’s. It proved to be of no real use anyway, due to the noise she could already hear coming from two floors up. The scent of marijuana telling her she was definitely in the right place before even thinking so.
After climbing an un-surely crafted staircase, Christina didn’t even bother to knock, as she was quite confident that the apartment door she had just entered was Gallow’s. The numerous amounts of carelessly thrown roaches and cigarette butts that laid scattered about, upon the floor confirmed it. As well as the display of people present. Greasy, skanky, cheap looking people. Christina weaseled herself through the crowded house party, avoiding the actual act of contact. Of course, having this attempt end up in complete failure, attention was soon drawn.
"Oh hey! You!" Slurred an obnoxious blonde. Her shirt cups a few sizes too small. But that’s how Gallow liked it. A prize for the eyes. He was such a pig… Christina looked up at the nearing six foot bombshell, courtesy of her stilettos. She couldn’t have been over eighteen.
"You’re like…so~ in my Chemistry advanced!" She was right. And had a cockney accent almost equivalent to nails being teased against a blackboard.
"Oh…right. Hey…" Christina chuckled uncomfortably, quite reluctant to draw anymore attention to herself. "Yeah! What is up? We so~ have never talked, isn’t that fucking weird?! Oh my God!" She tried over-powering the sound of Steve Tyler’s shrill voice, pouring from the living room, sub-woofers. Christina winced, she was doing a fabulous job.
"But anyway! Yeah-" She was speaking as though they had both engaged within an intelligent conversation. Apparently, obnoxious intoxication was the latest fashion.
"I didn’t know you knew Gallow! That’s fucked!" She began laughing, as though this held some sort of key to a comedic outburst. "Oh…yeh. I know Gallow all right." Grumbled Christina, thinking, it wasn’t ‘fucked’ at all. It was called a bloody coincidence.
"Fuck. I know right? Who doesn’t? I heard the guy’s hung like a horse! I’d let him do whatever -" "Yeah…I’m…not really interested." "Oh…" The girl’s expression dropped, almost surprised by Christina’s words.
"Oh right~ Aren’t you a lesbian or something? I so forgot! Sorry~ Anyway, have an ace time tonight!" And with that she stumbled off, soon to find some other ball-playing stud to drape her arms around.
Christina sighed, second thoughts settled, and seemed to be the best thing at hand. This wasn’t her, not in the least. This scene. These kinds of people. She was so above this, she thought as she turned to leave. Maybe if she could just slip away and out of the living room; much like an unseen ghost. But unfortunately for her, Gallow could see ghosts.
"Christina? Hey!" She heard her name being called through a great sum of bodies. She turned around. Reflex. Or was it the same curious churn that made her tingle and ask ‘what if?’.
"You actually…came?" Gallow asked this, only because he had full expectation that she would do as Christina always would, and turn whatever he had to offer down. And never was it lightly.
Christina was reluctant to turn around, seeing just who she hadn’t hoped to. The feeling in her stomach was telling her to leave, but it seemed as though her feet had a different sort of mind set as the infamous Gallow approached. He was tall, nearing a good six foot -something, Christina reckoned. Everything about his sense of style was disastrous. Something straight out of an eighties Twisted Sister video. Well… She thought. Perhaps a little more watered down than that. But even so, the eye-liner could have been left at home.
"Uh…yeh." She muttered awkwardly, as Gallow couldn’t help himself but look her over from head to foot. He spoke once again. Christina, almost feeling herself cringe.
"So uh…Did’ja bring your drawings?" "Uh…yeah, actually." She spoke with hesitance , reaching back to itch, only a little behind her neck, nervously tangling fingers through her thick hazelnut hair. His American accent was so irritating…
Gallow led her away from the crowd and bustle; his bedroom . He shut the door carefully; leaving it unlocked, later to sit down on his twin double mattress that lay stained and un-sheeted carelessly within the corner; against the wall. Christina winced, bitting her lip, anticipating as she held her binder close.
"Well?" Asked Gallow. "Lemme take a peak." His gaze was almost villainous, yet somehow enticing as Christina took her drawing folder from under her arm, opening it slowly. She quickly flipped through pages, second-guessing whether or not he would appreciate her pride and efforts in the least.
"Uh..Where to begin…" She laughed nervously, her fingers coming to a halt; holding the binder flat and down against the mattress. Gallow watched intently, his body somewhat swaying forward. Intoxication was such a bother. Especially when attention was to be payed.
"Y’know…" He began. Christina quickly shot her gaze upward; looking, readying herself for whatever words he may of had.
"…You don’t gotta be nervous." "I’m not!" She cried, sounding more like an immediate retaliation rather than a normal, casual response. "Anyway," She moved on quickly. "I’ll just show you a couple. This one’s some of my earlier work." "Earlier work?" Christina nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been drawing for a while, you know.” "Oh yeah, definitely…You’re super…good." Gallow slurred, trying to focus on the pieces of paper in front, but for some reason, just couldn’t stay attentive to one thing. Christina was wearing a shirt that hugged tighter than usual, revealing her slender looking collar bones, and the right side of her pale, soft looking neck, hair flipped over the opposite side of her shoulder. Her breasts looked larger than usual. Wow, were they always this full looking? He thought to himself, his eyes a blank stare as she continuously turned the page, her soft lip being bitten by nervous teeth. Christina began to ramble on about yet another piece of artwork. However, Gallow soon found it almost impossible to sit still, or hold his tongue for that matter. With a brief clearing of his throat, he leaned forward, his arm snaking to rest a heavy hand over the drawing, encased by a thin layer of plastic sheeting. He soon forced the binder to a close before looking directly into the eyes of the now irritated girl in front.
Christina glared. "What’re you…-" Gallow smirked. "How about uh…we talk about somethin’ else, huh?" "Something else?" "Oh come on, Christina…Do you really think I care about your shitty little drawings? Are you actually that naive? It’s obvious why we’re both here. Why you decided to come. I just wanna fuck…So let’s drop the innocent act, yeah?"
It took a moment or two for the words to register before a look of pure disgust, followed by the sharp chested sting of disappointment settled in. A faint gloss of moisture coating her eyes.
"You’re a pig!" She screamed. "A fucking pig! I…I can’t believe I even let you talk me into showing up here! I’m so much better than this!" "Oh, you so aren’t!" He laughed. " You came because you want it." Gallow ‘corrected’. "I can’t believe this…I can’t believe you! The one thing I hold so important to me- you manipulated me!"
Gallow advanced swiftly, despite his intoxicated state, as he enforced a tight and no doubt uncomfortable grip upon her wrists. "Just give me what I want…" He leaned to whisper against her ear. "Gallow knows how to fuck." "That’s enough!" "Come on…I’ll make you so wet…" "I said, that’s enough!!"
Christina loosened from Gallow’s grip, immediately slapping him with a furious open palm. His face swung opposite, later to very slowly regain facial posture and smirk.
""You’re so hot…" Gallow grinned, casually wiping blood from his split open lip. "You’re looking at me like you wanna taste. I don’t mind y’know…" He pressed his lips to hers in a desperate attempt to claim what he thought would be a hot and sexy open-mouthed kiss, smearing blood against her bottom lip. This happened, however for only a few short seconds before the disgruntled abdomen of Gallow upset, forcing a rush of three hours spent of having lips wrapped around the neck of Jack Daniels all over Christina. She shrieked, quickly pushing him away from her as she stood up, trying her best to fan off the spill of vomit that proceeded to slowly and quite disgustingly drip down her shirt, and all over her chest. "Oh..! Oh, God!" She hollered, stepping back, against the door as her trembling hands reached for the knob, turning. "Sick!" There was a pause, and Gallow was just the one to break it, wiping mess from his lips. "Oh fuck, Christina…" He slurred and groaned, holding his stomach with a wrinkled nose and grit teeth, looking up at her from the bed. "I’m…sorry." He laughed. "I’m so sorry!"
"You’re sorry!?" Growled Christina, angrily grabbing her coat, holding it to her front. "Really, Gallow? You’re sorry!?" "Well, yeah." He responded modestly. Christina winced, as she gestured a disappointed shake from her head before angrily stomping off. "You’re actually unbelievable…Gallow Radcliffe…" Followed by the sound of his poorly hinged door slamming ever so mercilessly. He wouldn’t remember this tomorrow morning most likely. However, Christina most certainly would.
Christian stared at his cigarette, as it rested in the groove of a ruby red ashtray. Ashes dropped from the tip as it burned slowly. He sighed to himself, before taking a sip of coffee. He glared at Curtis as he entered the kitchen.
“I’m sorry..I don’t do well drunk..” "Curtis, why did you ‘ave to tell her. Why?!" "Why didn’t YOU tell her Chris??" "Don’t you fucking try to turn this around on me!" Curtis yelped. "Chris.. Look, I’m sorry I told your personal secrets but you should of told her. Don’t leave it up to drunk slip ups from me." He quickly turned on his heals, heading toward the bathroom.
Christian sighed.. before grabbing his car keys and slipping on his shoes. He floored it, never really concerned about patrolling bobbies, just itching to write a ticket. His tires screeched to a halt outside of the large white mansion. Her residence, of course. He knocked at the door twice, and waited.
If the loud screech of suppressed, anxious rubber didn’t wake her, it would have been the knocks against the white oak woven door as Queenie pulled herself from her king size bed, grabbing a silk house coat, wrapping it lazily against her nude frame as she descended the stair case. She briefly glanced at the clock, reading just after noon. It wasn’t like her to have slept in so late, then again, it also wasn’t like her to drink so much. Which instantly reminded her of what had happened between Christian and her, only a handful of hours a go.
"A moment please…!" She called to whomever waited on the other side as she unlocked a series of locks, slowly opening the door. Her facial expression dropping as all colour drained itself from her face. To her surprise, Christian stood at his six foot four, very best on the other side.
”Just try shutting the door on me.” He muttered. “I’d like to see how you explain a severed door to Elijah.” His breath was coarse, as he looked down at her with burning emerald eyes.
"Burglars.." She spoke in a low, almost fearful tone as her fingers held the side of the door, shaking, pending to do just that.
"Yeh, I’m sure." He pushed past her, inventing his own invitation. Queenie stumbled back, due to her not yet fully awoken state. Her eyes desperately followed his brute movement.
"Who..do you..-what do you think you’re doing!?" She crossed her arms, tucking the night gown under her arms somewhat. "Just talk to me, please. I’m sorry I hollered at you, but you weren’t exactly getting it. And.. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the drugs.. but you never cared to ask either." He was saying this calmly, which was, in her opinion, quite a rarity. She felt a defense level drop as she sighed. "Christian…I don’t ask because I’m afraid to find out…I don’t want to find out…" "Then why do you get mad when I don’t tell you..I didn’t say anything because I know how you are.." "You shouldn’t be doing it!" Her voice rose a bit. "Don’t you understand why I’m so infuriated!? It’s why we aren’t..-" Queenie swallowed down the lump in her throat that felt similar to her heart as she couldn’t bring herself to say it. "Together…" "I know.. but when we’re apart it’s too much.. I thought you didn’t want me.. so I said fuck it.. and I started using again.. I’m sorry.. I just , I didn’t know what to do. I never expected you to want me again.." "You honestly..thought something that foolish..?" "Well.. you left me.. You usually like to make things pretty..final." She pressed fingertips to her lips as she closed her eyes; concentrated with a set of furrowed brows. “Be that as it may…” Her wording began slowly, as if not really knowing where to go from there. "…There’s..always going to be something..no matter if you find some pretty little skinny-jean, big haired scene queen, or if I stay with the filthy rich fool I..have now." Queenie couldn’t believe the reality she had made for herself as she realized her own words. The epiphany of her approaching engagement.
"It’ll..always…be..you.." She spoke almost in a whisper. "Good.. it will always be you for me.." He looked away now. "I do want help..but at the same time I don’t.. Because face it, you’re not going to leave him.. and without you, not to sound dramatic, I really don’t care what ‘appens to me." "God damn it, Christian..!" She cried out weakly. "Why…why did you have to do this..? That night..with Eisley…if you could have just..-Things…they’d be so different! I’d be marrying you!" ”.. That’s a nice thought, but an impossible one at that.” She shook her head. “Impossible..? Because of who?!” “I made a bad choice, Queenie, but yours was worse.. You didn’t ‘ave to go.” "Worse?! You made us separate! I told you how I felt about the drugs! Your addiction! I dealt with it once before!" "I don’t know what to say to you. Because we’re going to have to compromise. I’m not getting help. Why? Because you’re never going to be with me again. I’m not putting thousands into to rehab just so you can marry another man. I’d rather be fucked on drugs, then fucked up, missing you." "Well what am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave him like that. I would need a valid reason!"
Christian laughed, shaking his head. "Right. I’m not a good enough reason, so stop complaining to me about my drug habits. I’m never high when I see you, when I touch you, when I tell you I love you…just leave it alone, and enjoy our time together before your married. How about that?" He couldn’t look at her now.
"Even when that day comes…I don’t think I’ll be able to leave you alone.." She looked away as well.
"I can’t be with you…fuck you, make love to you, tell you I love you when you have a ring on your finger for another man..I can’t.I can’t fuckin’ do it, Elizabeth!" "Why can’t you..?" She became desperate as she knew she had no right way in the argument anymore. This was about marriage now. "I’ll even..do what I don’t like..just as long as you’re still with me.." "Stop it…You’re right.. about all of this.. It should be me that is pleading for you to be with me.. But I can’t.. I love you too much to fuck this all up. He’s so good for you… I just make you unhappy..” “That isn’t true, Christian! He’s more than good for me..but…I’m not in love with him..” "Learn to feel for him.." Christian spoke coldly. "What…? Learn—Are you..serious..?" Her eyes grew wide in disbelief as she stared at him.
"How could you..say that even?" "…I don’t know,Q. This is just too hard. Isn’t it hard for you? Fucking me.. going home to sleep in the same bed with him?" "I don’t even feel like we’re engaged." She tried to maintain her end of the argument.
"…He feels more to me like a…-that one gay best friend every girl is supposed to have…Yes it’s hard..it’s so difficult.." She palmed her forehead firmly, trying to hold back her tears.
"Why did you even get with that fool.. What made you want to be his woman anyway?" "It seemed right..at the time. He was stable…rich..everything I thought I needed.." "I see.. Well I guess there’s your answer of why you should stay with him. Stable, rich, and he treats you well.. like the real lady you are. We’re never going to work.." "…What..?" She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
"You ‘eard me.. I just came to tell you I was sorry… I have to go now.." ”..You..drove all the way here..just..to tell me we will never be? Is that what you did..? Are you breaking up with me, Christian?” Tears blindly rolled down her cheeks as she swallowed firmly, suffering from shock and utter disbelief. "You are engaged, Elizabeth!" His voice rose. "I came ‘ere to tell you I’m sorry.." "You know what…" She sobbed through clenched teeth. "You might as well save your apology for the next heart you break, because I’m sure they’ll need it more." "Queenie…"
She refused eye contact, crossing her arms tightly against her chest as she then bit her lip. "Q.. Don’t act like this.. You know for a fact it was coming." "Knew.." She began crying, correcting him. " ‘I knew it was coming’.." She smiled along with tears, shaking her head, as if in a state of denial. "God..your grammar always was so horrible.." "Knew is a word!-wait.. sorry.. " He soon realized his fault. "My grammar is horrible…Anyway.. You knew it was coming. What did you think was going to happen?! We were going to fuck secretly? While you had a husband? And when you have children? Be one of those Stepford wives, devious sneaking around all the time? What do you expect me to do?! Wait sixty-five years maybe, until he dies?! I can’t do that and I refuse!" "You’re absolutely right..what is the point..? Just leave." She began a slow walk away, heading into the kitchen. "You’ll have your drugs and occasional gay sex, because you’re still close with Curtis aren’t you?…and..I’ll have my perfect..flawless life..Everyone will be so..so happy."
