Katya
The sun trickles through the curtains, her alarm blares and wails and bleats, and still she sleeps. She rises from her lonely bed, sheds her nightdress, and flings herself beneath the shower's steady stream, and still she sleeps.
She slumbers through the drive to work, the many meetings, and the constant grind. She never responds the harassment, neither the harsh words nor heavy hands. She never bats an eye. When her sister begs her to help herself, to tell someone what's wrong, she can't hear the desperate pleas, because still slumbers on.
In life she dreams of sleep, and in sleep she dreams of rest.
Bringing the mug to her lips, Laura took a deep breath and held it, trying to find her center, some peace. She took a sip as she leaned on the doorframe, looking in on her empty room.
She grimaced. The coffee had chilled. Just like the mussed sheets and her reckless passion.
He had seemed so perfect in the dark. His smirk and soft voice promised something she so desperately craved. But it was a lie. It was her mistake, taking empty promises. And what did they truly leave her with? A messy bed and a cold cup of coffee and an aching regret.
She deserved better than this.
She's hard to ignore. Her delicate fingers, dancing along the hem of a scandalously short skirt, twirling through her soft, brown curls, brushing across her mouth as if to distract from her upturned lips when in reality they only further draw you in - her fingers are hard to ignore.
Those fingers haunt my dreams, ghosting like a memory across my skin.
At night I see it all: how I'll take her and her teasing fingers to make them mine, even if she fights it for a time. I toss and turn and intrigue all the ways to make her mine.
"The world sucks," Someone once said. "The world sucks, you get old, then you die, and no one will even remember your name."
But you know what? I'm sick of doing what Someone says. Someone out there is an asshole, telling us both who we're suppose to be and what we're suppose to wear and where we're allowed to go.
Fuck them! I'm done with this shit.
We'll go out tonight and paint the world red and hear them scream with our semiautomatics and psychotic dreams of immortality. We'll show Someone we're worth a damn. Our names will be murmured on street corners and highlighted in textbooks for decades to come. We'll be the worst examples of society, and we'll show Someone we're worth remembering.
He likes to spends the early hours before dawn tracing the swollen, red ridges marching their way across her otherwise unmarred skin.
He loves them - not her or his job, not his estranged parents or his shitty ass apartment, certainly not having to chase down his next hit, God, not even the fucking sex. He just loves those welts marring her stomach, her pert little ass, her dimpled lower back. He loves that even after he's out of currency and she's warming someone else's bed, she's still his.
No matter what she or anyone else says.
I don't need to convince you I'm right, that I'm being reasonable, because honestly, do you think you can stop me?
Only the defeated have to justify their actions; only the weaker have to convince superiors of their motives, and Love, I'm neither. I'll do whatever the fuck I want, because power plus not giving a shit equals freedom. While I live, I'm free. You'd have to kill me to get control over me.
In the dark, it's easy to forget life isn't suppose to be like this.
Sweaty palms chart their way across your topography under the flash of neon lights. You'd do anything to get away. But then he leans in, his rancid breath against your lips, and whispers that he's got The Shit, and the thing is you'd be anyone's bitch for another hit. The memory of his fat body, fumbling hands, and flailing, wet mouth don't run off in the morning though. They're seared on your skin along with the scorching shame, and you can't even remember when life wasn't like this.
So, you shoot up and cry and wish to die, and you don't care that you're hungry or too hot or that sometimes your breathing just stops before resuming with a shuddering gasp. Because you deserve this. You earned it. In the dark, it's easy to forget that your life was never suppose to be like this.
Everything that ever was or ever will be came from something else. Even the air we breathe. It's the reminisce of some sad star once circling in a galaxy us little Earthlings never get to see.
I guess in that sense, I shouldn't be surprised by the way things turned out.
But I was.
You hear the start of my story on the news all the time: "I never thought it could happen to me." You never hear the poor, bereaved parents spouting that they knew the risks. They never sob, "We planned for this," at the camera in their pastels and pearls. No. It always "came out of nowhere" and no one ever thinks "it could happen to me."
But everything that ever was started as something else, and this tragedy was once a happier tale about a girl that thought a boy could change her world... and I guess, in a sense, she was right.
It's freeing, isn't it, when those two words pass your lips? Shoulders heave, eyes roll, exhale, drag out an endless whinge of an "I'm sorry," and suddenly it's not your responsibility anymore. I mean, what else do I want you to say, right? Well Honey, blame and responsibility aren't the same damn thing. It's still you're fucking fault you miserable bint. How about this? Not being such a bitch, so that there's nothing to forgive.
They don't even look human, more like delicate porcelain dolls with their masks and bulging, antiquated gowns. They're the monsters of nightmares adorned in gold filigree. It's a circus at the start of each year when Carnival leaves the canals overflowing with these freaks, but they're the sort that have things worth taking, and I'm a monster too, you see. Only, I'm not the sort to haunt dreams. I'm the sort hidden down dark allies in the dead of night. One who'd do anything if the price is right, which is honestly be far more frightful, wouldn't you agree?
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writing since 2013 · 14 entries · 12 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Katya showed up.
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12days written
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the words Katya reaches for
rundarkdreamssleepdamnparentsskinmomentlipshearsupposefingersassnightworthshit