|
Addiction By: Amphitrite (papervanity@gmail.com) Rated: PG Summary: She can’t stay away. “Tell me what you want.” Cold fingers
trail down the side of her cheek, leaving tingling paths. She shivers. “I want to go home.” She receives a resounding slap on the
cheek. She winces and bites her lip. She can taste the blood in her mouth.
She opens her mouth and lets herself be kissed. She can feel hot breath on
her lips. “Anything but that, dear. Anything in the
world.” “I want Michael.” The flicker of jealousy in those obsidian
eyes disappears after a second. She is kissed again. That mouth trails down
her neck; whispers in a malicious voice ghost over her skin. “Consider the deed done, my dear.” * “Is he to your satisfaction, lovely?” Her eyes rove over his beaten figure and
she swallows hard. What was she thinking, letting this maniac kidnap him? He
opens his eyes and meets hers. She gasps at the lack of life in his eyes. He
has been broken as well. She wishes she were brave enough to take him and
run, fighting her captor all the way. She shakes her head. What is she
thinking? She has already begun to become brainwashed. She will never escape. In a brief flash of foolishness, she
wonders if he is cold, alone in that dank cell.
She nods obediently.
“You’re pretty to look at, that’s all,”
she breathed, tentatively running a finger down his cheek. “You are nothing
to me.” Her voice shook at the obvious lie and he flinched, but refused to
lose eye contact. It weakened her, he knew, to see his eyes fixed on hers.
She cupped his face and drew him closer, staring at him as if he would
disintegrate any moment. He fought the urge to back away— Light footsteps echoed in the background
and a shrill voice called her name. She instantly dropped her hand in the
manner of a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar and
straightened up, smoothing back her hair. “Yes, dearest?” she answered, and she
started towards the exit. Then she topped and looked back over her shoulder
for one brief second. “I won’t be back,” she whispered, sounding so weak and
fragile that he almost felt sorry for her. She stumbled and he lay down in his cell,
waiting for her next appearance. * Two weeks later, she was back. Without a
single word, she slumped inelegantly down next to him and with cold precision
and complete lack of emotion, he wrapped his arm
around her and pulled her close. She lost her practiced stature and avoided
his eyes. “I’m so tired,” she murmured into his
dirty black shirt. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. “I want to go home.” He stroked her side gently without any
emotion on his face. After a moment, he replied. “Your home is here now, with Amelia.” He
didn’t say what they were both thinking. And so is mine,
and it will remain so until we die. There was a silence, creeping
stealthily into the tiny room and swallowing them whole. His words hung
tauntingly in the air. She inhaled deeply, gripping his hand so hard it
almost hurt. He didn’t wince. “No,” she whispered to his shoulder, “my
only home is with you.” His shoulder felt damp but he did not mention it.
“Always you,” she choked. “Only you.” He squeezed her hand back and pulled her
even closer. The only noticeable expression of any feeling on his face was
the sad, pitying look in his eyes as he watched her silently cry. Neither of them spoke for a long time. |