"Ha hah, my gay sex, and my drugs. That’s funny. Goodbye Liz." Queenie said nothing as she stood in front of the kitchen table, palms flat against the surface as she couldn’t help but fall into a slouched position, head hung as she began a steady, heaving cry. “God dammit..I..love you so much..” She whispered almost in audibly. "I love you too.. But what can we do.. I know I’m being a heartless bastard but what else can I do?! If I tell you I love you, you still won’t be coming home with me at the end of the night. "
"I just.. just don’t know what to do.. other than to keep things the way they are now.. But that’s just so hard.." "Then do what you think is so right! Leave … Do whatever you want to do..just don’t make things harder..than what you’ve made them! Coming here… you shouldn’t have came if this is all you had to say!" "I already told you! I came to say sorry.. but what do you want? What do YOU want to do?" "It doesn’t matter! Just leave, Christian!" "Oh now you’re taking the easy way out. What do YOU want?" "You had no business coming here! I don’t want anything anymore!" "Fine…" "Yes it is FINE, isn’t it!? I’m only following your advice!! You stubborn cockney bastard!" "Whatever.. Just be with your HUSBAND." "I will! When he IS !" Clearly the argument took a turn for immaturity.
"Yeah alright.." He turned to leave now as Queenie felt her heart flutter with a panic as she for once had nothing left to say, frustration building as she found herself digging her nails into the surface of the table. "Just call me later or something.. We both know this is never going to end.." He turned the knob on the door slowly, as if having some sort of hope that she would at once change her tune and beg to end all of this, to come home with him finally.
"Exactly…so don’t expect a phone call.." Christian sighed. “You know what, Elizabeth…Fine. Whatever.” He exited slowly.., staring down at the ground, frustration and sadness building inside.
Queenie rose her head, straining her neck and eyes as she looked up, not wanting to cry this time as she stood up to head for the bottle of Crown Royal, located just beside the sink. She held the bottle with a clenched grip, not realizing just how tightly her grip strained before squeezing it so tightly that it proceeded to crack, then break under the frustrated strength of her palm. "Bloody hell.." She cried, wincing as she felt a stinging sensation, followed by blood flow from her cut hand. Queenie chuckled, her head a brief shake, back then forth. This had to be some sort of joke, things just couldn’t end like this.. Christian felt his limbs become restless from frustration as he stood next to thick street light pole. On arbitrary instinct, he punched it, denting it a large amount, almost knocking it from its post, which was welded to the ground.
"Fucking Christ." He muttered, as he felt the paint from the impact. He held his hand somewhat, before cracking knuckles, biting his lower lip. He jammed both hands in his pockets before he took one last look at that large home, that had a woman inside that should of been his forever.
Many thoughts rushed through Gallow’s head as he quickly and steadily, (for someone who was hyped up on God-knows how many lines of white,) ran toward his destination that he bet would be the last place he’d score his very last breath. Earlier that night had been quite prosperous, as he could recall.
The club scene. Finally, Christina hit the one, eight mark in life. Eighteen. Welcome to partial adulthood, as well as, the wonderful aspect of legal favours. Having been straight-edge for most of her life, Christina broke the bonds of the X tie, taking a couple of Klyde’s finest. Courtesy of Gallow’s smooth words. For Klyde would have never handed them to her personally. Christian would of had his head. He certainly would later on…
The two danced all night long on the floor, to neon lights and vibrant base. The beat of the music enhancing Christina’s heart-fluttery high even more so. She ground her backside teasingly against the over-active groin of Gallow. He gripped her hips gently, knowing enough was sadly enough.
"Baby…" He groaned, Christina’s expert hearing kicking in as she slowly brought her posture to a stand, leaning back against his chest, arching her neck some.
"Yeh?" Her lazily portrayed British accent sent an almost arousing tingle throughout Gallow’s body. He pressed his lips to her ear, whispering. "I think we should take off…" "N’aww…Why?" Questioned Christina, raising both arms around his neck, to have her fingers now playing through the back of near shoulder length raven hair.
"Why..?" Laughed Gallow. "You’re gone. You’re so high." Meanwhile in the very same club, Klyde and Curtis sat at the side bar, carrying on a somewhat useful conversation.
"I’m just saying, Klyde…" Curtis’ femininely trained voice softly spoke its way to Klyde’s attentive ears. "You should have at least, let me try it once when I was still male…"
Klyde’s voice was aggravated and tense as he felt the warmth of a flushed and embarrassed face take its place. "No way, Court! There are jus’ some fag things I won’t do, kapeesh?" "N’alright, alright, big boy…calm down." Curtis smirked, fashionably pink glossy lips; pouting playfully."Kapeesh…" A kiss was then placed lovingly upon Klyde’s nose. "Hey…" Curtis suddenly spoke, peering over Klyde’s shoulder, head cocked, one sided. "Isn’t that, Gallow over there?" Klyde turned about to inquire for himself, sliding tinted glasses from the bridge of his nose. "I think so, yeah. With another bitch. God, whatta dog." "I’d say…The man can’t stay stuck to one girl for more than a night. But that one looks a little young, yeh?" "I guess..-" "Let’s go visit!" Curtis chimed, hoping off from the bar stool, pulling Klyde through the vibrant, moving crowd. "Hay!! Hay Gal! Gallow! Over here!" Gallow winced lazily at the sound of his own name being called out. He managed to fully open one eye, peering over the heads and shoulders of many until his eyes set to rest infront of him, where he then saw Klyde and Courtney. The perfect couple out of everyone. This was where things would get interesting. Gallow felt himself freeze, the back of his teeth grinding. The only word ringing in both ears and mind; caught. He would have never imagined it coming out this way. Christina stopped her foolish back-grinding, recognizing right away the two who stood before herself and Gallow, not thinking twice about keeping her cool and staying out of sight as best she could.
"Oh Hey! Klyde! Curtis?! Is that you?!" Curtis and Klyde both exchanged looks of bewilder. Just who exactly was this random girl, at the feet of Gallow’s no doubt perverse amusement? They were to look closer, soon realizing it was no random girl at all. Klyde felt the cigarette drop from his loosely hung jaw, eyes wide. He looked at Christina, then Gallow. "Is she…high, Gallow?" Gallow, stiffened his posture, praying to near God that when Christina stepped out of the way, he wouldn’t be left with an embarrassing, and not to mention, unfortunate hard-on.
"Oh my God, Gallow…-Oh my- Do you even know who she..-" "Look, I know..! I know this looks bad..-" "Looks bad!?" Hollered Klyde, advancing toward Gallow, pointing in Christina’s direction. "How can this be anything as watered-down as the word bad?! She’s just a fuckin’ kid! Oh you’ve really dug your fuckin’ grave this time, buddy!"
Christina battted her lashes briefly before snapping back into the situation taking place around her, looking at both Gallow, then Klyde. "Oh what…? You’re so uptight, Klyde…I’m a woman now, and me and Gallow…" She trailed off in an intoxicated daze, running her hand along Gallow’s inner pant-line. "We make our own decisions…" Curtis slowly gave a shake of the head, smirking. "Oh Gallow…you’re dead. You know this right? I hope you thought about that. You know ‘e’s going to kill you…"
"Baby, don’t listen to them…" slurred Christina, draping her arms around Gallow’s neck, her chest pressed firmly to his. She leaned up to kiss his mouth successfully. "Let’s just go."
"Christina," Klyde opened his opinionated mouth for what he hoped would be the last time before the situation got out of hand. Or even more unbelievable for that matter.
"What the hell’s a’matter with you?! This guy’s only ever after one thing!" "Tell them." Christina said, as if changing the subject abruptly. She looked up at Gallow with serious blue eyes. "Tell them what I am to you." Gallow again, froze up, a cold sweat beading on the surfaces of his forehead and shoulders, washing downward as he knew, his next words wavered perhaps just one of the most important things to him in quite awhile. He cleared his throat, looking down at Christina before his eyes settled on Klyde and his expert head-giving significant other. Gallow could tell Klyde was just waiting to hear the lies and bullshit, little did he really know, for the first time in his life, there was no bullshit. Someone was about to be seriously hurt… Christina still stared up at Gallow confidently, holding a little smirk as she darted back and forth glances between him and Klyde.
"Tell them, Gallow…Our sex is amazing…it’s so..-" "Christina!" Gallow immediately face-palmed. I’m so fucking dead… Klyde’s eyes took a turn for the worst as they shot a gallon of disgust and disappointment straight toward him, shaking his head.
"You actually…- I can’t believe this. Gallow, " He laughed. "…you’re unbelievable. You’re actually fuckin’ unbelievable. She’s a kid! A fucking kid!" He gripped hold of his apparel, shoving him back.
"Yer lucky I don’t make a fuckin’ abstract outta you! But I suppose I’ll leave that to Chris…" "Don’t!" Gallow pleaded. "Oh, don’t you worry, Gal, ol’ buddy. I won’t be tellin’ ‘em nothin’. This grave is all yours to dig yourself out of. And I’d say it’s a hell of a lot deeper than six feet…" Klyde paused, only to assume a fatherly role yet again, turning toward Christina.
"And you, young lady," He made a grab for her wrist, a light grab. "Court, take her home." He pushed her toward Curtis. "Get off of me!" Christina yelled, stubbornly jerking away from Klyde’s grip. She carried on next to Gallow, desperately clinging to his arm. Their height difference nearing close due to the heals she wore. "Tell them, Gallow! Tell them I’m different from all of those other girls…" "Exactly…" Klyde butted, "All those other girls…All of ‘em, eh Gal? C’mon, man…You’re fuckin’ with a little girl here. Who’er you tryna kid, here? Despite how youthful you look…" Klyde paused. "-Just how long has this been goin’ on for?" Gallow stammered, biting his lip as he for once, probably felt the most horrible he had in years.
"Ya might as well get some practice blurtin’ it out t’me, man. ‘Cause I can guarantee Chris is gonna pry the same questions, and believe me…he won’t be askin’ ‘em as nice as I am."
"Over a year…" He confessed. "Oh this is just too cute…" Curtis sneered with arms crossed over his surgically induced bust. "You ‘ave no clue what you’re talking about! Gallow! Tell them!" Christina’s voice broke in a desperate yell, Gallow, fidgeting with a ripped piece of fabric in his jeans. He couldn’t look at her as he felt Klyde’s eyes, much like an amused hawk, burning, just waiting… "Yes, Gallow, tell us what makes her so different…? Really…"
The tension was unbearable. Gallow never wanted to know what this felt like, at least, not for the second time around. He went to open his mouth, finding the development of an intense case of dry-mouth. It ends tonight, he thought as his abdomen felt weak and ready to upset at any moment. Christina looked up at him for the last time, her instinct kicking in past the seven shots of fireball, two hits of ecstacy, and two grams of marijuana. She squinted, almost immediately sensing his discomfort.
"Christina…look. What we had is-was…" He found this seemingly difficult, due to his notorious slogan of, ‘Gallow never lies’. For once, he had to lie. The outcome, probably not such a good thing. He prepared himself for false words and feelings.
"Well yeah, Christina…Klyde’s absolutely right. I mean, I’m twice your age, and let’s face it…you were just nice tight jail bait…The equation isn’t too difficult to solve is it, sweetheart?" His chest took a sharp and swift sting for each cruel and un-meaningful thing that escaped his lips. "I just didn’t wanna break it to you like this, y’know…on your eighteenth birthday. Kinda sucks…"
The words hit her like something unavoidable, as much as she tried to block it and retain from hearing his just spoken words, Christina just couldn’t ignore what had just then, and there been admitted. Her lips quivered.
"…And now…you’re laughing at me." She whimpered, almost inaudibly. "You’re all laughing at me…" "Christina…" Gallow sighed, as if trying to take it all back. "No!" She hollered, looking up and directly into his guilty eyes. "I…" She trembled with weak knees as she stumbled back into Klyde; he gently held her by the shoulders.
"I hate you…Gallow, I…-" Don’t, he thought to himself. Just don’t say it again.
"Chrissy…" Klyde squeezed his ringed fingers against her skin. She pushed away from his embrace. "C’mon…I’ll take you home..-" "No! I don’t-! I don’t want anything to do with any of you!! You’re all fucking liars! Go and tell dad! Like I give a fuck!" Christina fled, drunk, high and lazily into the crowd of bodies, soon lost from all three of their sights. Gallow stood with his head hung, shaking slowly, knowing exactly what had to be done.
The address was correct, but he wished more than anything it hadn’t been. Sixty-Six-Sixty-Nine Kingston Court. The Aensland-Christianson household. It had to be passed twelve am, and so this was why Gallow would have knocked with such a docile fist, stepping down from the porch piece, awaiting an answer, dreading the open of the front door. He knocked twice more, a little harder as the door came to a slow open.
"Gallow." A tall, young looking man stepped out and onto the porch, sporting a pair of beige loafers, and a wine coloured housecoat, covering the many tattoos his body was, and pretty much always had been littered with. Must have been courtesy of Queenie. She always had been posh and picked him up the best in clothing. He never thought he would have seen the day Christian Christianson would settle down with a sober mind and start a family. The same family Gallow now had the pleasure of destroying . It was now nothing more than a mere countdown to perhaps the closest thing to the end of his long, and horribly lived life.
"What the ‘ell are y’doin’ ‘ere at this time a night? Come on in, y’fucker." Chris laughed, incredibly cockney. This told Gallow his mood would be twice as vile when the news was spread out and onto the table. And his punishment would no doubt be twice as painful. But he tried not to think of such things for the time being. All that mattered now, was the ugly truth. And he was done hiding it.
"I jus’ rolled a bastard of a blunt. Been needin’ some company." He invited Gallow in, going back to his large lazy-boy, covered in a soft blanket of red and black plaid. Gallow slowly entered the living room, pivoting on both heals, nervously.
"Hey, Chris…?" "Yeh, buddy? You gonna come over ‘ere an’ smoke this bad boy, or am I all alone in this one?" His smile seemed almost too beautiful to turn sour. Gallow panicked.
"I gotta…I gotta tell you somethin’.." "Uh…okay?" Christian was skeptical, his gut feeling taking a churn for the worst as he immediately sensed something was wrong. But with what, he couldn’t exactly pin-point yet.
"So wha’s up, Gallow? Finally get someone knocked up?" He chuckled. Gallow did not. In fact, he just seemed to blurt it out in one breath. One hesitant, fearful breath as Christian picked up his newspaper and continued skimming over headlines and bustle.
"I lost her." He told him almost too carelessly. Christian wrinkled his nose, shaking his head, buried in the fine print of last week’s Sunday paper. He didn’t understand all at once.
"You what?" He demanded, sounding faintly irritated as he rustled the pages, flipping past a couple more. Gallow felt as through his next swallow would contain a meter of barbed wire as he closed his eyes, grinding his teeth. "We have to go look for Christina…" Christian’s ears perked at once. "I…-She…-She took off, and she’s really not in the best-" Gallow’s words came to a halt as he saw Christian look up slowly from his paper, wearing a thin pair of half-moon specs. He was getting older and his youthful eyesight was in no way as prime as it once was.
"Excuse me..?" Bellowed Christian as he calmly set his paper aside. There was no way of backing out of this now, Gallow thought as he knew from here on, things he said would only manage to make things a lot worse and a lot more dangerous.
Christian was passive, despite somewhat understanding the issue Gallow had now brought to his unpleasant attention. However, passive, wasn’t always a good thing with Christian, as Gallow would soon find out. He approached Gallow after loosely pulling himself up from the chair with an un-canning look in his eyes.
"Look, Chris, I can explain-" "Explain?" Christian spoke with a soft, breezy tone, advancing closer toward him. "Pray tell, Gallow. An’ what would that be exactly? I certainly ‘ope what you’re about to tell me has nothing to do with you being in any sort of involve with my just recently turned, eighteen year old teenaged, daughter! Further more! Your fuckin’ explanation better not tell me that she’s on any sort of your drugs! Or so fuckin’ ‘elp me, Gallow Radcliffe…" Christian snarled quietly, but just audibly enough to strike a bit of fear into his soon to become, perfect enemy. He guessed it was a bout time Queenie’s swift and proper speaking mannerisms would have rubbed off on him. Gallow stumbled back, shakily, as he hit a side table, knocking a cliché printed flower vase onto the floor; it smashing.
"Is everything all right, Christian?"Called a soft spoken voice from upstairs, momentarily followed by gentle footsteps, stopping half way down the staircase.
Christian responded casually, despite the deadly gaze he now shot toward Gallow. "S’all right, Q. Jus’ me an’ Gallow. The idiot still can’t keep ‘imself proper in someone else’s ‘ome. You can go back to bed, love. No mess…" His words proved sufficient as Queenie quietly turned on her heels and did so. Leaving Gallow with perhaps not as much time left.
"Now then, Gallow…where was I?" "Chris, buddy…I’m sorry-And I do have an explanation…- I mean.." Gallow was panicking, his next few choices in words, not being exactly his best. "-I mean it’s different- she’s different. With her it’s like it’s just….not all about-" "Abou’ what?!It’s not all abou’ what, Gallow!?" "Well…" Gallow thought, realizing no matter what form of sentence he put it in, it either way sounded sleezy, or inappropriate. "Pussy…"
No sooner had the word dropped from Gallow’s mouth, did Christian feel his lip curl only slightly, exposing a pair of sharpened canine teeth. "Pussy?" He asked with a more relaxed expression, smirking almost. "My daughter…" Christian shook his head, inwardly debating whether it was more appropriate to burst into a fit of laughter, or a dramatic course of tears. "My fucking daughter Gallow! Do you understand this? Wha’ I’m saying?" "Yeah, Chris…" "Yeh? You understand, do you?"
Christian’s body seemed to incase closer each time Gallow blinked, now only minor inches from him. There were many things Christian could do to him as punishment, for even so much as speaking to Christina.
"Then I assume you know that if you so much as put one fucking finger-" The sound of the front door coming to a slow, careful open, caught the two off guard. Christian turned his head, expecting it to be his son, Jonah, but instead, in stumbled quite the opposite,for it was Christina who now stood in the middle of the porch-way, make-up stained her eyes and cheeks, a bit of rouge smudged all about her mouth. "D-Dad!" She stuttered, surprised to be seeing him up this late, or…early rather. Not even bothering to see Gallow, but when she did, it only made things worse. "Oh…" Christina’s eyes narrowed. "Look…-look who it is." She was still quite intoxicated, Christian noticed; her eyes were the size of the moon. Christina smirked, a lazily portrayed expression at hand as she stumbled forth, her fingers shakily pointed in Gallow’s direction.
"There ‘e is…Big…fuckin’ man.-" "Christina!" Christian called his daughter’s name angrily, at once grabbing a bit of sober attention.
“‘Ave you told him yet?” She completely ignored Christian’s attempt to gain her full attention. Though he didn’t seem too concerned with it anymore when being too curious about her currently spoken words. Gallow eyes, wide as saucers begged her to just keep her pretty little mouth shut.
"Told me what?" Christian bellowed, coming to a very slow stalk toward Christina, his mind still pre-occupied with Gallow’s presence. For he most definitely was not finished with him as of yet. Christina held her laughter in, exhaling an obnoxious snort, her face melting into her hand, or so it felt like it. Courtesy of the ecstacy. "So you haven’t told him!?" She cackled, head shaking back and forth, much like a stubborn child who refused to give something up. Christian’s patients wore thin, he bared fangs as he demanded one last time. "Told me what!!?"
Christina stumbled toward her father, draping both tingly arms around his broad shoulders. She looked up at him with wide,full, and high, optimistic eyes. "Bloody Christ…You’re fucked up." He growled in disgust, then, out of the corner of his eye cursed Gallow. "You wait…" He couldn’t control his anger any longer. "If you let me so much as see you near her again, Gallow-" "That’s not the best part, Daddy!" She cackled, wiping her lips for some reason before pulling Christian to a soft whisper.
"He took it…" "What?" Christian was confused. But not for long, Christina reassured him. "Remember when…." She trailed off, pushing away from him. "I was younger. Younger than me now? And~ Mister Gallow…-He lived with us?" Christian merely listened with an open mind. However long that would last. She was out of her tree after all. "He wanted me so bad, dad…So, fucking…bad…" Her gaze darted toward Gallow, whom looked paler than usual, trembling from a trip of his own. However, unfortunately for him, Christian chose whether it would truly end his life, or keep him within his never ending cycle of ‘sailing low to the ground’. "One night, I lied to mum and said I was sleeping over at Max’s…but me and Max weren’t even like, talking at the time so…I went to a house party Gallow so desperately invited me to, manipulated me like the creepy old pedo he was and said he wanted to see my drawings. I knew he was lying after he locked the door behind him and led me into his smelly room. Tried to kiss me, tell me he would fuck me good, then! Oh! Oh!- And, wait for it…Best part was when he shoved his tongue into my mouth, then puked all over my fucking tits, because he was just that drunk!” She took a deep, heavy breath. And in that very same instant, Christian had lost his. Gallow face-palmed. He couldn’t even look at Christian. He couldn’believe this was reality.He would surely die tonight, if he was even so much that lucky.
"He took it…" She whispered, one last, devious, sentence. "He was my first. We so fucked…" The words were no sooner slapped of out her mouth twice as Christian immediately drew his hand back. Christina looked back at him, however she wasn’t shocked. He felt his lip tremble. “Go. Now.” He growled quietly. “Upstairs. You sleep this bullshit off and we’ll talk in the morning.” “But, Daddy!” “Go upstairs!!” His voice echoed throughout the entire house hold, sending a very concerned Queenie rushing down the staircase. All it had taken was one look at Christina and to clue in. "Take her, Queenie." Fumed Christian. "Christian…what is going on?-" "March her the fuck into her bed." Queenie felt the enormous stress and hostility that surrounded. She knew it would be better to ask questions when the storm subsided. "Come on, Chrissy.." She attempted to lead her up the stairs. "Don’t hurt him!" Christina cried from the staircase, practically lunging over her mother’s shoulder. She knew that look in her father’s eyes all too well "We’re old enough to make our own decisions!" "That’s enough out of you!" He warned, turning his attention toward Gallow.
Now with Christina gone. Maybe the two of them could chat. Have a civilized, un-violent confrontation. Talk this problem out, perhaps? Gallow thought it unlikely. To put it bluntly. He was fucked. And knew it very well. Christian cornered him, looming. Gallow decided to man up as he stiffened his posture, chest to chest. It would have been Gallow’s most frightening Eskimo kiss to have ever had.
"Is it all true?" He finally questioned. Gallow couldn’t lie. What use was there? He surely wouldn’t see her again either way. "Look, Chris…" "Is it true?" "…You gotta understand, for me this is…" "I’m asking you a fucking question!" Gallow found himself slightly elevated and pressed firmly against the living-room wall. "Is it hard!?" Christian roared. "Are you trying to tell me it’s so fucking hard for you?! Being the sick, fucking freak you are! Running around behind your friend’s back?! Fucking his teenage daughter!? Really, Gallow? You could have any slut in the west-end of London, but no, tha’s not good enough for you anymore, is it? You’d rather fucking chose my daughter to fuck around with!" "Back off, Chris! It’s not like that!" Christian shoved him hard. "No, Gallow. Tha’s exactly what it is! Exactly! You really didn’t think about what was going to happen, did you?When I found out?" "How could I when this wasn’t even planned, man!?" Christian drew back, an eyebrow raised in amusement. However, he was not pleased. "Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth. Don’t you even so much dare as to try and tell me you feel different about her! Not another word!" He grabbed Gallow by the cuff of his neck-line, proceeding to drag him out of the living room, into the kitchen, and then out the back set of glass patio doors.
"Man! What the fuck?! Chris? Can’t you just listen?-!" Gallow had been cut off by a swift kick to the ribs, resulting in his knee to be knocked off ballance, falling against the ground. He spat out a few blades of grass, supporting himself on his elbow as he stammered to his feet again.
"You will not see her again. Do I make myself clear?" Gallow wasted no time coming back in retaliation with a set of firm hands shoving Christian back by his chest. “Guess not.” Gallow snarled, showing teeth. "I’ll pull ‘em the fuck out. Not like you can use ‘em to save your life." He chuckled deeply.
The two began a slow series of circling one another, much like two wild, territorial beasts. Christian bared the most fang, while Gallow remained on guard. The circling continued before Christian made his first advance. He made a swift grab, countered quickly by Gallow’s keen reflex, catching his arm and drawing him close, against his chest. Bad move he would soon realize after Christian was finally able to sink his jaws into the top of his shoulder. He bit deeper, causing Gallow to exhale, holding back the loud holler he could only keep at bay for so long. He was being eaten, of all things, he just couldn’t believe his punishment. Gallow struggled immensely, groaning and whining about as he feared the pain would only grow worse after having Christian’s bear-trap of a mouth pried off. Finally, the teeth pulled out, he fiercely grabbed Gallow by the crown, thin black hair malted and lay on the grassy area below as he then forcefully closed his palms against his tattooed throat. He was loosing a lot of blood, but did Christian really care?
He took one last look at Gallow, pulling him to a stand by a lock of greasy hair. "I want you to fucking look at me before you die." "You’re being a little dramatic…" Gallow spat blood against his attire, smirking with what nerves would allow him to. It was the unfortunate truth, Christian sided, but the sleaze had no right being anywhere near his daughter. Let alone being the one to rob her of innocence. He was infuriated as his eyes took demonic state. And with one last strike, Christian finished with his playtime, throwing him to the ground once again like a belittled rag doll, after tearing another splendid wound into his throat.
Gallow lay there in a puddle of blood loss. His fingers twitched, making it difficult to decipher whether or not he did have an actually strength to further defend himself. The fight was over, and he had surely lost. Gallow was embarrassed, but optimistic. He knew for certain he wasn’t dead. Nor would be. Christian was angry, but if his intent was to truly kill him, this whole ordeal would have been finished before it even had a proper chance to mold into the fight that it had. He was greatful, and would see Christina again. It was only a matter of time, and his ability toward sneakiness. Christian loomed over Gallow, cold and catatonic as he caught a brief and mental reflection of what he could and might have been to him. What he had been for many years up until now, at this very moment. Gallow was a friend, but he now saw that the only ability he held now, was to now be an enemy. His perfect enemy. And with one last look at him, Christian curled his lip maliciously, growling.
"You fucking disappoint me…" He snarled, enforcing one last sharp blow with his foot. Christian turned his back, he would leave him there, an amusing thought to have him still struggling like this until dawn, or whenever Christian decided to rise. After all, Gallow had gotten everything that was coming, what he absolutely deserved. Well, in Christian’s merciless mind, death would have been more suitable. But then he thought, maybe, just maybe, it was better off this way. Gallow now bared a scar that would forever make him cautious, and think twice about just who he got himself involved with. Hopefully.
There was an instant response as Christian drew back from the bathroom counter, straightening his shoulders and posture, not even bothering to wipe his nose, or mouth, he, in fact, enjoyed the numbing linger of the substance. With such cliche, he took this moment in time to study himself as perfection within the nearest mirror, hands holding onto the sink’s sides. He smirked. Having not been in his right mind for so long had never felt so good.
It had been months without even so much as speaking to Elizabeth, ever since she demanded he left the house. Like hell, if he needed to be living with such things as four-wheel drive, savings accounts or annual salary every two weeks. He was a monster, not a suit and tie, desk and paper zombie. She only kidded herself daily with the charade of Gucci and Audigier,children, a house and the occasional type O vile she sucked back ever so hesitantly to keep herself from growing too weak. Oh how little ‘Queenie’ was too human for her own good. But the humane and prosperous life no longer held meaning or interest to Christian. In fact, over the past twenty years, he had grown to detest it. And oh what a shame it was, for he was, technically, still so young.
He stumbled to the living room, where Gallow sat proudly on the sofa, two lipstick blondes at either side, an arm around each. They looked up, watching Chris. Who wouldn’t, in his mind? Everything about him was marvelous. From the rose on his throat, to the bulge in his skinny jeans. Narcissism. He was just so familiar with it.Gallow shook his head to keep his eyes to a focused open He was just as mindless as Chris was. With lazy, yet somehow manageable expression, he spoke, offering quite the proposition. "Know you gotta thing for blondes, buddy. I was thinkin’ about’cha." Christian was flattered, but they were nowhere to be near his expectations. He smirked, bidding both pieces of play an eyeful adieu. "I’ve got somewhere else to be tonight. Someone else to see…pay a visit to." Gallow noted the crooked smile all too carefully. "Just, don’t do anything I wouldn’t." "You can’t even say something like that, Gallow." Chuckled Chris, grabbing his smokes and a lighter, the only necessary necessities, abruptly departing.
Another hiccup, another eye-flutter, another doze-off, yet another full, tall glass of Marsala. Elizabeth’s drinking, one would agree had become a little on the excessive side, ever since the incident of ‘departure.’ But what else could she have done? He had changed, and for nothing but the very worse. She rose her head only slightly, the grandfather clock reading half past three; fingers slightly wrapped about the glass’s thin neck, preparing for yet another weary swallow, until the distraction of a soft cool breeze tickled the back of her shoulder. Odd it was, because despite her intoxicated state, she failed to physically remember leaving the patio doors open. Meanwhile, Christian stood out of sight for the little time it took, until Elizabeth made the slow turn around, her wine glass meeting a messy collision with the porcelain tile kitchen flooring. She gasped, unable to think clearly, unable to register. He said nothing, standing there with the crisp moonlight complimenting his chiseled jaw, and that ever so notorious crooked smirk. Christian advanced but only slightly, he wanted to test his beloved spouse, for a woman’s fear wasn’t always such a crime. Infact, he adored it.
While Elizabeth managed to pull herself together, the surprise of his bold presence alone enough to sober her up some. She demanded, “What are you doing here?!” The liquor managed to stay dormant as she remained confident in posture, however, her silken Victoria Secret nightwear made it difficult for Christian to even think about anything else other than taking her right then and there. Forcefully of course. He knew very well she would have been in no reciprocating mood. ”Christian!” She hollered, “Answer me! You have…no right in being here…” Her speech slowed, never having realized just how much wine she had consumed while sitting down, and just how little she had eaten all day. "What?" Christian slowly advanced toward his beloved wife, a look so devious in his eyes. "Can’t I miss my wife?" "Don’t you dare!" She forcefully shoved her finger in front of his face, catching it, Chris enclosed himself against her. He inhaled, chuckling. "Has someone had a little too much to drink?" He smoothed his hand along her wrist, gripping the arm firmly, but not enough to instill order, not yet of course. She at once pushed back, tailbone at a parallel rest against the kitchen table. She resisted, much like he figured she would. Women, human or not, how predictable they were. "Queenie, Queenie…" He tisked, having every bit of mockery present within his tone. "Isn’t this what you kicked me out for? You know…if you’re miserable, we should talk about it, yeh?" Elizabeth stumbled forward, regretting her current state so much it pained her. For it was true, she no doubt looked like the biggest hypocrite. He held her vulnerability in the palm of his hand. "Just leave, Chris. Leave now." "Yeh? You want me to leave?" He whispered. "That really what you want, Q?" She felt his warm breath, raising her dainty neck hairs to a stand, the shivers then soaked her back and shoulder-blades. It had been so long since…
"You’re drunk, aren’t you?" He mused, looking down at her with his hypnotic emeralds, however Elizabeth remained stubborn. Oh how this would get her absolutely nowhere, and that, they both knew, for when it came to Christian, she was only wasting time she could have already been spending with spread legs. "I’m…no such…thing." She lied horribly, unable to even manage a full pair of open eyes. Christian gave her room to breath as he took a gentle few steps back, his attention occupied with the ceiling, the chandelier, everything, the very house they lived in. It made him absolutely sick.
