thiscrissguy
Violence came easy to him. That she could deal with most of the time. But it was not just the violence, it was his uncontrollable beauty. The seeds of a more subtle manipulation were sown at an early age with him, her first and likely her last. It would have been less of a problem if he wasn't as beautiful as his father was, would have made him more punishable, more likely to yield to a mother who would have had an easier time hitting him.
"You can't just do that to people, Kevin. You have to start thinking more about other people. It's time you start putting other people's needs before your own. To be honest, I expected more from you by now. What would your father say? I don't have the patience to listen to your excuses right now- I don't care how old you are, go upstairs. Now."
She ate slowly, greedily. She knew that people were watching, envy too soft of a word for the looks hardening on their faces, 'food' cooling rapidly on their plates. Yes, she knew a thing or two about the 'special' menu only the most valued patrons could order from. Tongue shivering as she slid the silver fork from her mouth, she watched the golden light catch on the edge of her bubbling champagne glass.
It wasn't easy breaking her heart, but she did it anyway. She didn't even process the damage she had done when she did it, when she was doing it. She barely felt it. It was too quick, intense.
She won't let it happen naturally. I'm sure she has her reasons, but I'm getting the fuck out. I know what to do. She always eats too much and winds up asleep in front of the tv on the nights she comes home already tired from work. But when she caught me once when I dropped my fucking phone on the way out the basement door, I had to get creative.
He threwup once into the trash can. He made it there at least. He was face down on the couch with a blanket from his best friend's closet an hour and 12 minutes later. But before then, he thought about how much he was glad to be home again.
I was full of love and then it went away. The things that remain in me are too cold to be called love, loving, loved. But I make it work, shit, can I do anything else? I watch from high up in my window at night and see headlights pass like shooting stars.
The sun wouldn't go down. We didn't want it to. But it wouldn't have listened if we did. The rocks we skipped into the lake burned our soft hands. Sunburnt and laughing we left in the evening.
writing since 2013 · 27 entries · 26 days shown up
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