Ghosts in Shadows

Meredith hears Luke growl in her ear.  

"Who do you belong to, Meredith?"  

She feels the hard pulse in her neck against his gripping hand. 

Her clit throbs and sings from his fingertip swirling against it.  

Her back doesn't fall through the wall it's against because she isn't allowing it. 

But even if she did, it would remain there because he wouldn't allow it, either. 

She is dead and so is he. 

But Luke is a more powerful 'dead' than her. 

She has seen the swirling portal of blinding light appearing above her, many times. 

She has felt its warmth and peace tugging at her ethereal form. 

But Luke's hold upon her is still too strong. 

Every time it appears, she finds herself trapped between his twisted, nightmarish grasp upon her and its delivering, soaring light, unable to budge. 

Meredith's rage towards Luke, no matter how immense, is unable to relinquish her from his grip. 

When her tears and despair start to pour and mix with her helpless sounds of sorrow, it doesn't shake him enough to destabilize his hold upon her. 

It simply stirs his lust for her and her suffering, further.  

It makes him grasp her, tighter within his tyrannical arms. 

This is a large part of why he took her life to begin with. 

She still loved him.  But her mind's eye was opened.  All the fog was blown from her vision. 

She realized he was never gonna change. 

He was never gonna stop leaving her body overwhelmed with bruises the shade of nebulae and briar patches. 

He was never gonna stop terrorizing her over looking at this guy or saying something this way. 

Even if she became as still as a rock, he'd find a way to see some malicious intent from her in it. 

She was just as obsessed with him as he was with her. 

It's not like she didn't accuse him of cheating, go through his phone, hit him back or be the first to hit. 

Her friend told her that he'd started hitting her before she'd started fighting back, so her hitting him wasn't an excuse for his abuse of her. 

Yet, she still felt conflicted about it. 

Every time she watched him sleeping, she couldn't drag her eyes away from his long eyelashes, sculpted jawline, heavy lids, the alluring shape of his small lips, the elegant point of his majestic nose, his thick, inky brows. 

His face was like an angel's, in every way.  It was the kind of face that made crowds of women grow dizzy. 

He even wore his hair like an angel would, it falling in thick, black, shiny spirals to his shoulders. 

His cheekbones were also lethally sharp in their gorgeousness. 

He had a beauty that was so striking, it was sinister. 

It was the kind of beauty one got hurled out of heaven for. 

His hands were also big, yet elegant with their long fingers, so amazing when they were drowning in her desire for him as she was tensing around them. 

He towered over her five-foot-six frame at an imposing height of six-foot-one and it both terrified and excited her whenever she was gazing up at him. 

His skin was like the smoothest cream mixed with bright red strawberries. 

But his irresistible beauty wasn't the only thing that bound her so dangerously close to him. 

When he was in a dark place, it was like staring into an abyss and all that malevolent energy would be unleashed upon her. 

But then there were the times that he'd make her feel so loved, needed and 'on cloud ninety-nine.' 

They had deep conversations that lasted hours. 

He held her snug, tight and long, in his warm, strong arms and made her feel so safe then. 

Her heart became a shooting star when his perfect lips stretched out with such charisma over his teeth that shown like the sun. 

They had lovely nights out where they laughed, and intensely flirted the whole time. 

She was always so soaked for him by the time they got home. 

Then his perfect mouth would make her voice hoarse and her body scream. 

The space between her legs would sing at the sight of his bright lips swollen with his arousal, glistening with her desire for him and his own saliva. 

She would see and touch his passion so heavy and painful looking in his pants and salivate at the thought of it stroking her sweet-spot and stretching her eager lips. 

Sometimes, he made her feel so 'high on the most potent of drugs' good that she thought she didn't deserve him. 

When he was in his 'monster mode' he reminded her of that, constantly. 

Yes, sometimes he lashed out at her with venomous words, too. 

It wasn't always direct insults. 

Sometimes, it was more covert. 

Slowly, she found her self-esteem being depleted. 

She became even more alienated from family she already wasn't that close too because of their toxicity and inability to accept her lack of religious belief. 

She also became alienated from friends out of fear and so much more. 

At the same time, the sex they had, became so much more explosive and very sweet in its wicked intensity. 

