Tuesday, April 24, 2012

I'm A Little Bit Emo...A short story.

Okay, I promise after this I'll lighten up & go back to talking books. I'm anxiously awaiting several new releases (peek at my post of what's coming out, if you're curious). I'm doing better today - not great but getting there. I wrote this little bit this morning and I think it expresses how I've felt the last few days. My happy pills didn't even help. I'm hoping to sit in the sun on my deck today and chill. So, without further ado...
(and, hey, don't read it if you don't want - its just a dark love story)


He doesn’t use the doorbell but still I know he’s there, patiently waiting for me to open the door and invite him in. And so, of course, I do. He stands there, beautiful and seductive as always in his black suit with no tie. His white shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be tantalizing. Barefoot. Dark hair touselled like he’s been running rough fingers through it. His mouth is twisted into a wry smile that promises so much pain. His head is bowed just slightly, his dark hair hiding eyes that I know carry all of my bleakest thoughts. He’s a dark angel and I’m drawn to his power. He’s better than the best sex. Just looking at him makes me hurt.
I back up and let him in.
He steps close, so close that I can feel the softness of his breath on my skin, and he wraps his icy arms around me and draws me against him. His lips brush my ear in a gentle kiss and he whispers the words I’ve been waiting to hear.
“Fat. Ugly. Cow. Stupid. Loser. Friendless. Worthless. Hopeless. Alone.”
I know these words so well, as well as I know him – my dark dangerous love. If I had the strength, I would send him away, but instead I press closer. My body fits against his as if it was made to rest there. I want him. I always want him.
I haven’t missed him. I’ve missed him desperately. He’s my poison. He’s my  pleasure. He is, above all else, home.
He steps away and I am bereft. I need his touch – the void of emptiness, so full of dark emotion. I need it like a starving man needs food. He shuts the door behind him and takes my hand. His touch enfolds me, encompasses me, envelops me. He leads me into the house. We settle down together on the couch, as close as we can get, but it can’t be close enough. It's never close enough.
“Disgusting. Gross. Repulsive. Unloveable.”
His words are a melody that draws me in – a song that is all mine. He’s written it for me and me alone. And then he says my favorite words again, the words I’ve been waiting for, the words that are my life. “Ugly. Unloved. Loser.”
Magic. Such dark beautiful magic. He knows just how to please me. The ice of his grip turns painful and it’s wonderful. Joyous. I want more. This is where I belong. I can never get close enough. He can never cause enough pain. He is so beautiful to me.
He stays with me as long as I need him. He’s always there with a torturous touch, or the bite of a word, or a knife to my chest. He cradles me in his arms at night and whispers to me until I sleep. He feeds on my tears and my hopelessness. He knows just how to hurt me. He knows just how to make me feel. And I feel so much when I’m with him.
If he stays, he’ll destroy me.
Ours is not a healthy relationship. It’s unforgiving and dark, and it consumes me. The emotions are too strong. The words too painful. His touch too sensitive to my skin. It burns. The darkness is too all-encompassing. His words draw blood and I'm already so bloody. I'm tired. I need more….
I need light.
It is the one thing he cannot give me.
It’s heartbreaking. It’s enlightening. It’s freeing.
I wake one morning and he’s waiting by the door. His warm gaze meets mine and that crooked smile is there. It doesn't move me. I’ve had my fill of him. His words are burned into me - a reminder of all I know. They won’t disappear for a long time. He’s fulfilled my every need. I'm ready to let him go for now. I’ll be okay without him.
I might even learn to enjoy the light.
Once he’s gone, I tack his picture on the wall with the countless pictures of him. I do this each time he’s visited. I want to remember him. I need to remember him. My walls are so full of his face, a memorial to his empty beauty, that there’s no space for anything else. I can never forget him. I don’t want to ever forget him. But I can go on without him and I will be better for it.
He’ll be back the next time I need him.
His quiet strength is always there, ready to pull me into the darkness of his embrace. His cruel lips are waiting to bring me the ultimate pleasure. Pain.

And that’s what depression is like for me. - Karen

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