I better stop for the sake of my own sanity
Like a Black hole. It always stays at the back of my head.
While giggling and making jokes
working and resting.
Sometimes failing to reach me because of the card walls I built, sometimes engulfing me, crumbling those walls.
“If you weren’t such a twisted snake, I’d tell you how hot you looked tonight.”
I roll my eyes even though I feel like my nerves are on fire as we walk towards the elevators. “Your insults are getting weak.”
“A little like yourself.”
I suck my teeth. “Call me weak again – I fucking dare you.”
“We don’t exactly have the best track record with dares. Do we, Freckles?”
I snap my head to him, halting my steps, and he nearly knocks into me.
“Don’t call me that. What happened to forgetting?”
“Forgetting what?” he teases, a glint in his eyes. He seems awfully cheery compared to how he was earlier.
“Stop talking to me. You’re annoying.”
the moments made-up of rainbows and bubbles
I may look normal but I daily spend at least one hour listening to dreams and nightmares my friend had last night
It make ants crawl under my skin
She makes me more dangerous than I already am.
If she pointed at a random person and told me to shoot, I’d pull the trigger with no questions asked. Yet I can’t stand to breathe the same air as her. I’ve even pictured myself killing her once or twice and regretted the mental images instantly.
Videos upon videos, images upon images haunt me, yet I can never delete them.
I fucking hate myself for opening the file. I usually have it locked and securely hidden from prying eyes. It’s torturous, the way it makes me feel.
I’ve struggled with emotions since I was a kid. I felt alive for the first time when I had Stacey, and now everything within me is black.
I’m dead inside.
“There,” I say, admiring the four crimson letters with a smile. “Now you’ll never forget who I am.”
“You are Death,” he says in a low, slurred mumble. “Your time will come. You and your whore.”
I throw my hands out to the side, exasperated. “She’s not my fucking whore.” I lean my elbows on my knees. “Infact, she isn’t a whore at all.
She’s the girl I watch, the girl I obsess over until I feel like I’m going fucking insane. I gave her my heart when I was a teenager, and do you know what she did? She shattered it. She’s a venomous snake. Wait. Do you understand a word I’m saying, Crawley?
Barry knows everything. I had to tell him, or he would’ve thought I was just stalking some innocent girl. He sends reports to me when I haven’t the time to watch her. He thinks, as a twenty-one-year-old, I should find another obsession that doesn’t drive me to murder.
Am I extreme? Yes. But for my own fucking sanity, I need to know what she’s doing. Is that weird? To hate her yet need to know what she’s
doing? Even though she’s a snake?
A snake who still belongs to me.
“Please leave. I’ll get an Uber to Luciella later.”
“Look at me.”
I shake my head.
Kade stands in the doorway, tapping the top of the frame. I flinch as he goes to step forward, and he freezes.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Freckles. Sometimes people need to change to survive.”
đź–¤
She takes my hand under the blanket.
In any other circumstance, I’d pull away from that sort of physical touch and picture the person in a million pieces. I’d get pains in my hands.
But with Stacey, I return the sentiment by lacing our fingers.
She giggles, and I feel every muscle in my body go warm and taut with how fucking much I want to hear her giggle again.
I’m my own worst enemy.
I hate her, but I can’t live without knowing what she’s doing.
I lied when I said I’d leave her alone. She’s feeding into my obsession, and it’s only going to get worse. This is only the beginning.
-Kade
I flinch a little when her palm slides up my chest, the muscles pulling taut under her gentle touch. She tries to draw back like she did that night in the tent, and my free hand captures her wrist to hold her there.
Touch is repulsive and unnecessary. I barely hug my own mother. A person openly wanting to touch and cuddle and feel makes my skin crawl.
I’ve always been this way, but when Stacey touches me, even if it’s just a hand on my chest or shoulder, it feels different.
Not repulsive at all. But it’s still foreign to me. Unknown. Yet I want to explore it more. I press her palm to my chest, and I don’t let it go.
She must think I’m a weirdo, but I like her touch.
I’m not a gentleman who can offer sentiments and roses. Not anymore. I’m a creation of being used and abused, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s my life now; I just need to live it.
-Kade
I’m a walking, talking contradiction.
That version of myself doesn’t exist now. I don’t get anxiety around her because she’s pretty and I have no idea what to do with her. No, I reckon if I touched her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from strangling her to death.
The anchor who broke me.
Fucking ridiculous.
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