What She Did
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,433
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,433
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
What She Did
She took a long drag off her cigaretted and flicked the elongated trail of ash to the floor, watching as the tiny embers faded from red to grey. A firey passion fading from hot to cold. How ironic.
It was four o\'clock in the morning. She sat up in bed, a white sheet draping over her legs. The cold air leaking in through the busted window chilled her naked flesh, but the breeze went unnoticed, as did the infomercial that played on the television with horrid reception.
Her gaze, rather, rested on the lump of flesh that lay beside her, also naked, sprawled across the bed; nestled beneath a wad of blankets.
She had let it happen, again. She let herself be charmed, finessed, by this being who slept with his mouth open, who snored and drooled as he thrashed in the midst of a nocturnal emission.
The sad thing is, she knew it would happen. She always did. She let it happen. Her soul was weary, her heart tired, her fount of strength dry from endless droughts of users.
She wasn\'t pretty anymore. Her hair was wirey, lips brutally chapped, her body decorated in varied shades of black, blue, and purple. Who else would ever want her, besides him?
She crushed her cigarette against the fine ply wood nightstand on her side of the bed, relishing in the faint smell of burning wood. All of her furniture, her beautiful antiques that had been in her family for generations, had been sold to feed his hunger for the drugs that littered their kitchen table. And the bathroom sink. And the glove box of her tomato red Pinto.
She breathed in a deep sigh, as deep as her tar coated lungs would allow.
Sleep would not come to her that night. Hell, it hardly ever came. She rose from the bed and glided to the window, pressing her forehead against the glass. A light snow was falling, temporarily masking the filthy streets in a blanket of white. She closed her eyes and imagined a time when she was free to run through the snow, free to be alive. She could never be free again.
Unless...
She turned back to the bed, staring at the form that lay there. He was the only thing standing between her and liberation. He was her shackle. And she had the key.
Slowly, with feline grace, she crept across the floor and picked up a pillow that had been thrown from the bed durning their tryst, her rape.
Like a skilled temptress, she peeled the layers of blankets away from him and straddled his limp body, repulsed by the feel of his equally limp cock beneath her.
He stirred slightly, his eyes opened halfway as he smiled his toothless grin.
\"Hey, baby, did you want some more?\"
\"No, hun. I\'ve had my fill.\"
Before his dull wit could react she pressed the pillow over his face. He grabed her waist, pushing and clawing, but she has him clamped tightly between her legs, all her force against the pillow. His muffled cries and curses slowly whithered, along with his struggle. Finally his body stilled and slid off of him.
She felt a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth as she stared at the pathetic corpse. The fear was gone, the pain was gone. A strange sensation bubbled in the pit of her stomach, oddly family and alien at the same time. She realized that it was laughter.
It was four o\'clock in the morning. She sat up in bed, a white sheet draping over her legs. The cold air leaking in through the busted window chilled her naked flesh, but the breeze went unnoticed, as did the infomercial that played on the television with horrid reception.
Her gaze, rather, rested on the lump of flesh that lay beside her, also naked, sprawled across the bed; nestled beneath a wad of blankets.
She had let it happen, again. She let herself be charmed, finessed, by this being who slept with his mouth open, who snored and drooled as he thrashed in the midst of a nocturnal emission.
The sad thing is, she knew it would happen. She always did. She let it happen. Her soul was weary, her heart tired, her fount of strength dry from endless droughts of users.
She wasn\'t pretty anymore. Her hair was wirey, lips brutally chapped, her body decorated in varied shades of black, blue, and purple. Who else would ever want her, besides him?
She crushed her cigarette against the fine ply wood nightstand on her side of the bed, relishing in the faint smell of burning wood. All of her furniture, her beautiful antiques that had been in her family for generations, had been sold to feed his hunger for the drugs that littered their kitchen table. And the bathroom sink. And the glove box of her tomato red Pinto.
She breathed in a deep sigh, as deep as her tar coated lungs would allow.
Sleep would not come to her that night. Hell, it hardly ever came. She rose from the bed and glided to the window, pressing her forehead against the glass. A light snow was falling, temporarily masking the filthy streets in a blanket of white. She closed her eyes and imagined a time when she was free to run through the snow, free to be alive. She could never be free again.
Unless...
She turned back to the bed, staring at the form that lay there. He was the only thing standing between her and liberation. He was her shackle. And she had the key.
Slowly, with feline grace, she crept across the floor and picked up a pillow that had been thrown from the bed durning their tryst, her rape.
Like a skilled temptress, she peeled the layers of blankets away from him and straddled his limp body, repulsed by the feel of his equally limp cock beneath her.
He stirred slightly, his eyes opened halfway as he smiled his toothless grin.
\"Hey, baby, did you want some more?\"
\"No, hun. I\'ve had my fill.\"
Before his dull wit could react she pressed the pillow over his face. He grabed her waist, pushing and clawing, but she has him clamped tightly between her legs, all her force against the pillow. His muffled cries and curses slowly whithered, along with his struggle. Finally his body stilled and slid off of him.
She felt a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth as she stared at the pathetic corpse. The fear was gone, the pain was gone. A strange sensation bubbled in the pit of her stomach, oddly family and alien at the same time. She realized that it was laughter.