A. Zavarelli

Even when she was on her knees- filled with my darkness- she was still shining bright. My Siren__ song, my exposed nerve. She lured me in and made me feel. And then she left me to perish.

It was Brighton. She made me fucking insane. Her beauty and absolute perfection dissolved any moral boundaries that may have existed within me.

She was the only antidote for the bleakness that lived inside of me. My goddess. My deity. I wasn__ a believer in any religion, but I__ make an exception in this case. I__ get down on my knees and worship at her alter every day if it brought her back to me.

You already know all about monsters,_ he said regretfully. __on__ you kitten?

She was the most beautiful creature he__ ever laid eyes upon, and for a moment, he wished he could keep her.

Was it cruel if someone asked for it? Begged for it, even? She always begged. Even now, I could hear her whimpering for me. Christ, those noises she made. A one-way ticket to heaven.

The last five years had been a series of carefully orchestrated events. Every move, every strategy had been poured over in painstaking detail before it was set into motion. Pieces on a chess board. A collision of fate and circumstance. I__ planned for every hitch. Every contingency. Except the one that blindsided me like a vat of acid to the face. I fell in love with her.

This is the moment I realize that our traumas never really go away. They live inside of us, in the deepest darkest pits of our own tiny hells. Cocked and loaded, waiting for someone to come along and pull the trigger.

A smart woman would have walked away then. She would have lit a match and set fire to the entire clusterfuck that was this situation. But I was never a smart woman, and if you didn__ believe me, all you had to do was ask my mother.

He kissed my tears away and whispered sweet words into my ears. Words that he was too afraid to say out loud. He told me I was beautiful. That I was perfect in every way. And that, unconditionally, I was his.

I wanted to break you. I never expected you to like it.

This was worse than a coke binge. Worse than black tar or the thrill of E. This was the devil himself snaking his way inside of my heart and bending me to his will. This was addiction, quickly morphing into obsession. And somewhere in the clouded fog that was my brain, I knew this was a game I was going to lose.

His darkness bled into me, inch by torturous inch, consuming me from the inside out. It made me feel powerful.It made me feel free.It made the next words that flew from my mouth a plea that he never stopped. He was dark and twisted, but maybe I was too.

She blinked her eyes open, her lips parted and cheeks flushed, looking every bit like a goddess before him. And if he were a better man, he wouldn__ have been able to taint such purity. But he wasn__ a better man, and there was no turning back now.

Human emotion is not a linear experience. That which provokes emotion in one may provoke little, if anything, in another.