”So tell me, Queenie. When you get up everyday, when you do your hair, get ready for work, look at your smoldering bank account numbers…cook your meals, acknowledge your children. Does it make you proud?” “What..?” She was puzzled by such a specific subject change, if they even had been dwelling on one to begin with. Something within Christian was ready to snap. He was tired of the lies, all the god damn pretending. "This is not me." He spoke peacefully at first, lazily arching a finger to point directly towards the plasma flat that rested marvelously against their living room wall. "This, is not me." A family portrait that neatly sat atop the wall unit, accompanied by many other great ornaments. "A fucking range rover, is not me! And this," He wiggled his fingers; a ring and wedding band. "Well, we all know this is certainly not me. It’s not us! Do you have any idea as to what we fucking are!?" Elizabeth winced, frightened as he drew close once more. He exhaled an almost animalistic growl, deeply inhaling her scent. ”Chris…we’re past that, aren’t we? We have a life…children, we’ve come so far-” “We’re hiding!!” He erupted suddenly. “Faking, living a lie, Queenie! Tha’s what we’re doing. A house, suits, tie, jobs, responsibility…do you know how fucking useless all that is to me? All my priorities should be is when and where to fuck and kill. We are so much higher than this shit. It’s only sad you can’t and never seemed to understand that. And as far as I’m concerned, children were a waste. They’re no doubt going to be more fucked than us, well, we already know they are-” “Stop it! Enough! Have you any idea; what you’re saying!?” Elizabeth breathed deep, standing up to him was never at all an easy thing to achieve. Her head proved to be clearer, with an actual plan of retaliation. "I thought you were happy…Doesn’t this make you happy? Happy that you’ve achieved both what you were created for, and excelling with so much more. You’re wasting your time thinking about what you should be, when really Chris, it’s so unrealistic-" "To who? To who, Queenie? And time? Don’t fuckin’ talk to me about time, because it’s limitless for us. We stare at broken clocks, Queenie. But enough of that…" He abruptly mellowed, forcing Elizabeth to feel even more on guard. "It’s so hard to think and yell at you when you look so fucking good…" He bit his lip softly. "I think you should go now, in all seriousness, Christian. God knows…what you’re on tonight." "Coke." He replied quick and casually. "And yeh, I’ll be honest. You know," He switched subjects all too quickly, yet again. "Had a real nice night lined up tonight, pun intended…but I wanted to see you…I wanted my wife." Christian pulled her in by the waist, her skin pressed against his fingertips was just enough to set the high in motion all over again. He inhaled deeply. "You’ll give me what I want." He said so surely. "You’re fucking mad!" Hissed Elizabeth, squirming and pushing away, only to be firmly stopped by his strong restraint. Her eyes grew wide, this didn’t feel right, not in the least.
"Let go of me, Christian." "C’mon, lovie…you know we both need it." He squeezed her. "Let go!" She slapped him swift and firmly, however it did not break the grip he had her in. "Is that it?" He bellowed against her neck after forcing her backside to be seated upon the table they stood in front of; struggling to pry her legs to an open. It then dawned on her, he would continue with, or without her approval; her consent.
”Chr-Christian!-” He shut her up fast, with a forceful, yet somehow properly delivered, open mouth kiss, leaning a great deal of his own weight upon her, as he struggled with only one hand to unfasten the belt buckle that now hung loosely open. Had it not been for the Marsala, she would have most definitely put up a much stronger fight. Elizabeth was loosing the battle of stubbornness as she could no longer play the card of disinterest. She ached and longed for it just as he did. ”You brought this on yourself, really…look at you.” He referred to the lack there of clothing. “Hell, you aren’t even wearing panties…” Elizabeth still appeared unamused. “This is a form or rape you know.” Christian laughed, deflected her words all together. “And excuse me if I can’t wallow in my own self pity comfortably.” “Quiet.” He ordered, followed by a few brief neck kisses. This she would allow, however, it didn’t take much to forget how she was ‘supposed’ to be reacting. Christian paused, looking down at her. “You know I love you.” He spoke against her lips as he forcefully grabbed her face, enforcing the kiss she had only been waiting for. ”And besides,” He bellowed. “Can’t rape the willing.” A soft smile followed, as well as Elizabeth’s final reciprocation.
She fell and fell hard, kissing him, pushing shaken fingertips through his wavy mess of hair, while the other hand tampered with the button of his Dickies. She couldn’t wait, she didn’t want to wait now that they had officially started. “Tha’s it..” His accent played smoothly against her earlobe, followed by the soft graze of a moist, warm tongue. He kissed playfully until she finally gave the signal of approval. “Come on, Q…” He encouraged her with a seductive whisper. “I need it; I need you. I’ve had no one else…besides, this silly thing still counts for something.” He looked at the ring on his finger, smiling. And then he had her. She was being too proud. It wasn’t like old times anymore, when the act of sex was wagered on pride and stubbornness. And despite their current turmoil, she still loved him like no other. “I wish you could stop this…” She near sobbed, hating his addiction more than anything present. Christian looked away, an awkwardness chilled him. “Stop it..” He took her chin into yet another deep kiss, and that’s all it did take for the subject to be forgotten. Elizabeth let go for once, draping her arms ‘round his broad frame, her leg arching about his waist as she played her lips against the finest tune of his kiss. She too needed it, helping him guide his way into her after being pulled to half-mass.
Christian grit his teeth and exhaled ruggedly with each thrust, refusing to let the little boy in him moan like he so desperately wanted to. Even before the marital complications, intimacy was scarce. This they both knew. Elizabeth, however, could not control it. She gasped loudly, forgetting just how size did matter, and after such a long period without him, it matter quite the bit. She felt so naughty, being taken in such fashion, on top of her lovely Ikea purchase nonetheless. And it was only a matter of short time dwelled until the pleasure for both of them ridded the prestigious front of ‘behaving’. He kissed her collar bones, then nipples through the soft transparent fabric, hunching over, deepening length as Elizabeth could only bite her fingers and whimper. "Ah,ah.." He grinned, swiftly pulling her hand away. "I want to hear you." "But I-.." "Come on, Q…" He then supported her now raised position, legs wrapping around his waist as he continued to thrust forcefully. He knew she loved it. She didn’t have to tell him, for it was all in the bitten lip and hurt expression she tried not to wear.
This was all wonderful and enjoyable, but Christian wanted something more. He wanted to obtain such a pleasure he could find in nowhere but her. He kissed her neck once more before biting softly. She moaned, kneading into such an act, however taken by complete horror and surprise once he bit down too deep. Blood drew instantly, and messily. Elizabeth cried out, ”Wh-what are you doing!? Stop..!” He held her head firmly, enabling any escape she had quickly planned, sucking, licking, kissing to ease any discomfort. He felt her grow weak, and with such perfect timing as he completely released without a warning. Elizabeth tensed at once, wincing as he quickly withdrew from intercourse. "You honestly don’t know…how potent your blood is, how sexual it makes me fucking feel. I could fuck you over and over again.." He purred, wiping his mouth, wanting so much more of her sweet wound. "I can’t…I can’t believe you would do that to me!" She hoarsely cried, pressing a hand to her throat. "You can," Said Chris, casually kneeling to pick up a broken piece of wine glass from earlier. "And now it’s your turn." He slid it, deeply into the palm of his hand before forcefully covering her mouth, pushing his hand against her face. Elizabeth spat and gurgled a bloody mess as she tried so desperately to decline the offer, but Christian’s strength prevailed. "This is you, love." He exhaled, pleased with himself. "Embrace it. I won’t make you cum other wise." He was a sick bastard, she could hardly believe these circumstances. Elizabeth groaned, taking the blood as given, swallowing it hesitantly as it instantly change her. Like a high unlike any other drug. Because in the end, she slowly came to the realization, that it was true. They were not human, luxury was nothing more than a broach to be worn, and they did indeed stare at broken clocks
The uncomfortable stomach-churning only happened to grow its worst as Aleksandr lazily rolled tired eyes from one corner of the dark boring room, to the other. He had finished, true. However, he was the farthest from satisfied.
Natalia had gotten up almost too fast for someone who had just ended the game of tangled sheets. "What are you doing?" His hoarse voice demanded to know her reason for her current actions as he watched her slip a plain white t-shirt over her head, planting herself in what appeared to be an uncomfortable position. "Checking email?" She sat down, one long slender leg folded beneath, as the opposite rose to press firmly against her flat chest. Aleksandr grew offended almost too quickly.
”Email?” “Da?” She responded ever so sourly. What else should she have been doing? Surely, there was nothing that could have been just as important.
Aleksandr wasn’t so much shocked, as he was, for once, and rarely, disappointed. For he had seemed to have forgotten just how different the sex could be with Natalia. She was not Pryscilla, in any way, shape, or form. And he especially was not used to the coldness, especially when it came to the act of intimacy. ”You could have at least stayed beside me. We’ve just-” “Just what?” She so swiftly whipped her head around, and with one glimpse, despite the darkness, he knew this look very well. Natalia had the midst of an ugly smirk slowly beginning to spread from one corner of her lips to the other. ”We just what, Aleksandr? We what?” She was speaking too much for him to care anymore, or gesture any source of response as he noticed the cocky eyebrow raise. "Did we just make love?" Her lips pouted with the most sincerity. "Is that what we are calling it?" Aleksandr finally brought himself to sit up right, her mockery irked him. And unfortunately, she had so much more to say as she twisted her body toward him, leaning over the support of the chair. ”…Because you know what I call it?” Her thin, lipstick stained lips finally formed into that malicious bitch of a smile he had only hoped to be reminded of.
"I call it, a fuck." She so boldly spat. "Are you still in love with me, Aleksandr? Are you? Mnh?" Her head fell to tilt only slightly, enforcing just how much she would enjoy crushing anything he had left for her. ”No..” He exhaled, looking away just then, his eyes fixating on the mess of bedding he had been surrounded in, and suddenly felt filthy. “Natalia,” There was a pause, followed by the question he had always been afraid to find out the truth about. "Did you ever really love me?" She didn’t even have to think about it. "No," She purred, almost proud-like. "No, I didn’t, Aleksandr. I really didn’t." And for once, he hurt, however quickly gathered a full head of clarity afterwards. Again, he wasn’t surprised by Natalia and her ways.
He shook his head, laughing.”That is just like you, too.” “But you know, to be honest with you, Aleksandr…now that I have you, I feel like it isn’t as much fun, you know? Like you’ve lost worth…A lot of worth.” She loved to twist the knife once it was in so deep. "You’re no one to speak of worth.." Bellowed Aleksandr, however Natalia had no time for his spite. "You see, when the American whore had you, I had something to work for. It’s just no fun; boring, da? No fun when you come back to me on your own, like little puppy…" She was just so aloof and careless of others, but this, he already knew, and shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.
"Like some sort of game? Is that what I am to you?" "More or less." She mused casually. A cold-hearted bitch was what she was.
Aleksandr was now shocked, though would still rather die than admit such a thing. Natalia continued to sit idly, in front of her brightly lit computer screen, as if impatiently awaiting something.
”You waste time and much money coming back here to Mother Russia. And I’ve finally grown tired of you. You’re nothing more than a little boy to me, Aleksandr. Now…find somewhere else to stay.” “You’re joking.” The words tumbled from his open mouth as he merely stared at her, wide-eyed. “Natalia, you can’t be serious, its-” “The middle of January.” Natalia chimed, lighting a cigarette ever so appropriately. “Get out, Aleksandr.” She cut to the serious chase. “Why don’t you go mend things with Pryscilla? Or does she not even want your company?”
He strained, unable to to fully wrap his head around the situation. Silence shortly fell, for he feared just that. He somehow feared, that this time, that no, Pryscilla did not want him back. This time, he feared that his twisted, controlling and uncalled for nature, had finally taken it’s toll.
He sat in brief thought for just a while longer, before drawing back the dark comforter and sheets; slipping out of bed before changing back into his proper attire.
”Xandr is on his way to he air port now.” Aleksandr bellowed beneath a grit jaw. “You do know that, da? He is on his way out to sea for three months…” “Well,” Natalia clasped hands together, trying ever so hard to make the situation seem less of what it really was. ”I hope that you can find another close friend to stay with.”
After many attempts and failures of pick-locking- an act in which Aleksandr had never quite mastered, he sat comfortably with cleaning up the shattered glass, courtesy of his ever so clever breaking and entering.
”I hope you find no trouble with me staying in your home, old friend.” He spoke after making quite the important phone call. ”You smashed my window?!” Xandr exclaimed, however, he wasn’t all that surprised, and much like always, understood on what sort of occasion.
"I’ll only be a few weeks at most." "Well, da…okay. But you replace my window!" A brief, ‘I’m-kidding-but-no-seriously’ chuckle followed. "We will see." Said Aleksandr. "Aleksandr!" "Fine." "So what will you do from here?" A quick subject change. And he knew exactly why, for it wasn’t uncalled for in the least. He paused, knowing exactly what he should have done from ‘the beginning’.
”Adrian?” “Don’t.” He snapped, detesting being addressed by his birth name the most. "I’m serious, Aleksandr…" For once, Xandr was firm, and empty of all source of humor whatsoever. "This is all your fault, my friend. There is no one else you can blame. Not even Natalia, this time. I’m sorry. Now, I’ve got to go. I’m almost to the airport. Assuming you are no fool, I expect a phone call from you when you arrive in London." A heavy dial tone then followed. Aleksandr snarled, shoving his mobile phone into the depth of his pants pocket. The indecisive battle of stubbornness never seemed to sit well. And the last thing his pride would ever allow him to do, was get on that plane to England.
She was an asset to the group. Unfortunately, Christian knew this very well,so of course, killing her was out of question, but had she been anything other than what she was; a nurse, with above and beyond knowledge and performance, he would have put her out of her miserable breath long ago, when ‘it’ happened the first time.
He no doubt detested her just as much as any other out of the group who would come in contact with, that, of course, wasn’t one of those ‘things’. A walking rotted corpse with little direction or sense, aside from when it sensed your movement, or heard your voice. Unfortunately, Christian wasn’t far from those monsters himself, and she knew that, which was exactly why her new current passtime was to spend as much time around him and his bad moods as possible.
The sun had set finally, which meant everyone’s guard was to be nothing but on point and at it’s very sharpest. Christian made his slow, merrily way to the wide field, where he knew there would be something waiting for him. Or within this instance…someone. As he lugged his deadweight behind him, along with the sizely riffle he kept swung over to one shoulder- and he wondered why he spent most of his free time complaining about stiff and knotted muscles -at once, Christian became intune with the rancid, overrun scent of blood and raw decay as he proceeded further out into the common field. He then saw her, standing there, beneath the dark clouded spread of black sky. She must have felt so perfect just then.She beat him to the punch that evening. He approached her with that crooked grin; a brow raised, since a common and politely distributed ‘good job’ was absolutely out of the question. Natalia merely responded to his presence with a subtle, cold stare, much like the usual, as shedropped, carelessly, the lifeless she had been trying to satisfy herself with.
"Now look what ya done," Chris uttered, "Got ya dark n’ depressing scrubbies all dirty n’ stuff, plus, y’smell terrible. More terrible than usual." She wasn’t the least bit amused by his words that usually would contained an over-bearing amount of stupidity. “Do you ever think before your mouth opens?” Her Russian accent was cold,and cut deep stupidity within the seemingly bottomless pit of a stomach Christian had. Natalia was probably the only woman, aside from the wife of course, who could ever acheive such a thing. However, this was all together, a different feeling- not to be compared to Elizabeth in the least. For Natalia was the only person who, much like himself, was just as insignificant to her, as he made everyone else around him feel. And though he would have died long before admitting it, it bothered him.
"Well you should know me by now, yeh?" He tried to come back cool, and unpahsed; collective, however, Natalia seemed to be the only one who was truly unphased, as she merely replied, “Da. But I should not.” Christian was confused, however then realized… "You’re the one who wants it really, so I donno why you’re always playin’ that disinterest card y’got goin’ on there, lady." He spat, being able to resite his sentence rather quickly, which usually never the case. She looked at him finally, with an expression that even seemed too apathetic for him to deal with.
"You seem to forget, dog," Natalia chuckled, her body language proving to be much more soft and inviting as she proceeded to move closer. “You are the one who can not control your mouth…” She paused, making sure he knew exactly what she was regarding. “…Your teeth,” She now stood infront of him, with a small considerable diatance between, circling, much like the predator she was. “Your lips…- Oh god, and tongue..That tongue-” “Tha’s enough.” Christian firmly rejected the finger that now circled against the flat of his chest. When it came to Natalia, if he wasn’t in a right state of sense, or engaged with some sort of intoxicant, he wanted nothing to do with her. "Mh’awe…There is no need to be like that." She mused, "You are embarrassed, I understand that-" "The embarrassment is you, really." He shot back immidiately, being cold was all he had left now, for his patients were at their thinnest, but little did he realize that that would only invite Natalia’s twisted sense even further.
Natalia drew back some, nothing more than a humoring chuckle had escaped her tightly pursed lips. “Mn’okay,” she mused,looking beneath a dark sweep of raven bang. “but you will let me know when you get hungry, da?” “I ‘ave no fuckin time f’this..” Christian growled, growing quite tired at this point with her teasing. He turned his back to her, leaving the premesis of the field, hands stubbornly jammed within the depths of both pockets, as Natalia couldn’t help but following along with both well-trained eyes. He would come to her, she thought, and rather confidently. After all, in such a dier crisis as this, the option of a decent meal either rested between the choice of the rotted and decaying, or her of her accord. There was something in it for the both of them, after all, and she highly doubted Christian the type to refuse a well tasting feed, especially when it came with a show.
Christian looked at her, with what seemed to be a completely different pair of eyes. She had always been a ‘woman’ of his taste, however, now, something about Pryscilla-Jayne Sullivan, just seemed so different. The way she carried herself. Her words now, they just seemed to flow so professionally, more serious than just spilling mindful ditzy babble while that finely nail pressed finger twirled about her platinum blonde locks. He had to keep in mind however, that quite some time had passed, and she was a mother now, with somewhat of a family life to commit to; or whatever you could call it. As far as Chris was concerned, Aleksandr wasn’t exactly family-man orientated. Or socially fit in any way shape or form.
"So, still living in London, I see~" She chimed, as he watched the last gather of ash fall from her metholated cigarrete; lighting yet another up as soon as the butt seemed to touch ground. "Obviously." Bellowed Chris, now aloofly leaned over the banister of the back patio, like he couldn’t have cared less, about anything, about her, about her now permanent life. Had she come here to talk, and really play catch up? Or was she really not that far off from the Pryscilla he was more aquainted with back then; the student he taught. The student he particularily ‘fucked’.
Pryscilla exhaled briefly, a faint stream of smoke blew forth as she couldn’t help but shake her head and chuckle. “Oh you, still so grumpy, as usual. Obviously I know you’re still living here, but I thought something like a casual ice breaker topic would, y’know, make this little encounter less…icey? I don’t know!” Christian starightened his shoulders, turning his attention to her just then.
"So I imagine y’looking for just a casual, friendly little get together then, yeah? A ‘conversation’?" He mused, gesturing quotation with his fingers. "So you can tell me how perfect your little family is, how well you’re getting along in life, how great finally being a mature adult is-" "Actually," She was quick to cut him off and correct. "That’s really not why I came by, because if you, oh, y’know, recall correctly, you totally had cut me off at a red light,then when you realized it was me after yelling, ‘watch where you’re going stupid cow!’ you invited me over for a drink, and I still see no liquor in my hand~ Just this shitty attittude you’ve so randomly decided to grace me with."
He was shocked, and somewhat speechless as he retained and listened to the mouthful of words suddenly thrown at him. “Well if it’s a drink y’want, why didn’t ya open yer mouth sooner. It’s been twelve years but I know you haven’t forgotten how to ask f’somethin’.” “Oh haw, haw, nice come back. Don’t pretend like you didn’t just get told about yourself.” She laughed, and Chris managed to pull together a smile, which was pretty rare nowadays.
He returned moments later, with something Pryscilla could have only hoped to receive after a long hard day of motherly business and responsibilities. "A cosmo!~" She exclaimed, "But I so wasn’t serious about the drinking, you didn’t have to-" "Woman, if I made this for nothin’-" He teased. "Well… I really shouldn’t-" "Well do ya work? It’s a friday y’know." "I’m a mom, it’s a full time job..-But Ana is in Russia with her Father..So-" "So, no problem then. Let’s get pissed." Oh, how Christian made life so simple seeming. Getting ‘pissed’ being his solution for everything.
"Well, I guess.." Debated Pryscilla. "but my car-" "Is parked in the double garage right next to mine, so you can drive it home in the morning." "Because Ms. A’s gonna love seein’ that, right?" Christian fell silent all of a sudden, as if now wanting to abandon the topic of conversation all together as he took a firm swig from his whiskey flask. "You don’t worry about Ms. A…" His tone was cold and flat. "Me n’ that ol’ broad still been havin’ the same problems. Nothin’s changed…so she’s back on ‘er little ‘save the world’ kick, an’s in somewhere in South Africa. She likes it there though; helpin’ kids n’ shit. Buildin’ schools n’ shit…" It wasn’t necesarily that ‘things hadn’t changed’, more so to the fact that it was more of that Christian hadn’t changed. And Pryscilla could have guess that easily enough.
"Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Chris…" Her empathy made it almost possible for him to think straight again, as he all at once became overwhelmed with the warmth of the liquor taking its effect, as well as the bitter sweet nostalgia of the many encounters shared between the two in the past. Pryscilla too, could feel a slight change in atmosphere. She set her glass down, carefully against the ledge of the deck. "Your turn."Chris exhaled. "Wha..?" She was confused. "I said…your turn. Tell me about how fucked up your marriage is with that idiot- or sorry! How perrrfect it is." Pryscilla, at once rolled her eyes, onto her next cigarette as she tossed the old butt over the patio deck. "Y’know that’s one thing I really don’t miss about you." She spoke up, rather irritated at this point. "Calus- so rude, you’re always so negative! Y’know I..- I don’t see you for what? Twelve years? You invite me for a drink after almost hitting my car! I ask you how you are!…" He merely stared at her, channeling the frustration. All he could think about, was how fast her lips were moving, and how they needed to stop. "And of course Elizabeth left you again! Look how you’re treating me and-" He advanced closer as he interupted her with a bold kiss, her menthol fluttered to the deck floorbelow. Christian smoothed a hand from the tips of her fingers up, until he could gain access and control of her jawline, carefully cupping to bring her chin to a tilt, beckoning with a brief intrusion of tongue for her to open her mouth. Pryscilla fell victim, however for merely a moment as she soon gained the strength and mindfulness to push him back. "You were saying..?" He purred, looking back at her with a pair of confident and lustfully glossed emerald eyes. "Wh-what..?" "Look how I’m treating you…" Pryscilla was flushed, chest a flutter, making it indeed hard to concentrate as she grasped for words. "No, no.." She put her hands up. "Chris…-I’m sorry I-" She readied herself to flea, backing away some, however, Christian advanced yet again, which was more than predictable. "I don’t know..-maybe I gave you the wrong kind of idea..but I’m really not here…for that…" Christian smirked. "Of course you aren’t, love." "No, you don’t get it, I’m…really not, and I now see that this is probably not a good idea- especially considering. I’ve had one drink…so I think I’ll be good to drive home..by myself."
Christian said nothing, for the most part, feeling like a complete fool. However, he let her leave without hesitation, because as far as he was concerned, she would be back, and sometime soon no doubt. For it was only a matter of time; a short matter, before he knew he’d be able to have her once again. It wouldn’t be very long.
"This uniform!" Exclaimed Isaac, as he hopped about, circular motion, trying to properly assemble the buttons that seemed to be giving him so much trouble, on his trousers. "It’s fuckin’ impossible! The broad who made these must be laughin’." "Whot makes you think it’s a woman?"Barked Charlie. "Of course it’s a woman! No man wants to wear sumthin’ with buttons!It’s sumthin’ only the twisted mind of a woman could conspire! You look at men walkin’ round an’ such. Do y’see ‘em in buttons, Charlie? I don’t think so. So obviously, some miserable bitch, some poor, loveless, miserable bitch, whose been wronged by a man- this is her payback! Buttons, Charlie! Makin’ us suffer.." He swaggered forth, supporting his weight then, on one knee; hands confidently to hips, as he then proceeded to slip one hand down into the waistline of his trousers, poking a finger through the small break between the buttons.
"Y’know, I bet all she really needed was a good shaggin’…" He gestured quick forward thrusts, wriggling the index finger that still poked from his pants. "You make no~ fokkon sense." Charlie huffed, moving past him, completely ignoring his actions. "Well~ That’s cos ya never listen." He frowned, despite the playful tone. "But I know~ that bein’ as chavy as y’are, listenin’ isn’t exactly somethin’ that comes with th’package now, is it?" "Sodd’off!" "You love me, Charles!" "Don’t fokkon call me that, yeah!?" She stormed off and out of the door, grabbing swift hold of her newly-suited, school blazer. Isaac jogged behind her, quickly catching up; shoulder to shoulder as he enforced a friendly nudge. "So whattaya think about this? Pretty cool, ah? S’like we’re on a secret mission ‘er sumthin’." He put his arm around her, hugging her frame some, with the other hand, fumbling a cigarette he soon brought to a light. "Whot you mean, Isaac? That is whot we’re doin’…y’such an idiot. Pretty sure though, if ya keep yer mouth shut, and not breathe, It’ll be fine, yeah?” “Oho-ooh~” Purred Isaac, “You would like that, wouldn’tcha? I’m sorry t’tell ya, mate, but we both know, that when it comes to keepin’ quiet n’ such silly shit like like chances- they’re so slim.” Charlie rolled her eyes, feeling as though she hardly had the time for his obnoxiousness.
The two stood before their destination; Aensland Academy. There was a brief pause before Charlie soon opened her mouth again, fueling the worst of her cockney accent. "Feel like a fokkon dick in this uniform. I dunno why we ‘aff to do this." "It’s all for the good of the group!" Isaac informed rather optimistically. "Yah right." "Oh Charlie~ Always so happy n’ full ‘a cuddles, aren’tcha? I’m sure it’ll be loads a’ fun! And honestly, if it isn’t… jus’ go wild n’ shag a few! That’s really all I think y’need, y’know, mate…You’re always so angry, but I’m here too y’know! And I’m always willin’ t’lend a helping hand…with my cock." A wide spread grin followed as Isaac kept as cool as ever, as if everything fallen from his mouth was perfectly normal. From the perverse comments, all the way down to the dead baby jokes. Charlie merely rolled her eyes, issuing a slap to the bushie mop of curls that rested atop Isaac’s big head. ”So whataya think we’ll learn at this super school? Is that what is it? Because I don’t really think I’m up fer learnin’ much. Or doin’ any hard work for that matter! That’s why I quit school all those years ago, eh?” “We go’ta blend in, Isaac! So ya gonna af’to work.” “Or maybe I’ll be a class clown..they don’t tend to do much work, do they?” He rubbed his chin, as if actually contemplating such a stupid thought. “I can have a whole new identity!” Charlie rolled eyes at him once again as she shoved him lightly. “Why don’tcha give it a rest, yeah? No ma’ah whot you’re gonna act like, y’still gonna look like a dick’ead.” “Ouchh, mate~”
The two carried on, nearing the school, and while Isaac couldn’t help but feel confident with each lanky stirde he took, Charlie seemed to wear such a grimmace. She wasn’t looking forward to the year, or this mission. Infact, she didn’t even seem to enjoy much of the fact that it would be shared with Isaac either. It had been a while since they were dependant on one another, and that was something, that if she could, she would try and avoid.
Out of sight, out of mind. That is the way he would handle this. One long, painful day at a time, until he could hopefully forget what loving her felt like. How it burned and pierced, how it drove his mind completely into the ground, over and over again. This was not easy, and despite what lies and activities proved to contain his mind within occupancy, far off within the distant fog of his mind, there she was. Staring at him; her big, beautiful painted brown eyes; graced with a thick set of ebony lashes, calling out to him with that rare expression he couldn’t help but admit he adored; desperateness.
Xandr sluggishly managed to pull himself from the warn out sofa he had more or less been living on for the past few days. He was burning out from yet another long hard day of freedom and no work, and of course the ever favoured intake of THC, which seemed to have always been his little secret(among other drugs), despite being of importance within Russian forces. However, things such as this were never much of a worry, for they needed him as an asset, he was, as some would describe, perfect, as well as top in his game, and so, it was very odd that that something such as a regular urine test would be shoved at him any time soon.
Sitting back down after sucessfully raiding both the cupboard and refridgerator, Xandr sat down after returning with his much needed supplies for round two. He ground and sprinkled lush green and purple, craddled between both open sides of the sand-coloured rolling paper. He sighed a sigh of great releaf as he couldnt help but think how life seemed to have finally drift back into a passive, scheduled lul, and despite his ties broken with life long friend, Aleksandr and company, managed to lead a somewhat normal and eventful life. He was single, however for once in his life, he would have rathered it kept that way. However, that would all soon change, as he, without even a second thought, put fire to his rolled casual release. He exhaled a prolonged breath as he lay back his head to rest comfortably against the broad, cushioned chest of the sofa; mind completely engaged within a warm colourful tingly flow, as well as absolute relaxation that felt almost too good and stress-free to be true. As in most cases, it soon would proove to be just that, for as he felt his eyes begin to drift into a light close, a light tap seemed to have passed through each eardrum. Xandr came to open eye sight as he brought himself to a wobbled stand, before maintaining perfect footing. ‘The hell..?’ he thought to himself, smoothing out a number of wrinkles that pulled together at the upperlegs and pelvic area of his pants. He approached the front door; cautiously of course, due to the overbearing paranoia of just who was on the other side of that door. Xandr paused just then, there was no more sound, no more knocking. Until, of course, he turned his back to retreat back to the couche. He then confirmed with himself that he was not crazy, as yet another soft knock asounded upon the other side of his front door. This was all very odd, he kept thinking, and worrying to himself as rubbed his glossy, grabbing firm hold of the knob; enforcing a cautious turning. And as he pulled the heavy wooden door to an open, ‘her’ broken and believed to be beaten posture stood before him. This was real. In a wave of split instance, Xandr relapsed upon registering just who, in fact, stood before him just then. Only recently, had he been following his ever so ‘try hard’ motto of ‘out of sight, out of mind’, and this situation, whatever it would soon turn into, certainly made it difficult to follow through with it. Scared completely sober at this point, a very inwardly shaken up Xandr could do nothing more than stand there, staring down at the frail, withered blonde, drenched completely by the heavy rainfall that had been consistant for the past few days.
”Xandr…” A soft, meek and broken voice peeped, which was of course, unusual for miss Ana. She proceeded to step forward, eyes grounded, unmeaningly close now, as Xandr could only muster whispers. "What…happened? Anastasiya…what-" His arms rose to carefully smooth against her frail shoulders, however Ana flinched, stepping back.
"I know that…" It appeared as though she was having trouble finding her words, depsite the use of mother tongue. Xandr’s mind couldn’t stop assuming the worst. "I know that you said I was not to come back to you…" She continued, "but I…" Her chest began a slow and steady heaving , before suddenly, Xandr couldn’t help but notice her slender frame begin to tremble, almost pathetically; breathing increased it seemed. "I just did not know where else to go…so I..-I didn’t.." Ana was almost hysterical, as it would appear, which again, let Xandr to right to assume that something certainly was not right. Something happened, and all he wanted to do, was mend her broken state. "Sh, shh…" He eased, gesturing for her to kindly take a seat down to calm herself.They sat in a heavy awkward silence, or at least on Xandr’s behalf, for the next few moments, inwhich seemed to take forever to pass until he mentally had enough of the on edge guessing that would notstop bombarding his racing mind. "What happened to you, Anastasiya..?" He leaned forth, a short distance away from the love-seat where Ana had curled up, legs pressed to chest. "I was…leaving Natalia’s…" She began slow, she chose something in the distance to keep her attention on; to remain focused with her speech. "…after an argument I had with Father, and I…-I was attacked." It just seemed to birth itself from the top of her head, and Xandr seemed to be buying. For she knew full-well, that if he were to know the exact circumstances of her current state, the outcome would have only resulted in further turmoil.