He loved restraining her, spanking her, choking her, snarling his deliciously filthy thoughts in her ear and so many other aggressively erotic things that reminded her who was in control and who she belonged to. 

She loved seeing her magnificent monster's face as he came so hard because of his need for her and only her. 

He made her come just as hard and many times in a row. 

His very light, large hands all over her darker, medium brown skin was like a work of art in motion. 

He was abusive but he could still do things to her no one else could. 

Many men desired her when she was still alive.  

They ogled her heavy breasts, full butt, curves.  They seemed desperate to experience holding her small waist as she rode them. 

They chased her and told her she was beautiful. 

They also sexually harassed and assaulted that same beauty, the curves, breasts, backside. 

She admitted she was a hypocrite. 

She wasn't repulsed by all men who mistreated her. 

She was only repulsed by the mistreating men who didn't turn her panties into a sopping wet ocean just from laying her eyes upon them. 

Men who repulsed her, also wouldn't be enjoyable to talk to or make her laugh until her belly ached like Luke did. 

They wouldn't be so beautiful when they cried as they shared their deepest heartaches and darkest secrets with her like Luke also did. 

She also had to be able to make them laugh, share her darkest, most painful secrets with them, cry on their shoulder like she could with Luke. 

Sometimes, Luke treated her like shit.  She couldn't deny that.  But he was also her soulmate. 

How could she ever leave him? 

Even when sometimes, she so desperately wanted to. 

Even when he left her eyes black, and her heart shattered and blue. 

Even when he drove her to the brink of suicide and crushing depression. 

Even when he filled her with terror of him and terror of losing him because of his own depression and threats to end his life, if she left him. 

How could she? 

Just like the work of art that her soft, brown skin against his soft, pink skin created, a work of art was also created by his divine hands the day he menacingly wrapped them around her neck. 

On her back, she felt her hot, salty tears pouring down her face as his eyes stabbed into her with their unhinged, murderous brutality. 

As she felt her life force draining from her being, her heart racing like a jet in a stormy, ominous sky, she knew something was different about this time. 

She knew this time she would breathe her last breath. 

It hurt so much, not just physically but emotionally. 

She tried so hard to please him, but it would never be enough. 

She would never be enough. 

Maybe she just wanted him to be happy.  To save him.  To show him that even if he felt worthless to his abusive father and enabling mother, he wasn't worthless to her. 

She would love every part of him...the good, the bad and the nightmarish. 

Her beautiful, fallen angel. 

She would die for him even if that meant dying by his hand. 

It also seemed he'd die for her, too. 

After choking the last breath from Meredith's lungs, Luke remained above her, stunned as he observed her.  

Soon, as immense dread, sorrow and regret poured into him, tears flooded his eyes with the piercing sounds of emotional turmoil and distress that escaped his shaking frame. 

His body didn't know what to do with itself either as he rocked, held her close, clasped her face between his hands, clenched himself. 

He thought it would be easier, making it so that only he could have his Meredith...have her forever...

But it was done now, and he still couldn't live without her, possible murder conviction or not. 

So, he wrapped his fingers around a large, sharp knife and slashed his neck. 

His body collapsed over hers soon after, his blood flowing out over her exposed breasts. 

Just like that, it was done. 

Now in death, as in life, as two ghosts trapped in an endless cycle of pleasure and pain in their warped attachment to one another...Meredith would allow Luke's fingers swirling against her dripping yearning and painstakingly pumping in and out of her, to force appreciative wails from her for him. 

She would hum against his huge, disembodied cock as he forced it down her ethereal throat while he expelled brutish, fragile, vivid satisfaction in heated words and sounds above her. 

She would take his swollen, veiny passion in every way, in every direction and it would feel so very real, even in death. 

She would sink deeper and deeper into his diabolical, twisted, ghostly grip upon her. 

Whenever she came up for air and her despair and suffering compelled her to try to escape his grasp upon her, flying off into the ethereal light, sunset, she would fall right back into his strong, possessive, unrelenting arms. 

The work of art on her neck like a deep blue, red and purple sky mixed with green fields would be her eternal reminder of the great price of the poisonous rollercoaster highs and lows, love they shared in life and share in death. 

But she also knows that the tunnel of light will always be there as she keeps her hope tucked away in the most sacred of places within her.  

~*~*~