Selfish and Unkind
1/1.
His eyes bore into her soul. Those eyes that were as black as the midnight sky and would put a raven's inky feather's to shame. They were so intense that one, when they looked at him, was unable to tell the pupil from the morbidly colored iris. They were demented and she hated it when he looked at her that way. Stared at her so intently he could see through her.
Not saying a word, he inhaled sharply through his nose and reached out to caress the bruises that dusted her collarbone and neck. She stiffened under his clammy touch, though his hands were colder than a cadaver's they were often covered in a sheen of sweat making for an unpleasant texture on her bruised skin. "Why do we do this?" she questioned, motioning to the bruises that also covered his strong arms.
As he moved his hands down her neck, the veins under his skin mapped out, showing a path of destruction, poor circulation, and too much time spent with a band tied around his bicep. He didn't speak much; he was more of the "strong and silent" type, asserting himself through those demented eyes. "'Cause there's nothing else to do and it entertains me," he finally said, shrugging his shoulders. His voice barely came out over a whisper and was a rasp like his throat was dry.
"You're so -" she started, but he was still staring at her with those big black eyes. His eyelashes were so long and equally black that if she didn't know any better, she would have thought he was wearing mascara. Fear suddenly raked up her spine when his eyes sharpened and grew more intense compared to the flat, glazed over look they'd had just a moment ago.
He suddenly wrapped his long, slender fingers around her neck in a threatening manner. "Yes, I know, I'm selfish, I'm unkind," he rasped, narrowing his eyes.
With that, he stood and towered over her, throwing her one last hateful glare that stabbed into her more than any of his looks ever had. Then, he turned his back on her and left her by herself.
He turned one last time to look at her, this time her back was to him. He tilted his head to the left, smirking and realized that this was just another love abused, nothing was here and what was here was his. He was broken, she was only bent, and it was time he found someone else to, as he he always did, bruise and leave behind.
Not saying a word, he inhaled sharply through his nose and reached out to caress the bruises that dusted her collarbone and neck. She stiffened under his clammy touch, though his hands were colder than a cadaver's they were often covered in a sheen of sweat making for an unpleasant texture on her bruised skin. "Why do we do this?" she questioned, motioning to the bruises that also covered his strong arms.
As he moved his hands down her neck, the veins under his skin mapped out, showing a path of destruction, poor circulation, and too much time spent with a band tied around his bicep. He didn't speak much; he was more of the "strong and silent" type, asserting himself through those demented eyes. "'Cause there's nothing else to do and it entertains me," he finally said, shrugging his shoulders. His voice barely came out over a whisper and was a rasp like his throat was dry.
"You're so -" she started, but he was still staring at her with those big black eyes. His eyelashes were so long and equally black that if she didn't know any better, she would have thought he was wearing mascara. Fear suddenly raked up her spine when his eyes sharpened and grew more intense compared to the flat, glazed over look they'd had just a moment ago.
He suddenly wrapped his long, slender fingers around her neck in a threatening manner. "Yes, I know, I'm selfish, I'm unkind," he rasped, narrowing his eyes.
With that, he stood and towered over her, throwing her one last hateful glare that stabbed into her more than any of his looks ever had. Then, he turned his back on her and left her by herself.
He turned one last time to look at her, this time her back was to him. He tilted his head to the left, smirking and realized that this was just another love abused, nothing was here and what was here was his. He was broken, she was only bent, and it was time he found someone else to, as he he always did, bruise and leave behind.
♠ ♠ ♠
Repost of something I wrote quite awhile ago. Probably still one of my favorite things that I've written.