Status: Active
Blighted Soul
Chapter 2
My whole body was on fire. There was an ache within me that needed to be taken care of. In the packed room, my eyes landed on him. He was tall and well-muscled. His skin was pale but not in a sickly way. His hair was darker than night itself and the way it contrasted against his skin was otherworldly. And there were hints of tattoos peeking above the neckline of his shirt. I wanted him.
Noticing my gaze, he sent me a sultry smile. I returned the gesture but, with how drunk I was, it was probably more of a lopsided grin. I made my way over to him, drink in hand. He smiled as I neared him, sliding through sweaty bodies.
“Well, hello there—” he began to speak seductively when I slammed my lips against his. My free hand knotted in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands wandered beneath my shirt, rubbing circles into my hips. Our bodies were pressed so closely together, I could feel the beginnings of a hard on in his pants.
We somehow found our way to a bedroom upstairs. We were tearing at each other’s clothes, grappling for flesh, and sucking tender skin, when I began to notice: he was hurting me. His nails dug a little too deep. His teeth sunk in just a little too much. I was as passionate as the next guy when it came to sex, but I was sure I would be bruised badly in the morning at the rate he was going. I was about to tell him just that when he raked his nails down my chest, deep enough to draw blood.
“Shit,” I hissed. My hands grabbed at his wrists to prevent him from doing any more damage. “Do you think you could be a little more gentle?”
“Shut up,” he grumbled. He began working at my pants. My eyes widened in disbelief. He planned to force me to have sex with him. Even without being drunk I was no match for him. But that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t try to stop him.
“Wait,” I said, my voice growing shaky. “I don’t want to do this anymore…”
“I said shut up!” He growled, and then, faster than my mind could process, he punched me right across the face. My cheek throbbed. I tasted blood. Did I really hear a crack? As soon as the surprise wore off, I did the one thing I thought my pride would never let me do:
I called for help. Of course, this only made him angrier. His hands grappled for something to smother me with. I was just beginning to think that there was no use when I heard a voice through the door. “Hey, is someone in here?”
“Yes!” I screamed. “Hurry!”
Before the door even opened, he dismounted me and grabbed at his discarded shirt. As soon as the door opened, he hastily brushed past the person standing in the doorway. This person peered after my almost-rapist curiously before looking at me. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair with a shaky sigh.
“Hey, are you okay?” He asked. He flipped on the light, allowing me to get a better look at him. He was average height, with blonde curly hair. Even from ten feet away on the bed I could tell that his eyes were a brilliant green.
“I’m fine,” I said quietly. I pulled my shirt on and got up to leave. When he didn’t remove himself from the doorway, I looked up at him.
“Did he just…?”
“Yeah,” I said as if it really wasn’t a big deal, although my hands were secretly shaking, “You just saved what little of my innocence I have left.”
He still didn’t move. “Do you want to talk about it…?”
“Not really,” I said sharply. I really didn’t have time for his sympathy. “I appreciate you walking in and everything but, despite what you may think, I am not fragile. And I sure as hell am not weak.”
I could only imagine what I must look like; all five feet two inches, and 90 pounds of me standing up against him, telling him that I’m not ‘fragile’. Since the day I was born—premature, might I add—people have treated me as if I’d break if you even spoke too loud around me. That was before I started with the drugs, anyway. He raised his hands in surrender. “Never said you were. Just wanted to help.”
“Well, you’ve helped plenty,” I said in that same stony voice. And then I muttered begrudgingly, “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he murmured, and then at last, he stepped out of the way. I went straight home and never once looked back.
Noticing my gaze, he sent me a sultry smile. I returned the gesture but, with how drunk I was, it was probably more of a lopsided grin. I made my way over to him, drink in hand. He smiled as I neared him, sliding through sweaty bodies.
“Well, hello there—” he began to speak seductively when I slammed my lips against his. My free hand knotted in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands wandered beneath my shirt, rubbing circles into my hips. Our bodies were pressed so closely together, I could feel the beginnings of a hard on in his pants.
We somehow found our way to a bedroom upstairs. We were tearing at each other’s clothes, grappling for flesh, and sucking tender skin, when I began to notice: he was hurting me. His nails dug a little too deep. His teeth sunk in just a little too much. I was as passionate as the next guy when it came to sex, but I was sure I would be bruised badly in the morning at the rate he was going. I was about to tell him just that when he raked his nails down my chest, deep enough to draw blood.
“Shit,” I hissed. My hands grabbed at his wrists to prevent him from doing any more damage. “Do you think you could be a little more gentle?”
“Shut up,” he grumbled. He began working at my pants. My eyes widened in disbelief. He planned to force me to have sex with him. Even without being drunk I was no match for him. But that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t try to stop him.
“Wait,” I said, my voice growing shaky. “I don’t want to do this anymore…”
“I said shut up!” He growled, and then, faster than my mind could process, he punched me right across the face. My cheek throbbed. I tasted blood. Did I really hear a crack? As soon as the surprise wore off, I did the one thing I thought my pride would never let me do:
I called for help. Of course, this only made him angrier. His hands grappled for something to smother me with. I was just beginning to think that there was no use when I heard a voice through the door. “Hey, is someone in here?”
“Yes!” I screamed. “Hurry!”
Before the door even opened, he dismounted me and grabbed at his discarded shirt. As soon as the door opened, he hastily brushed past the person standing in the doorway. This person peered after my almost-rapist curiously before looking at me. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair with a shaky sigh.
“Hey, are you okay?” He asked. He flipped on the light, allowing me to get a better look at him. He was average height, with blonde curly hair. Even from ten feet away on the bed I could tell that his eyes were a brilliant green.
“I’m fine,” I said quietly. I pulled my shirt on and got up to leave. When he didn’t remove himself from the doorway, I looked up at him.
“Did he just…?”
“Yeah,” I said as if it really wasn’t a big deal, although my hands were secretly shaking, “You just saved what little of my innocence I have left.”
He still didn’t move. “Do you want to talk about it…?”
“Not really,” I said sharply. I really didn’t have time for his sympathy. “I appreciate you walking in and everything but, despite what you may think, I am not fragile. And I sure as hell am not weak.”
I could only imagine what I must look like; all five feet two inches, and 90 pounds of me standing up against him, telling him that I’m not ‘fragile’. Since the day I was born—premature, might I add—people have treated me as if I’d break if you even spoke too loud around me. That was before I started with the drugs, anyway. He raised his hands in surrender. “Never said you were. Just wanted to help.”
“Well, you’ve helped plenty,” I said in that same stony voice. And then I muttered begrudgingly, “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he murmured, and then at last, he stepped out of the way. I went straight home and never once looked back.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thank you taste my dream for the comment. (: