Green Light

by Jescie Hall

“Shane,” she gasps, watching as the garage lights up around us. Her eyes, like whisky in the sun, glow from the fiery blaze. I can’t stop admiring the face I’ve been denied for so many years. She stares, dumbfounded by my actions, before her lip tilts up in the faintest of grins, amused by my chaos; delighted by my demons. She’s never looked more mine.

Hehehe 🤭

“Every story told has the potential to withhold truth, and yet, every conspiracy has the capability to hold weight. It's up to the minds of the mad to imagine the unimaginable in order to save the naivety of the sane.”

“Bury me, Venom. Bury me so deep I can breathe again.”

“Fuck, you’re mine, Monty. You’re mine. Always going to be.” “Shane,” I breathe. “No one touches you but me,” he mutters before he licks the length of me again. “Never again. Do you understand? I’ll kill everyone.”

“Tell me it’s always been me.” His tongue traces a long, heavy stroke over my entire slit. “Slut yourself out to me, and only me, and I’ll give you everything you’ll ever need.”

I’ve been constructed through violence, trained through torment, and taught in trauma. I know no other way than to fight for myself with whatever I have left to give.

“You planted these hopes and dreams in my mind of plans I’d never imagined before you. Had me seeing stars, wishing for things out of reach.” “It’s not out of reach. If it’s what you want, then you’ll get it, Montana,” he says argumentatively. “I’ll give you this world and whatever other worlds you require. Every dream you can conjure. Every happy ending imaginable, from whichever story you choose. It can be ours. It will be ours.”

“It’s the slow decay of hope that kills the living, not the beasts subjecting us to their bite.”

It is the duty of the living to maintain justice for the dead, no matter how they chose to live their life.

Shane’s out there, covered in the same blood of retribution, gazing right back at me. For the first time in my life, I’m not simply being looked at. I’m not being watched for simple pleasures or toyed with for disturbing satisfactions. I’m not being used to fill the void of some fratboy’s reduced expectations of women, presented like fine china for a father who never cared, or even expected to save my adult mother who can’t keep her addictions at bay. I’m not sacrificing pieces of myself for the sake of simple-minded sanity or dulling down the complexity of who I am to appease others. With my every flaw and imperfection, there is a man who embraces my darkness, fosters it as his own, and craves the madness of my twisted mind as chaotically as I do his. A man who walks that same line of depravity as me, flirting with the edge of corruption, our moral compass adjusting toward the justice we see fit. For the first time, I know that the depth of me is reachable by the only one who dug into my dirt and made it his own. I’m entirely exposed, and finally seen by the only one who’s ever mattered.