The Mad House

by Liza James

To every Monster looking for their own voice. Begging to be heard. Desperate to be loved. You were always enough.

Survival is necessary and if there is one lesson I’ve learned in my life, it’s that no one is coming to save you. No one is waiting to rescue you, there’s no one watching, or searching or fighting for your freedom.

A war between dark and light sparring in my mind over what I should and shouldn’t do, over what I will and won’t be forgiven for.

“I drink coffee because otherwise, I’ll die,”

I’m alone, and yet in my loneliness, I find comfort from the Demons within me. I like this—causing myself pain.

“That I was alone. I would always be alone. And if anyone was going to rescue me, it would have to be myself.”

“I believe in the Universe. I believe in spirituality. I believe in being connected to everyone and everything around us. I believe in nature.”

I am a sinner and the world is seducing me and winning far easier than I anticipated.

“I was only saying that if your Priesthood Holder demands a familial visitation with all of his wives, then of course you’d have a sleepover. When else would he be able to perform Baptismal Soakings and—”

Denial. Refusal. Curiosity. It all flows inside of me like my lifeline.

“God, you look so good like that, baby.” Cedar’s hushed and muffled voice is barely audible through the barrier. I press myself even tighter as I try to make out what she’s referring to. “You like being on your knees for me, don’t you?”

My Monster. My protector. My savior.

Every direction in keeping me still, every thrust inside my body, every stolen piece they’ve taken and every ounce of filthy poison they’ve left behind. Their seed coats my inner thighs, and suddenly every bruise, cut and sting become so individually apparent on my flesh. I feel all of it. Again and again and again.

He’s dead. And I don’t mind feeling his pathetic self inside of me while I kill him.

“She’s mine, Bex.” My voice drops lower, a predatory tone laces my words. My skin pulls tight and the tether I have within me draws me closer to this forbidden need, this desire to be near her. “No one else’s. Only mine. I won’t let her fucking go again.”

I like touching her. But I like it most when she’s touching me.

“I like the ways you handle me,”

I suck in a breath, feeling my chest rise and nipples brush against the thin fabric of her shirt. My eyes search hers while my brain tries to come up with a response. But everything is short circuiting and truthfully, I’m caught off guard by how much I’m feeling in this moment with her. I hardly feel anything at all, that’s the beauty of me.

It feels like coming home, in more ways than one.

I push my head forward, trying with all of my strength to get closer. I want to climb under skin, feel her inside me while I find my own space in her DNA.

“I’m going to slip inside you, fuck you just like this when we’re alone. I’ll bend you over the bed, make you dip down low on your elbows so that your ass is up and your sweet pussy is already exposed for me.”

“You’ll be so wet for me, won’t you baby?”

“You aren’t afraid of me,” she says quietly. Her voice is laced with a tone of awe and also hesitation. “Why aren’t you afraid? “Because you feel like home. I’m not worried about what you would or wouldn’t do to me. Just like I don’t think you’re worried about what I would or wouldn’t do to you,”

“You’re at that edge, just let it roll through you without thinking about it. Feel it consume you while you fuck my hand baby.”

“I love you, Phe. I’ve always loved you, every part of you, every version of you. In every decision you’ve ever made and when we were young and who we are now. That didn’t change when I left, and it hasn’t changed now. You and her are the same, and I love experiencing everything you’re willing to give me.”

“Touch yourself slowly, feel how wet you are right now.”

“I’m starving for you,” I hum against whatever skin she lets me near. “Desperate to feel you inside of me.”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” I urge her immediately. “Then maybe I’ll tell you how often I imagine you fucking me until I’m begging for you to let me come.”

“Deeper, baby, I want to watch you fuck yourself hard and fast.”

“Yeah? You are so good for me. So fucking pretty on your back like this. Open those pretty lips baby girl and let me show you how good you taste.”

She feels like my own personal prayer, sweet words of devotion and praise slipping from my lips freely as the only one I’ve ever truly wanted to worship.

She’s the God I’ll worship, bowing down to her body and singing praises on my knees.

She’s always been a good girl. Now she’s my good girl.

“God, I love tasting me on you. Marking your skin with my cum and staining you with me.”