Still, Ana could not welcome eye contact, and Xandr noticed. A light had somehow went out. She lacked the bold, abrasive confidence that usually followed within her words and expression; her body language especially. However, all that had now seemed to vanish and shrink down into this scared little girl. ”Where now?” Xandr demanded. “Where are they now? Do you know?” “I-..I don’t know.” She replied, almost inaudible. “Did they touch you? What did they do?” “No- Niet..nothing..like that,” She could see now that this would be lie after white lie; Ana sighed heavily. ”It was my fault after all..” She exhaled softly, managing to pull her head up right from looking at the many darkened bruises that littered the insides of her legs; through the nilon. ”I was already in a terrible mood,” she went on to explain finally, “and so…I guess, how do you say, I asked for it?” She chuckled, hoping to lighten Xandr’s mind and mood a bit. But just in case, ”I don’t…want to talk about that anymore..” She tried to stray as far away from the issue as possible, looking over at him with somewhat of a desperate plead in her eyes. “How are you..?” She knew he would forget in that instant and stray too, away from the subject that once was at hand. Xandr blinked, a brief head shake being gestured as he tried his hardest to let go of the problem. Ana seemed to be coming around, and he didn’t want to risk the chance of loosing her attention again. How are you? The questioned had repeated itself many times in his head before he was fully able to answer her. “I’ve been well, actually.” “You have..” She couldn’t help but feel disappointment. Wasn’t she his world? So how was it that he had been doing so well? ”I see..Well, I’m glad to hear that..” An awkward air soon settled, worse than before, and this time the fault fuly rested on Xandr, as he inwardly cursed himself for such a careless remark. He wasn’t well, in fact, despite all attempts to occupy himself from thoughts of her, she still,bruned bright within the back of his mind. "Thank you.." Seemed to be all that he could muster, but even still, he felt he was being far too cold. "Why don’t you clean yourself up…I will run a bath for you.." He brought himself to a slow stand, looking down at her as he made way from the living room the the bottom of the stair case. "A bath…" Chuckled Ana. "Da. A bath, thank you..Xandr."
What in God’s name had just happened? It’s what he couldn’t stop asking himself, over and over again, as he made way up the stairs, and into the bathroom to begin running Ana’s hot water. It had been months, nearing a year, and now, all in one breath she was back onto his doorstep, and in quite the literal sense, but as he thought more logically, and more slowly, he felt some ease. As long as she remained here with him, she was safe, and he supposed, that in reality, that is all that really mattered. It was hard to say just what exactly was to happen next. Ana was clearly not being honest with him, and he knew that of course. Xandr was no fool, despite the playful rolse he often chose to play. However the case, he would do what he could to maintain a comfortable atmosphere for the young girl, and if that meant a nother month of ‘waiting’, then so be it. For her, it was all worth it.
The luxury, the money, the gifts, the fancy car, the three story, seven room, four bathroom house. Prada shoes, Gucci watches, Chanel this, Dior that. Valentino, Dolce & Gabbana, Fendi, Etro, Versace, Oscar De La Renta, Christian Lacroix—Christian…—This is where my mind would tend to trail off.
I’ll be a married woman in less than one year. He is very smart, quite humorous, almost too considerate, very caring-of course he’s loving, at times; spontaneous, extremely wealthy, and last but not least, not at all too hard on the eyes. He’s attractive. Would I be boasting if I told you that he’s perfect in almost every way possible? I am boasting? Well you’re jealous of course. That would be the only explanation. The wedding will be in May. Such a perfect month, and of course he chose it. ‘Not too hot, but oh so quick to welcome a breeze.~’ This is what he said to me with his lips pursed gaily. And I agreed. After all, why wouldn’t I? He’s perfect.
I greet each morning with wide, optimistic eyes. Great big blue, happy, optimistic eyes. Eyes that sometimes, seek habit to wander- Oh but never for long. Prior to that, I get up and find myself staring into the mirror, loving the person who chimes a positive, and welcoming smile with thin, but decently sized lips. She smiles back at me and I am suddenly thrown down somewhat of a rabbit hole. In this rabbit hole, I am then plunged into a wondrous field of green grass and lilacs, butter-cups and babies breath. The smiling woman and I will have tea, inquire chatter of our equally flawless lives, then part ways from this wonderland and carry on with our daily schedule. I wouldn’t change myself for the world. After all, I’m almost as perfect as he is. You must be fuming with green intent by now, yes?
Today, I think, I will wear my Bulgari earrings. But something about my ears displease me. The holes pierced are nearly an inch wide, due to ‘fashionably’ stretching them. Disgusting, I know. A mistake I made as a rebellious teenager, as well as the many mess of ink I have permanently etched onto my skin.I usually make due with hooking the everyday earring through the massive tear. And as for my ink, high neck collars and long sleeved shirts usually take care of that. I’m choosing to wear my high waist, navy blue skirt; Saks Fifth Avenue; £122.31. A white blouse that I always tuck beneath; high collar of course; panty-hose, and to top it all off, one of my most favoured pair of Prada heels. Peep Toe Pumps; £475.26. Really, if you ask me, you should invest!
Hair up or down? It’s platinum blonde, so either way, it will look stunning. And once I apply my make-up; MAC of course, oh, and not to mention the occasional mixture of Remmel London, (what kind of Brit would I be without my Remmel Lashes?) I’ll make it seem as though it would be a sheer sin to not stop and look twice. At me, that is. By the way, have I mentioned the set of Es I carry? Not on display of course…I’m a clever brazier shopper. Less is more, until the bedroom scene becomes important. Then, you’d be wishing you were me all over again. Oh, dear me, was that a nerve I struck? Pity.
I’ll kiss him goodbye and get into my car. Yes, my own car. My 2009, Chrysler 300. Créme colour; £11007.83. If its mid spring, I’ll drive to work with the windows rolled down, and my D&G sun glasses against the bridge of my narrow nose with a small sample of City & Colour playing in the midst of my back ground. Hello, I’m in Delaware… On select occasion, I may treat myself to a little Mudvayne. But that’s my initial secret.
Life’s been much easier I find, ever since I left University level, and commenced a new career in teaching younger children. An elementary school. I have always loved children. So much. I hold them to the bosom of my inner being and cherish. They surround me with intimate promise, and a somewhat personal redemption from the turmoil of my passed life. I empty a great deal of prayer on the hopes that no child, nor anyone will go through, or have undergone such things in which I have.
My day of teaching will end at quarter after the third hour. Today, due to the splendid weather of eighteen degrees Celsius, I took my students out into the courtyard. My main focus is English, languages, arts and poetry. The stereotypical female necessities I am blessed with. It’s like that on purpose… But unlike most days, I told the children to analyze wild life. They did quite well. It also gave me a moment to relax with my nose buried into the wise flowing words of a book, something I rarely do anymore. Of course, my novel had been interrupted many times, what with Samuel showing me various types of insects, Jamie and her rocks, Klaus and his obsession with dirt and split tree trunks. Gucci tells me that it’s quarter to the hour. Which means, I have thirty minutes left of this day; the teacher’s day.My nose finds its way against the dull smell of pages once more, but soon becomes clouded with the brief smell of cigarette smoke. Which is extremely odd, because if I remembered correctly, no one is permitted to smoke on school grounds. But he doesn’t care. He has the reasoning and attitude of an eighteen year old high school drop out. His eyebrow lifts beneath a swoop of dark greasy bang and testing emerald eyes that always manager to enable the response of ‘no’. And with each inhale of smoke his lips suck away from the cigarette, I feel the perfection of my flawless life increase by ten per cent.
The car I leave in is not the car I began my day with. It is smaller, and newer than mine, I believe. He always did have a sense some of class. We exchange no words, because the heave of chests say more than enough. I should feel awful, but I don’t.
He must have been wanting this for quite sometime. Hell, he had to have, coming to my place of work and all. A burden eating away at his groin, for in no time it rose with needless effort as I slid my legs between and against soft white sheets, my back pressing into a moist mattress. God knows what else has been mixing with my own stimulated soiling; countless nights before hand with a woman that no doubt was not me; a man; a boy that certainly was not me. My hands are suspended above my head as I couldn’t help but begin a series of dramatic breaths. Deep, loud, rugged breaths. I purposely heaved my chest forward. He wasn’t stupid enough to miss something that large. He would grab the hint, and if not literally, then in some other devious fashion, which was when the moan exhaled itself, prolonged and deep as the warmth and moist circle motion of a tongue danced against the sensitive tip of my nipple. "You miss this." He stated, rather than asking me sensually, propping me up and onto him; inside of me. I did…But I wanted to have my filthy rich cake, and eat it too. I wanted to eat it over and over; as many pieces as I pleased, and never answer the question ‘why’ to anyone. As we created an arousing rhythm with our bodies, he insisted brief conversation, but my concentrated expression forbid it as I jerked forth roughly,hands flat against his chest; in which was quite colourful with inked imagery. I had closed his mind quickly; this I knew, for his eyes became focused on my face, and nothing more, and his Adams-apple moved and shuddered beneath the vibrantly inked colours of his throat; trying to remain dominant from releasing any sudden noises. But of course I always pushed the envelope; always.
After the final throw, we both would lay side by side; quietly. I mean…what else was there to say? Certainly not I love you. Certainly not I miss you. Even if that may still have been the case, for the both of us. So I imagine it, if you will, like a favour; a favour of release. Ridding the body of stress, until the next time you found yourself wandering shaken fingers across the moist groin of your desperate body.
Dropping me off, it was nearing the seventh hour, the sun not quite set yet as I found myself in an awkward mess. Our eyes met. I reached for the door handle, and he reached for my arm, then my lips. "You’ll be back, yeh?" He grinned before nipping playfully at my collar bone. “‘Cause if th’ Queen ain’t ‘appy, ain’t nob’uddy ‘appy." I hated when he laughed at me; especially when his smug laughter held so much accuracy. This was true. I wouldn’t be happy unless I had at least something of his on or in me. I said nothing, and began to think about the next time we would see each other. The next time I would kiss his lips, feel his tongue, taste his elixir.A day from now? A week? A month? In all truth, who knew really. To calm myself down, I kept telling myself to fret not, for it was something similar to the catch phrase many parents told their children when they sensed a tantrum drawing near when they found out that going to the fair was no longer an option. “The fair isn’t going anywhere” is what they would say. And so it brought me to the comforting thought of: Christian isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I.
Normally, in the cases of most men, the sight, or thought of a half naked woman, begging and pleading on her knees would more than likely be a turn on. A real ‘up-getter’. However, I don’t find this anything of the sort. It almost makes me feel sick. And not the kind of sick I’m usually used to. When I don’t take the medication I’m supposed to. It almost hurts me, to be completely honest; to see her like this. I just can’t think back far enough; I can’t piece together in my mind; just how it got this bad.
"Just…-Come on.." She somehow manages to pull my zipper to an open. My hands fight to keep my belt from being the next thing. She’s fucked on God knows what this time. I can’t even tell where one sentence ends, or another one begins. ‘No’ won’t help anything either. She never understands the concept of the word, or rather, she doesn’t want to, she just always wants it her way. She wants it. Her way.
"Bonnie…" Is all I can muster between clenched teeth and a near-bursting vein that runs parallel with my temple . It probably isn’t really there, but hell, I feel it. And plus, it helps in the aspect of imagery. She still won’t listen, as her fingertips twitch and pull at the loop holes of my newest pair of ecko jeans. (Surprised? Please, skinny jeans are for fags and scene kids. And proudly, I’m not scene…) "I’m so much better than her…" Is somethin’ I hear often; somethin’ Bonnie usually tells me, followed by that sexy little chuckle of hers. Hell, if she only knew…’her’. If she only really knew. But that isn’t her business. It ain’t nobody’s. "What’s she got that I don’t?" Plenty, and one thing in particular that all women shouldn’t have, I thought, almost embarrassed, soon torn from it as I try pushing her head further away from my groin. Fuckin’ irony, wouldn’t you say? "Just get up, Bonnie…" I sigh as she almost at once straightens her posture, looking up at with me, as if expecting something. I’m not giving her a chance to say anything else. She needs to leave. She needs to. "Man…you- I think it’s just best you leave.-" "I haven’t gotten what I wanted." She argues calmly, which for once, is a surprise. "I gave you you Blow! Now take your shit and leave!" I’ve taken two steps back at this point. Being close to her, in any way is never a good thing. "This is business!" I yell at her. "You buy from me! That’s it! I don’t want’chur shit ‘no more! I’m your-" She cuts me off suddenly, but not with words. And now all I can think about is, when was the last time we kissed like this? Sober? Never…So I capture this moment with bent elbows, forming to embrace around her waist, because it seems like the best idea at the moment.
As I kiss her back, for what seems to be for the first time in almost forever, I can’t help but feel angry, sad and used, all in one blow. I also feel the faint vibration in my back pocket of my cell phone. This is enough to snap me out nostalgia. "Look, no." I groan; hands to her shoulders, pushing back. She stumbles, looking back up at me; almost outraged. No. It isn’t anger she’s showing me. It’s disappointment. Hurt. "No..?" "Yeah..That’s right…no." Whether she believes it or not, this is just as hard for me. "You can pay me back whenever. But now, all I want is for you to leave. Right now, Bonnie." There’s a brief pause. This is how I know the next thing she projects from that saucy little mouth of hers, won’t be as gentle as the kiss she forced onto me. "I…I can’t fuckin’ believe you!" She hollers. I’ll let her vent.
"I can’t believe that you would choose that ill little whore over me!" She doesn’t understand. I didn’t choose anything. My pocket keeps vibrating. No doubt ‘her’.
"Bonnie.." I try calming her down. Three steps forward as she’s now twice as many back. "No, Klyde!" She yells once again. "Just…fuck this. Fuck you!" Her chest heaves. "Have a blast spending your time babysitting and changing bandages for that emotional little slut! You just remember what I used to be to you…" She shakes her head before angrily slamming the apartment door behind her. A deep sigh escapes from my lips, head lazily hung because I know and always will know what she used to be to me. What she is to me now… My phone stops vibrating for the third time now as I pull it out slowly, flipping it open to read ‘her’ failed attempts at reaching me.
Everything goes well up until seven p.m. everything is silent 'till the turmoil begins again Home schooled, isolation he loves it when I plead to stop or go deeper I’m only good for “on my knees”
Mother works happily in the kitchen for she really has no clue about the things that really happen in the upstairs bedroom
The nicks, the cuts, the wounds and scars won’t chase away the pain for if its by him or someone else the feelings still the same
Even now I sit, six years advanced in memory of what you’ve done gripping sheets, the image repeats yet still I am the one The one who sits, the one who waits, The one who pleads and prays The one who cries “please not tonight!” Your son, whom you’ve betrayed.
Until that night when I put an end to your secretive forceful fun the letter opener; it went so well with your open throat and blood
But even though I’ve rid your presence don’t think I’ll ever forget the way you were the things you’ve done your palms intense with sweat The memory runs deep, of your favoured pass time trend but for me all I’ll ever have are the scars of seven p.m.
When I was younger, there was a place that I often found myself lost in. Almost every night. This personal place was located within the very depths of my dreams. In a garden surrounded by thick, burning spruce and pine; the ember of hot flames just barely catching the edge of my sleeves. I would walk many paces forward, before, once again, just like every other night dreamt beforehand, and come face to face with the very same stalky silhouette who stood just beyond the smoggy curtain of smoke and flames. I can barely see…
It was always the same. A man with an axe. A weapon that almost looked too heavy for him to swing or lift properly for that matter. He now became visible as the red, orange, black and grays of the skies seemed to disappear and reopen to spill a refreshing spread of rain down on the both of us. This was always the part where he would slowly look me straight in the eye. "Never fall asleep…you won’t wake up." Was always what he had to say. And even though this armed, large man spoke no real sound, I always and immediately knew what his lips read.
I walked with shadows, as a child. Trying to find a better way for everything; a sort of brighter side to life, since all that I was exposed to was nothing more then the darker values. Example: I found more beauty in the likes of death, rather than life itself. I suppose irony decided to ride my ass a lot sooner than expected. And I was fine with that, figuring that in some way it was my own punishment for the questions I would never asked. My entire childhood was spent hiding from the gallows of my parents both awkward and secretive relationship. Little did I know, which probably would have faired me better in life’s situations to come, that the real reason as to why my Mother chose to leave my father and I was not because I was born, or too much to handle. If that had been the case, I later told myself, she would have high tailed it out when my older siblings, Joseph and Rain were nearing the process of becoming tattooed and pierced teens. No…- I was eleven years old, and the white powder and chemicals she loved so dearly just became so much more important than another kid to feed. So Joseph, Rain, if you see Mother, tell her I could say, ‘Don’t worry, I’m doing fine.’ Besides… I’m pretty sure she was much too busy to even find the time of day for anyone but herself.
