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If you like unhinged, masked, morally greys with a soft spot for her, a past worse than death and a split tongue. I got you. Oh, and did I mention, It’s a Woman?
But in this moment, His death is my only salvation. It's my only purpose. It's my Freedom.
If you give a flower too much water, you'll drown it. And I feel like I'm drowning. My pot is spilling over taking the soil with me.
“Would you like to star in a Horror movie Mrs. Blackthorne?... Because you are about to be all over the news...”
The abuse I endured for simply being different really fed me my new identity. Now I've lived and breathed to put on a mind-blowing show, and this is my final act.
“Will you shut the fuck up!... I don't want to hurt you. Don’t make me hurt you. Please. Be a good girl and Shhhh…”
“You got me there, Love...”
She doesn’t need to know she is the reason I am still breathing right now, and for that I want the satisfaction of taking her life myself.
She is mine to kill. I didn’t do all this shit for something to wipe her out for me. I want to watch her bleed for me, I want to take her last breath.
“Stay with me!” I’ve spent my entire life pushing that night down, locking it in a box so it didn’t destroy me, but the way her dark locks are resting against her porcelain cheeks, the freckles splattered against her soft face, cut out from clouds, sculpted by angels. I miss those damn eyes. I need her to wake up and fucking LOOK AT ME. I need her to fucking see me. See me for what I am. What she is doing to me and punish her deeply for it.
“God dammit, don’t you dare fucking die on me!” Not now. Not ever.
“I fucking get it! I get this anger you're feeling! I get this hunger for vengeance! I get that swelling ache that feels like it's collapsing your lungs. That overwhelming urge to want to make all the pain go away! But you have to fight it! You have to fucking suck it up and survive! You have to be better than it! Better than me!...”
“You're a Dreamer.” I wonder what she dreams about. I'd love to pick at her brain. Writing is led by incessant amounts of creativity we cannot contain so we scribble it out on paper. It's like a superpower. “A what?” She questions me almost in disbelief, like I'm the first person to pay interest in her and understand her. “You want something far greater than you can comprehend, you live in a realm unknown to the human eye just to escape.”
“Who the hell are you!?” I am many things. If I'm honest I don't know who the hell I am. I'm not a who, I'm a what. ‘Who’ would imply I'm human, and I'm far from it. A freak. A Clown. A Monster. An abomination maybe. “Your Karma.”
The monster behind this door is a monster filled with bullet holes and broken armour. A shattered heart that only knows suffering. Her pain is her architect.
“Hey there Little Dreamer…” I stand slowly, approaching her timidly like she's an injured doe. “I thought I lost you there…” She whispers. Did she just recite my words
“My my… Did the monster finally admit she does have a heart after all?” She's smiling and those dimples are making their own personal indent on my damn heart.
“I want it messy. I want you to watch me bleed out slowly. Innocence. I want it to hurt.” I can see this death within her dead gaze locked on mine like I’m the key she’s been searching for. She wants to suffer. “I want to watch the guilt seep out of your pretty little eyes as you realise how foolish you are. Can you handle that, Puppet?”
“If you really want out, Little Dreamer. It's simple… Pull the trigger.”
“All it takes is one biggggg squeeze… And you are free. Free to live your life as you wish. In fact, I urge you to do it Alora. Because if you don't. I will find you, in every village, town, city and I will not stop until we are this close again because you -” I'm sensing raw pain in her vocals and I don’t even think I want her to finish that sentence. “Are. My. OXYGEN.”
“Do you want me to punish you sweetheart? Just say the word baby and I will give you the most mind-blowing punishment you've ever fucking had.”
“What does that mean?…” How can pain be pleasurable? Is that what she is implying? That’s absurd. “Let's find out Innocence.”
“You are my Puppet. And I, your Puppeteer. Your next move will only be determined by my hands Little Dreamer. If you think you can outsmart me -” A cold silence surrounds me as her lips run the length of my neck until she reaches behind my ear, sending dead spirits to pass through me. … “Cut the rope...”
“Your heart is way too big for your chest Little Dreamer. You know that?” “You can have some if you want?” I can hear her cheeks crinkle as she smiles. “I'm good. Thanks though.” I remark, stretching into a comfier position. “One day, one day you'll accept that you're not entirely bad.” I wish she was right. As much as I wish she wouldn’t see that in me considering the pain I’ve caused her. “I hope I'm dead by then. Because heaven would laugh at the impossible and hell would shriek with disgust.” “Why must you be so complacent?” I can hear her step closer, her
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“As I said. Your heart's too big for your chest Innocence. It'll get you hurt.” “I'd rather feel something than feel nothing.” She slumps back into the sofa as we both glare up at my ceiling like it will help us to understand one another better, but all it’s ever done is show me the very cell I’m trapped in. “One day. You will realise just how wrong you are.”
“You're letting your guard down Princess. Need I remind you the Devil was once an angel.” She finds me in our waltz, staring into my soul like she's found treasure beneath rubble and ash. “And the Devil was also misunderstood and cast out for rebelling against God. Lucifer was just a freedom fighter.”
and I think I finally understand what Beauty is. It’s her. She’s beautiful. She is that flower in a storm that survived its wrath and kept growing. Blooming. Strong enough to withstand mother nature and all its pain. Standing out against the rest. Standing out to me. That tiny sliver of hope that keeps your heart beating. Some people see beauty in possessions, poetry, art, like it’s physical. But it’s not. It’s a feeling. She calms the demons inside of me and makes me view the world differently when I'm around her. Colours look brighter. Time starts moving.
