OK so I haven't been on YWS for a while, good to be back! This is just something I played with on a Sunday afternoon. Its extremely raw, and needs some work. Quick typing could have resulted in a bunch of typo's. I don't like the ending, but your reviews would be greatly appreciated.
My pieces are my children, so go forth my child..
“I got your letters,” he says. He sits on his side of the room on the floor in the shadows and looks at her. She’s sitting on the floor too with her arm draped over her knee, eyes closed and placid. He doesn’t know what to do and it kind of irritates him and she knows it but for now, this is her time and she doesn’t care about how he feels, because right now is about her.
It’s always about her.
They’re both wearing white. Dirty white, clothes that look like they’ve been made out of old potatoe sacks. Her dress is torn and just hangs off her. Her brunette hair cascades over her collar bones and brown shoulders, he slender golden legs bent in front of her. it’s her time now and she’ll look however she wants to. He’s blonde with blue eyes because she has made him that way.
She’s sitting in the line of the window and the sun brightens her hair and shadows her face, but she moves to look at it. She can’t see out of it but that’s ok because it doesn’t matter what’s going on outside. She doesn’t know whether its morning or afternoon, where they are or if there’s really anything going on behind the panes. It doesn’t matter; she didn’t plan an outside in this situation.
There’s a bed in the room, the sheets are white and twisted, dripping in unidentifiable familiarity and guilt. The rest of the room is made of planks of wood, including the high ceiling. Where ever he looks is wooden planks, slightly illuminated by the window she’s occupying.
She turns to look at him, her face halved, one half light because of the window and the lines of her sadistic smile have no shadows. The other half is dark, everything hidden in the shade of the line of symmetry in her face. He knows that line, he’s seen it before and every time he sees it he hurts.
He wishes she would say something because she always leaves him like this; she watches him fall and smiles like she is right now.
She talks and when she does, horses gallop up and down his spine and he has to listen to echo in the room to hear what she says. He didn’t catch the original, distracted the hoof prints on his vertebrae, and kicks himself for it, but he feeds off the carbon copies anyway.
“Did you enjoy them?” is what she asks, and while she talks she moves again to stare out if the window.
He’s nervous now because he’s trapped like an animal, he’s felt this before, the need to keep her entertained because this is the game they play. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s speechless again and he watches the boredom fill her face. He stutters for a little and she sighs.
He gets angry now, with himself. Angry for loving her, angry for talking, angry for all the time he’s wasted and angry for not being good enough. He shifts to move his anger around. He crosses his legs, rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers through his hair, ready to pull it out. He just wants out of this room, out of this position and if he wasn’t so scared of her he’d walk past her and jump out of the window, even if it killed him, he’d at least be out, be away.
The room is so silent he hears her move. It was so slight but she did. She’s watching him now, he knows it. She moves again and the air in the room moves too. He looks up and she’s in front of him, so close they’re probably breathing eachothers used air. Her legs crossed like his, her dress hanging off one shoulder, showing her chest because she can. It should be awkward but not here because he’s seen her naked so many times.
He’s crouched over looking at her face from the bottom and she’s looking down in him in a position that exudes the obviousness of domination.
“If you could see how pathetic you look. . .” she says and she’s so close he swears he can hear her heart. He looks down on his hands again. His finger nails are short because he bites them. She bites hers too. He would know.
He doesn’t know how to get out of this position but he really wants to. He’s panicking because she’s not moving. This has happened so many times and he knows how this ends, but still he searches for an alternative because there has to be something in a shade of grey or something in between.
He looks up at her again and his back begins to hurt so he sits up so that his face is on the same level as hers, her big brown eyes staying neutral. He’s still nervous about his move, but it’s her turn now.
She smiles.
She smiles a smile that breaks everything inside of him and he’s filled with fear. She looks demonic, and her eyes have narrowed into gleaming pools and he realises that he loves her so much that it makes him sick. He wants to crumble like all the times he has before. But he won’t because the look on her face is becoming redundant. He’s seen it so many times that he actually believes that maybe this time he could hold through it.
She tilts her head, and he feels her curiosity but there isn’t enough of it to remove her smile or change the shape of her eyes and her inclined brow. She lifts her hand and strokes his cheek with the back of her slender fingers.
With each stroke he loses strength, loses a breath. He half-heartedly says goodbye to each one because he knows so well that he won’t be able to get any of them back until she’s finished. He’s so lost in her touch, in her smell, in her proximity that he falls away from any sort of defence he had earlier.
“You started off so well . . .” she whispers in his ear as his head drops into her personal space, nothing behind his dazed eyes.
After running her short-nailed fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead she takes his hand and leads him to the bed.
He won’t be able to do anything until she’s finished with him.
* * *
He wakes up in the bed because that’s where she left him. She sits in the sun she’s made for herself in front of the window. She feels him looking at her. It’s all he ever does. She sighs because she knows that every time she does he panics.
There’s silence for awhile.
“I got some of your letters in the mail.” she laughs a little silently, enough so he couldn’t hear or see a thing.
No, no you didn’t.
There is no more, that story is unfortunantly finished, but maybe in hindsight it would be interesting to look at an expansion