I sometimes wonder what her death was like, or maybe…- maybe she’s still snorting her escape through plastic straws, somewhere on the corner of the Big Chief Casino or the little Wedding Chapel in Vegas. Just waiting for another shot at fate. On second thought, Mom, maybe you should just stick to what you know and do best. Escape your fate, use your chemicals and take them to your half-assed casket, because the boy you claimed to at one point loved, is now a man you never raised.
There was no such thing as a good sleep. Not anymore at least. No such thing as a ‘better day’. No laughter or smiling. There was nothing. I was nothing. Music was the worst culprit when it came to telling you that everything would be okay. All it takes is time. Time will tell. Time heals everything. Well time was bullshit. Complete, and utter fucking bullshit. Music doesn’t bring back the one you love. Music doesn’t change the fucked up past. Music…It doesn’t bring back the dead. Music won’t bring him back to me.
Somewhere between desperate hope and over all insanity, I still see him, I can still breath him, touch and taste him, fuck him. And it feels real too. Almost too real. That is, until I open my eyes after faking yet another climax and realize that once again…it isn’t him. They just resemble one another so much it feels right. They were brothers after all.
After I finish coping, I go home to someone I know will always be there for me without any of the slightest bit of doubt. To rid me of any pain, sorrow or problems I may have at the time being. Because once he’s inside of me, I know it’s only a matter of time before the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ kicks in. I always know I can count on Jack Daniels for that.
Mum worries, and I feel so horrible for it. Dad just stands there, shaking his fucking head. Like he’s never hit rock bottom before. It’s laughable. I think he’s still trying to figure out just what the hell happened to his little girl. …She died so very long ago; with him. Forever six feet under with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
I would often wake up some nights with him wide awake, looking down at me. Of course, when I was younger I found it oddly uncomfortable.”You’re breathing is so soft.” At least, that’s what I thought I heard him say once. He would stay awake, just to hear me breathe. Watch me smile while I slept, while I was off in some wondrous dreamland.I could have spent the rest of my life with him. I know this…I surrendered so sweetly.But now, the closest thing would be loosing myself in the thoughts of our moments that no longer were. But I could do it forever. For every moment spent with him is treasured so deeply. I hate more than anything to loose battles with closing my eyes; falling asleep. I miss him so terribly, and if it weren’t for his…absence, I wouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t miss anything, because even when I dream of him still…the sweetest dream will never do.
My eyes came to a blurry, tear-filled open, as I at once raised my plaid-printed sleeve to wipe it all away. But it wasn’t really any use. As I turned my head slowly, studying everyone else around me, I noticed something wrong. There wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough people who were here that needed to be. No other friends than what handful of us stood now, ex lovers even, distant relatives. close relatives…relatives. But I also quickly reminded myself that we were in no such thing as a church, to where a proper, normal funeral would have been. His death stumped us all. Especially for the one who loved him most. That, to my uncomfortable knowing was my daughter.
I saw Klyde standing at the end of his feet, laying there suddenly lifeless on the cold, hard ground. Don’t look, buddy, was no doubt raced and repeated throughout his pained skull. But he had to look, we all did. My daughter, Christina at my far left, fingers gripping at her face, her head shaking frantically as tears soaked her dirty cheeks. This wasn’t even really a funeral, but a murder. A fucking murder…
I felt him in my life, before I even thought to. In my heart, and I barely knew anything about him, the way he was, the way he is now. The constant busy life of drugs, sex, and rock and roll. The way he just waltzed into our home, my home like he owned the world, with his crooked smile, his greasy long black hair, tattoos and smudged eye liner, expecting my father do him a kind favour by giving him a place to live. He got his way, as he did with everything (As if that wasn’t your first dose of obvious foreshadowing). And left me to deal with the smug dead beat whenever no one else was home. He smoked weed, and loved Aerosmith. These were both horrible combinations, because I too loved Aerosmith, and from time to time if coaxed properly, took a joint between my slender fingers. We had too much in common for our own good.
As a young girl at the time,at the age of sixteen, everything about this walking mess intrigued me. It also didn’t help that I had grown up around him, though I remember little of that.Something about this man pulled me in, and I allowed it with each meeting we had. Whether it be at one of his parties, or in his car, down by the river and park, where we knew no one would find us, especially my beast of a father. It was safe to say he had me. He was all mine, so that automatically meant I was his, right?
I was nineteen. Call me. Call me. One day there was no sign. Absolutely none. And neither Klyde, Curtis, nor Daddy-dearest would tell me. Even mum turned a blind eye to my pleading. After the horrible accident, or attempted murder my father had pleasure in causing, after the word spread about our secret relationship. I still wasn’t talking to him after the state he put him in. Inhuman or not, no one deserved the scars Gallow now wore. And all because of me. I had to talk to him again, I felt the need to see him, to lay beside him, and tell him. Tell him how miserable and broken I was without him here with me. After all, I was nineteen. I wanted him to call so badly.
He flew back home, to where I had never been or had met anyone. Vegas. How that location suited everything he was. The reality was difficult to handle all at once I stayed inside, and rarely ever left my room. I was so upset It was like this for months, a whole year, two years. Until I couldn’t take it anymore, and so I had no choice but pull the splinter out that had been wedged so deeply inside for the past while. However, my plan I so cleverly decided to cook up into motion slowly began to simmer, and no longer boil. Because in reality, I was still all alone. He was all I had.
This wasn’t at all how I thought it would all end. Sure he was mad, but his eyes held a distant branch of trust, or so this was what I had thought. Then again, I had also thought Chessy was the one who would lead me to safety, and perhaps a guarantee back to my home; you know…where rocking horses stayed as childhood play things and didn’t have wings. A place when the only time bread and butter flapped about was when you were cooking with your younger siblings and they insisted on running about the house all crazy-like with slices in their hands. Ducks did not have honky-horns for beaks, croquet was played with a mallet, and certainly not with a poor flamingo, nor a defenseless hedge-hog. Cards stayed folded in decks and held no spears, and weren’t nearing an intimidating five foot eleven.But this wasn’t home.
One simple, little, and seemingly insignificant letter. Having not received it, they all would have stayed idle with their young and aspiring lives. Carrying on with university, college, early lives of many things. Careers, children, drug addiction. There were endless amounts of possibilities. However, it was mandatory. It had to be done.
The whole idea seemed ridiculous and full to the brim with absolute rubbish. "Children?" Doctor Emma Maragh questioned rather doubtfully. "Yes, but they aren’t just any ordinary children. We need to have them in our company. And come now, I reassure you, you won’t be dealing with infants, Emma. I’ve tallied it down to an age group ranging from middle teens to early twenties." Replied Arthur. "At least," He had it all figured out. "That’s when the issue seemingly got out of hand." Arthur had lived for many years now, with much thanks to his life long, near daughter, Elizabeth Aensland; who made the change for him possible. However, the undead life was certainly not for him. He had lived far too long to begin with when being human, and so, wanted nothing more than to put everything to a quiet end. However, he feared in his self-passing, the real issue had only yet to rear it’s ugly head.
"This is…all so very sudden, Arthur. And I’m not so sure I quite understand. I-" He silenced her with a soft finger to the lip, accompanied with a loving smile. Doctor Maragh sighed. She knew the look he gave next, all too well. "You will. And you needn’t worry, Emma. Everything will come together." There was a silent pause on both behalves. Arthur noticed the look of discomfort and sadness that inevitably took over. "Something wrong?" "You’ve chosen to leave, haven’t you, Arthur?" Her questioning, though not quite direct, stopped him in mid breath. He said nothing. He felt as though he couldn’t; a child, despite the age of a hundred and seventeen years, caught before he could properly explain. "I believe it has come time, yes." He moved closer, hands gently placed upon her shoulders; squeezing. "It’s been long enough for me, which is why I need you to take my place." Dr. Maragh refused to look up at him as she fought a stubborn battle of tears. No matter how proper and elegant his tongue twisted and fabricated those fancy English-soaked words, he was still planning death, a death that felt so unnecessary.
This was all so hard for her. “I..-I’ve only known you twelve years. That isn’t long enough!” Arthur smiled heart-fully, patting her cheek in such a fatherly fashion, it pained the both of them. “And…and what about Christian and Elizabeth; their children. They won’t have you…They won’t have a doctor. They need a doctor for what they are and-” “And you know everything I know, Emma. You’re familiar with them, aren’t you?” She hated so much how he was treating this whole situation like it was okay; as if everything were no such big deal. like some sort of vacation was about to be embarked on. However, Arthur was not coming back.
"You’ve been an excellent student, friend and partner. You’re a young, strong-willed woman, and I believe no other person but you can be trusted with such work as what I am leaving behind." He tilted her chin with a gentle finger. She stubbornly grit her teeth, a few tears escaping from the corner of her glossy brown eyes from behind her half-moon specs. "I hate to see you so upset." Sighed Arthur, "but, Emma, you must understand, I’ve grown so tired, and all I want is a chance to see my wife…" "You can still work towards that! You’ve made vampires for God sake!" She cried out selfishly. "Emma." He spoke sternly for once, it startling her back into a meek state. "I wish you luck," He pulled her into a tight embrace, hands smoothing along her back before he gently separated their bodies, turning his back. It was now set in stone.
”What do I tell Christian and Elizabeth?” It was a question he hadn’t even really thought through, however, he was a little more at ease by the tone in her voice. Dr. Maragh finally accepted what must be done, for despite her sadness and displeasure with everything, Arthur was a smart man. And if she knew anything about him, everything he said and did, had very important reason. She let go; acceptance. Arthur slowly turned back around, looking at her with the most serious pair of eyes. He fixed his glasses briefly. “They will know…trust me. They will feel it. After all, I created them.” Dr. Maragh nodded firmly, wiping her nose of sob and redness. Her dainty eyebrows quivered as she still tried so hard to be strong for whatever else bad news he had to share. And she received. ”Something is coming, Doctor Maragh. I feel it in these old, feeble bones. It’s a long while coming, but I’ve had dreams; visions of something so very ominous. There are more out there like Elizabeth and Christian, as well as these children I’ve sent letters to. When orientation time comes, one year from now, next summer, you will make sure everyone is accounted for. Double check the blood types and make sure they are not mistaken for anyone else. With a preparation such as this, it’s extremely important that no mistakes are made.” He merrily switched tuning, another warm smile reading across his lips as he looked at her confidently. “I believe in you, my girl. Plus, you will have much help along the way. It’s not just you who is being notified of my departure. Everything will be fine, and a lot more insightful next year. I promise you.”
And without much more having to be said, Arthur slipped out of his white lab coat, hanging it up casually as he took his final leave, leaving Emma with such a massive head ache. Her thoughts spun and simmered, then upset themselves all over again. This continued for the next while as she weakly sunk to her knees, head in hands as she could only shake her head and rub away her tears that now poured consistently from either eye. Nothing made sense, but somehow did, and only because Arthur had said so. He was leaving her with such a responsibility; operating a school for a somewhat new generation of being; creature. She couldn’t think right now as she still remained sitting upon the cold tile of the laboratory’s floor. Arthur would disappear within a matter of hours, and all she could think about, was this time next year, when, hopefully, everything would make sense.
"A girl," Said the Doctor. A beautiful, bright, and wide-eyed, optimistic, new born, baby girl. The parents couldn’t have been more proud. And despite the lack of hair extensions, lip liner, and other Sephora products for the time being, the mother still somehow managed to resound as radiant as ever.
The infant ceased crying, bringing its new found breath to result in a soft coo; saucer hazel eyes circled cautiously about the room; taking in, for the very first time, such a great and brightly lit scenery. He could have shed tears then, as the mother lovingly handed her new born bundle of joy forth. ”Hold her,” Her voice was still hoarse from the delivery, however, somehow manage to still sound just as cheery as ever. She was certainly something…
"I’m glad you could be here by my side for this occasion, my friend." Then muttered the father, who, despite his presence; a lack of emotion as a constant, beamed with integrity, accompanied by the most unusual thing; a genuine smile. It was ever so unlike his best friend to even crack so much as a subtle smirk, let alone something so soft as a smile.
He took the child, into his arms. He looked down with the warmest of eyes, and the softest of a kiss that was then planted onto the infant’s lush, soft forehead. She looked up at him as he held her for the first time, however, suddenly, she somehow grew up. And far too fast…
Thoughts like these, among many others, took complete occupation of mind, as he ripped and tugged at the last garter and fishnet; tangled between fingers as he couldn’t help but be completely astounded by the way she slowly rocked her hips, pulling down a thin lacey fabric that was a supposed form of undergarment. He was so close, and the smell was almost too intoxicating. Everything about her drove him mad; insane. His only trouble was admitting it. It was almost a form of betrayal, this was. But oh how once he was fully inside did it seem to come together and make sense, as well as become so much more worth it.
A suppressed, heavy moan arose from the young girl’s throat as she then forcefully grabbed him by the head of hair, enforcing an oral pleasure she had only been waiting for, and ever so impatiently. He held no objections as he felt her lips pull into a devious smirk, despite being unable to see her porcelain-dainty face; her stressed finger tips coiling around a handful of thick, dark hair, making it somewhat difficult to breath in anything but her fine scent. He loved every moment, indulging himself as he reached both hands to support her by each thigh, taking light breaths of clarity between kissing tenderly.
"Yes!" He looked up to her, her mouth agape, occasionally biting down onto her lip, making, at least an effort to douse her screaming. "Vot imenno! Da! " She hollered in the mother tongue, "Yestʹ chto kiska!!" She had him, her demands furthering the situation until he couldn’t take it anymore. He put a slow stop to his hungry, and all to curious tongue. Swift and carefully lunging his posture over her slender frame. Her spread her legs; quickly and wide, knowing all too well they hadn’t much time left at all, for she was near finishing, as was he, due to such friction and desire.
With one steady, final, and rough thrust, he felt it. The release that made him forget it all. The circumstance, the betrayal; all the negative consequences that could have been. He was satisfied. Something that came to him as quite the rarity. He looked down at the long-haired beauty; their breathing at both, a synchronized calm, as she then found the strength to pull herself up, wrapping frail, trembling arms about his broad frame, kissing his neck and collar bone tenderly. He leaned in to press his forehead to hers, releasing a doubtful sigh just then, and at that moment, everything spoiled. He couldn’t escape the guilt, the constant knot of on-going reality that it unfortunately was. It pulled and tugged at his conscience, for no matter how many times he would lay her down, claim her lips, taste her sweet fluids, cause her body to shudder; the eyes that looked back up at him, at the end of it all, would forever remain the same, holding the same innocence as the first moment he had held her in his arms; those seventeen years ago. The doctors, the hospital room. The cool, brisk autumn air that struck his nostrils as he carried his best friend and companion’s laboring other through the emergency doors. He had only wished that he hadn’t remembered so vividly. This was where he would grow ill with enough guilt for the both of them; seeing as she could have cared less about whether they were confronted or not. This no doubt would have been one of the reasons as to why their secret status and relations continued so strongly. She was so dangerous, and he couldn’t help but love everything about it.
Aleksandr inhaled a deep and lengthy breath as his heartless expression attempted to remain as permanent and truthful as possible. He had always been an excellent liar, as well as manipulator. However, this time in particular, proved to be somewhat difficult. Difficult because she could actually see; see into and through his heart and conscience. And perhaps for once in his life, it frightened him. For Aleksandr was full of ugliness. Jealousy, and anger. Hostility, and the desire to be in constant control. It reigned at first and for most priority. And he had finally come to terms with refusing to keep putting her through such unfair events.