This desperation to devour every part of her and strip her of her pure and happy little heart that is beating in sync with mine. This cracked dolly just waiting to be dropped. She is searching for Love in the wrong place as she drowns in my eyes, hypnotised by her balls of fire, burning to feel something. I will break her. Burn her. Tear her apart. It will be the death of her and I don't think I’d want to breathe the same air as her if I ruin her life again.
She’s bringing out an animal in me I didn't even know I had. I’ve never desired anyone the way I do her and it’s becoming a weakness untold. She is the noose around my neck and I am terrified that if she said jump. I would. Is it normal to yearn for someone so much that you quiver at the mere sight of them in your head?
“What if I'm never ready?” Her arms wrap around my chest, squeezing me into a bear hug as she fiddles with my hair. “Then never, I'll wait.”
“Please… Don’t stop.” She’s been dipping my feet into the shallow end of the pool, but the truth is. I’m tired of testing waters. I’m tired of being careful. Of being afraid. I want her to pull me under and let me drown in this guilt I carry for wanting to willingly surrender myself to the very woman who made me want to die. She vowed to take my life but the problem is. She already has. She had it the moment she saved my life. My perception of life and death, it’s all about the part you play. The story you learn. Not all villains are born that way. She was not born a monster. She was brought
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“You will scream for me. So loudly that this thunderstorm will fear you Love.”
“Relax Puppet. Focus on my voice,”
“Breathe for me Little Dreamer.”
“I want my name in your mouth as you cum for me Puppet.” Her crude words flare up my cheeks, biting on an orgasm I have no idea how to execute but intuition is telling me I don't need to as my whimpers escalate. “Hold it Love. Don't let it go.” It's like she can feel it through her fingers, manipulating my every movement as she draws out the last of my virtue. “Good girl. Just like that.” Her strokes are rhythmic. A steady pace as she learns my body. Pushing my buttons until I'm shaking like a leaf against her mouth, nearly breaking the headboard as I tug on its railing.
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“You have all the power now Puppet…” It's like I've consumed it. Now striking my insides with fierceness. I am the storm, and I want to do terrible things.
“My Sweet, Precious, Little Innocence.” She says, merely above a whisper against the shell of my ear. “Let me taint your pretty little mind with thoughts only the devil could deem acceptable.”
“I’m bad for you Alora…I’m broken. Do you hear me? Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me show you how broken I am. Don’t make me open that door. It will kill us both.” I sob harder, gripping her shirt with so much internal rage. “Why are you doing this to me?” She questions me, shaking my head vigorously, searching for answers in me, trembling as her lips graze mine and I choke trying to get the words out. Words I didn’t ever imagine could drip from my tongue. “Because I need to know what kind of person I am falling in love with.!...” I mutter softly, closing my eyes like it will hide me
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“Because I will never Love you back.” My heart sinks, releasing my grip on her shirt, dropping my shoulders with vanquish. I don’t know what I was expecting. She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. But if there is nothing between us then what the hell are we doing? I recite her words. Because she is just not ready to let me in. She is too scared to let someone in. To let them help her. “Then never, I'll wait.”
“Monsters are real Puppet. But luckily you have one who’d kill for you.”
“Daddy…” She mumbles, chewing on her finger and I can see the uncertainty in her beady eyes. “Good girl, now remember that when you call out my name.” She pushes my hand away playfully, rolling her face away from me. “I'm not calling you that.” Oh she will. “You won't have a choice. You've said it now. Puppet. I want it bleeding from your mouth.”
“Why do you even have that anyway?” Oh wouldn't she like to know. “So when my hand wraps around your pretty little throat you know who your Daddy is.”
“Daddy will take care of you now baby…”
“She used to tell me this story. About happiness. About how at one point in her life, she couldn’t find it. And she was told one day by some jackass that it didn’t exist. That it was a myth. That happiness never amounted to anything. Although she kept fighting. Looking for it. She knew that this couldn’t be it. There must be more out there for her. So, she looked him dead in the eyes and said. ‘Then never, I'll wait.’ And she did. She waited. And waited. And then I came along. She used to tell me this because I was her happiness. And she told me when I couldn’t find it, to hold on, because one
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“You, Alora D'arcy Blackthorne. Are my god damn fucking happiness.”
Now I finally understand what it means to find an entire universe in one person.
She is my beginning as well as my end.
“Be my grave baby girl.”
I’m doing for her. “They may never let me out… But If they do. I hope you’ll be waiting for me.” My dam breaks, as our soaked cheeks merge our tears, taking in her stupidly beautiful eyes, even puffy with silly tears meant for me. “Then never, I'll wait…”
“Sunflower!...” She whispers through broken cries and I feel all my promises fall out my mouth. Because I can’t do anything. I can’t stop this. I can’t change the outcome. It’s useless now. “I’m afraid I can’t stop this time baby… Neither of us are in control now.”