Pryscilla was a wild flower, and her thorns made it difficult to have her pressed tightly between blood stained, pricked fingertips. She was also stubborn. Far too stubborn. However, he did enjoy a challenge when it came to their overly physical arguments. If that was what one could call them. And argument was nothing more than a simple misunderstanding for some and mostly others. The word ‘argument’ was unfortunately, nothing more than an understatement. For when they fought, there was always blood. The sex shortly followed. Which wasn’t much of a progression from the past-had violence, or the blood, and he could tell all of this, what was to shortly take place, certainly would not be easy, but Aleksandr was prepared.
He welcomed her into the dimly lit apartment. The faint, yet unmistakable scent of deep cinnamon tickled her nostrils with each careless inhale she took. Aleksandr carefully moved past her, almost dreading even the slightest bit of eye contact.
He said he wanted to talk. Pryscilla was confident. For something worded so finicky was unusual for Aleksandr. His English was always the best, she had to keep reminding herself. He certainly was one of a kind.
"So what’s up?" She slid an arm out of her large, over the top pink, and white furred half jacket, letting it carelessly fall onto the love-seat. Then to remove her winter hat, and mittens. Aleksandr watched her movements very carefully. There were reasons why he kept her so close and tightly held.
He wondered what mood she was in today; at this moment in particular. This could have gone in three different fashions. Fury, silence, or a dramatic outburst of tears. All were very predictable, and he was just as curious as to which one would consume her fragile little heart the most.
Pryscilla waltzed over, throwing both arms around his broad frame, arching her neck forth to kiss him softly upon the oh so serious lips, however, Aleksandr delivered no source of reciprocation, and she instantly felt it. "What the hell?" She steamed, pulling back at once; a little confused as to what was now going on. He felt a tiny rage, just waiting to rear itself. He thought to himself, was it sad that he fed on it?
"Aleksandr?" Her patients wore extremely thin by the tone she now gestured. "I don’t need those anymore." Aleksandr quickly cut her off. "What?" She didn’t understand. "What’re you even talking about? And like, why did you sound so weird on the phone , huh? Why?" "Stop." He told her firmly. "You talk far to much, Pryscilla. Far too much. That is what I think I dislike most about you- is these…" He slowly extended a hand, touching lightly pressed fingertips to her painted lips. Only his thumb enforced a firm press against her bottom, purposely smudging rouge.
"What the fuck..?!" She shoved him, however quickly became captured by a swift and rough grip to the wrist. She looked up and into the all too familiar, serious expression he refused to let down.
"I think…" Began Aleksandr, looking down at her with those cold eyes that reminded her all too much of something heartless and serpent-like. "…This is through." Pryscilla’s eyes grew wide. “Wh-what?” She would have liked to pretend that she was indeed as puzzled now as she once had been only moments ago. Her dainty fashioned brow line slowly gave a weak lift, then resettled, for this was indeed a break up whether she wanted to believe it or not. "What’s…through?" She still thought she would make the desperate attempt at wanting to believe he would just take it all back, like all of this was just some sort of terrible dream, or misunderstanding. However, she felt the burning behind her eyes, preparing to let everything go all at once, reminding her that this was very real. This all must have been just one big, and utterly ridiculous, twisted joke, for she had warned him long ago, never to leave her. "You’re a very intelligent girl. I do not need to elaborate." He threw her wrist back coldly, as if desiring her out of his sight all at once. However, he knew all too well that it wouldn’t be that easy, for she was definitely the stubborn type.
If he wanted to leave her, fine, thought Pryscilla as she couldn’t help but swallow back the rugged frustration that begged to tear through her throat, resulting in a, no doubt, hoarse, shrill screaming. If he wanted to leave her, fine. But, “Why?… I want to know why…-Why all of a sudden, have I lost my worth, Aleksandr?!” He reaction was peculiar , it almost amused him for an instant, however he said nothing. The silence; an obvious frustration on Pryscilla’s behalf. "Aleksandr!?" She would be damned if she would let him get away with standing mute. What she wanted, was an answer.
"You’ve become a very boring and stressful burden to me." He rehearsed casually, just as he knew the dialogue would go. Her mouth dropped instantly. “Boring?!” She hollered. “I’m boring to you?! Is that it?! Is that really it? You’re full of fucking bullshit! Bullshit, Aleksandr! Bullshit!!”
Her chest heaved immensely as Aleksandr merely watched her, as calm and serine as ever; her colourfully inked skin rose and fell with much panic and distress. "You want to know something?!" She screamed, leaning forth, head held high in confidence as she tried best to match his eye contact. Unfortunately, he stood a good head… or three taller. "You’re a liar! A fucking liar! You’re a liar!" She shoved him twice with either palm. "There’s something wrong with you!! -Or wait! Lemme guess! Natalia right? Has she won your cold and super serious heart!? Huh?! Has she won, Aleksandr?! Tell me!!"
Aleksandr felt his teeth tighten; quite frustrated now. He had had enough of hearing her mouth run on an over bearing constant. It irritated his sensitive ears. Exhaling a gentle sigh, he advanced without precaution, as if wishing to encase her defenseless frame; breaking her down slowly. "My dear, dear, Pryscilla… " She distanced herself at once, however it prevailed useless once her back rested firmly against the living-room wall; trapped, and staring up and into the face of someone she thought she could trust with her life. However, at this moment in particular, she would have rather feared for it.
"You cannot leave it alone…Always wanting more…More..So much…fucking more!" His accent was thick as he leaned in close, trapping her position to a complete standstill. A decision was meant to be made just then. He wanted her to hate him. To loath him to the point of where infatuation and lust; desire, no longer had their precious cameos. All of his life, Aleksandr had lived hate, loneliness and hostility. He was confident he could pull this off with ease. "This, whatever you like to call us, was nothing more than my own selfish, foreign curiosity…Because…when you think about it, what possible made you think I ever cared about something like you?" He looked her up and down with such displeasure. His eyes darting from one bodily aspect to the next. "…With your painted face, dirty tattoos…Those false eye lashes," He paused, taking a moment to even spread a subtle smirk, shaking his head somewhat. "Even your hair colour is a lie!" He ended his eruption with a brief mutter in the Mother tongue, sneering.
"Do you think you look pretty? Hm? Is that what this is called?" He extending an arm, softly, a hand caressed her porcelain face, pushing through locks of platinum blonde hair. His fingers played lovingly at first; Pryscilla needing into such a warm touch, however, the ugliness soon reared its head as she felt a rough tug, bringing her neck to look upward. Aleksandr coiled a large amount of hair around his fingers, enforcing her to look him very straight and deeply in the eyes. She could only attempt to catch her breath that had lost itself, along with a sense of security. Aleksandr had always done well with making her feel so good about herself, however, he, this time, had a very definite feeling, that he would be even better at breaking her down.
"Mh? Tell me, little American swine…" He could feel how frustrated she had become, by the way her cheeks bones strained against the soft flesh of her cheeks, refusing speech; teeth clenched. Just one more push… "You are nothing to me. Nothing but Western trash. A walking peep-show. It almost makes me sick to reflect on how much of yourself you willingly gave to me, and in such manners…-But such a good fuck…" He grinned with such malicious intent as he inhaled her scent for what he knew would no doubt be the last time. He could taste her…almost wanting to drop everything at hand and take her, just one last time. "You know nothing about me…Pryscilla-Jayne Sullivan…and you just shouldn’t." His breath was cool against the dip between her neck and soft shoulder, as he spoke closely, against the skin, his lips almost pressed too comfortably.
Pryscilla was in utter shock, her mind a complete blank slate before the tears finally decided to fully surface, quietly spilling down either cheek. This wasn’t at all how he envisioned his perfect plan to rid himself of the girl. In fact, it felt more like a backfire in the making. Or so, he thought before he felt the swift, and surprisingly mighty backhand-to-check collision he had been struck with just then. Followed by yet another juvenile shove.
"Fuck you!!" Screamed Pryscilla, throwing her first forward in a violent rage. Aleksandr regained his footing, pursing his lips to gesture a short tisk. His lips then curved to form into a wide-spread grin, catching the hit as his palm closed around her precious fist. Aleksandr squeezed, gathering an instant of pleasure from the very obvious discomfort within her facial expression. He loved it, as her body tilted to one side, stomaching the pain he was causing. Finally, he let go; her hand falling limp against her side.
There were no words, for only a soft quiver of her lips occupied Aleksandr’s attention. He was in love with how desperate she no doubt felt. How slowly she swallowed , the daintiest bead of sweat trickled from her temple. Or how her fingers couldn’t stop from clamoring for something he indeed knew she would not receive.
"Aleksandr…" She finally sobbed, all tied in with the sorry peep of fear. "What…did I do? Like…-Tell me. Please..!" …And then, with the break down. "Please! Why won’t you fucking tell me?! Please…! Please..?" Now she was begging, and suddenly, he realized; it wasn’t what he wanted anymore. "Pryscilla…I-" He let her name slip accidentally from his lips, that, for now, he feared, quivered. Pryscilla looked up at him with the glossiest pair of eyes, accompanied by the most broken expression. "Aleksandr I…-I love you…" He cringed, baring a bit of fang. "I fucking love you! I-" Aleksandr didn’t have to think, he struck her at once. The shock; taking a moment to register, that was, until she felt the warm decent of blood from the corner of her numbing mouth.
"Get out of here, devushka." He heaved beneath grit teeth, making sure he looked her in the eyes. Pryscilla flinched, and all at once he regretting everything he had just done, casually trying to look away. This was not how he envisioned things.
"Leave…" Repeated Pryscilla, her eyes fixated on the floor bellow her. The only thing, she thought, that could have possibly already been lower than what she was. "So like, that’s it. I’ll leave..?" She looked up at him for the last time. " So, was everything you said, what we had, what we were—" "You’re no good for me, Pryscilla-" "Was it some sort of fucking joke!?" "Vy mne ne podhodit !" Hollered Aleksandr. "We are no longer intimate! Now…I will ask you one more time, to please leave."
Pryscilla couldn’t believe what she was hearing; she tried to hard to refuse the reality that felt like anything but. Shock set in one last time before she suddenly just gave up. Gathering up her winter belongings. She bit her lip to keep it all in and okay, for now that was, as she made absolutely no source of eye contact with him, finally taking her walk of shame, and not the kind she was better acquainted with.
This was indeed the end, thought Aleksandr as he couldn’t help but let his tough expression weaken and furrow as he merely stood where with his head in his hands, digging fingers firmly against the sides of his temples, pulling at his thick, dark wave of mess. He gathered himself shortly after, inhaling so deep it almost pained him to let it back out. For no sooner gad the beautiful blonde shut the door, had the sound of glass shatter against the door behind her. Aleksandr knew very well he had woven a very grave web of mistake. Once again, distancing himself from the only but of happiness he had grown to know and maybe even cherish. However, in one’s mind such as Aleksandr’s, all of this was only for the better, as difficult as he knew it would be for her to even begin to understand. In his mind, it would have been indeed safer to hate her, than to lover her and loose her. For big, bad, Aleksandr was not a fan of heartbreak.
Part of her begged to let it go, to tell herself that yes, things would get better. They would return to the normal; as it once was. That life sometimes worked in mysterious fashions; it happened for a reason. However this time in particular, the key to her locked door of sanctity and refuge, were lost.
She needed a change, this was for certain, for she feared that this time she had truly lost her way; her reasoning. Her over all sense of mind and clarity. She needed help this time, and he was not there. Nowhere to be found; to save her. But oh, how badly her soul wept and yearned for his presence, his touch; to hold her when she drifted too far from the shore that could have been an eternity spent together. She was sinking, and he was the only being that could reach for her with any sort of sucession.
There was slight hesitation as she made reach over the coffee table. Shaken fingertips grasping for the small zip-lock of white powder that hadn’t stopped staring at her since she had returned from downtown. She felt stranded, unable to make it through; to see clearly and break through the thick haze that refused to enlighten her mind, and so without his presence, his breath, his kiss, his words…his life, she would finally break. Growing instantly hostile with how she, even now insisted on holding onto everything that should have been long since forgotten. She needed help this time.
And as she neatly cut the help into two separate, neat lines, she realized that when the heart weighed as heavy as it was in that very instant, she would try anything to just feel better.
When he speaks. It’s always right. It’s always the truth. The right thing; the authority. The outcome. But that’s because, she is the child. Too immature and self-involved to lift her head up and back into reality. To understand and deliver the same amount of ‘hard work’ and ‘dedication’ as he.
At nights she’d lie awake in bed, or even just in mid-stance, when her eyes would fixate on nothing; with brief, blurred vision and stare off into space, and wonder just what was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she trying hard enough? Why wasn’t she better? More useful to the ones she loved. However, when one was, for the most downright impossible to please. How could someone possibly ever be good enough? Their efforts, their body, their mind; everything.
He would tell her often of her beauty. Her perfection, flawlessness and over all royalty. How much he loved her; made his heart sing. Like a small, graceful blue bird. Caged. And she couldn’t have been more appreciative or happier.
You were never this sour, never this hateful. I remember a time, long ago, when the smile spread across your thin lips, that always carried that lush stain of Russian red, did not spoil and wither itself into that malicious, double-crossing smirk that now seems to sit so perminantly against your mouth. The way your neck occasionally dips to the side, as if being irritated constantly, and just by simple things, like small questions and words.
Moscow was colder back then I understand, leaving you with not much of an oportunity to prove yourself, however you always were stubborn, and willing to prove those who stood against you, wrong. Especially your brothers. You were the runt of the litter, so to speak, but your mother’s encouragement always managed to keep you at sail; striving to be nothing but successful. Striving to have a place in Mother Russia that mattered.
It’s days like this, where I just want to grab time, in the manner of which it has no choice but to retaliate and throw me back in life, ten years specifically, where I would be sitting snug in my fall coat and fashionably coloured splash pants, and rain boots, sitting promptly in the passenger side of my fathers red pick up truck.
We would drive an hour or more away from the city, to Harriot’s field where all would be forgotten; the stress, hustle and bustle of everything, and fishing would be our only priority, two miles into the woods before we reached the great pristine lake. I was in charge of carrying the rods and tackle box during our way to the lake, it was the most important job my father would have given me yet, and I would carry out happily, making him smile down at me; proud.
At this point, I would remember and grow emotional with nostalgia; the scent of the forest green, the moss, and dampness of the ground beneath my rubber duckling boots.And now, as I slowly drift back through time, cutting through a wooded path, much like one of the ones we would walk through together, only this time I am alone, and instead of a tackle box over my shoulder, it’s somehow manage to morph, drastically into a flushed pink coloured D&G tote… This time, there will be no fishing, no one in charge of the rods…instead, I am clearing through the path where the scent of the woods, and those fishing days are too far behind for me to grasp…because I am twenty years old now, and have work to do. My father has his own life; a recovering alcoholic, in which for every day to come, I will continue to beam proud of him.
And so, reality coldly whispers, there will be no more fishing, no more together, no more days where I am an innocent ten, sitting in the passenger side seat of my fathers red pick up truck, no more driving away from the city, no more us as we once were…and no more Harriot’s field. Just a memory.
She slept with the utmost uncomfortable expression. As if even then, unsatisfied. Her fevered dreams she weaved; bringing the occasional night terrors to discomfort and haunt her further. This damsel spoke in the most vulgar of tongues, her words unraveled the worst assets and propositions for all kinds of lonely, cheap and unsatisfied people themselves. They spiraled it seems; coming undone after each drag was seductively sucked back from her queen sized cigarette. For many weeks now, the night had proven to be her current struggle. And unfortunately for ‘him’, all he could do was say a brief prayer from the sidelines, in hopes that she make it through yet another lonely, loose night.
Her heavy heart got her nowhere but trouble; lost in a cycle of subconscious self loathing and darkness. Cold nightmares often distracting her from what she felt she needed the most; a body. Something to own, and to fill herself with. However, when the crack of morning bled into her squinted eye- when the body would depart from yet another one night stand, it was always ‘his’ name she longed to call; to keep her safe from harm and all the ugliness a seventeen year old girl should have strayed far far away from. However, she hated the thought of life being so clean and simple.
He watched her from the street below; two silhouettes a front the satin, smoke stained curtains that barely clung to the rod of the motel window; a gut wrench that squeezed so tightly around his heart refused to ward off. All that he could do was hope she made it through tonight.