A Girl Who
How Late?
Late is better than never. The phrase drifted through Bree’s mind like cigarette smoke in a park late at night. She chewed the skin off her top lip and clenched her eyes shut. Late. Late.
Late.
Too late.
Who is anyone to say what is late? Five minutes, five years, five decades? Bree had been told, she had been told how hard it would be, but she was sucked in now. She couldn’t stop.
And it wasn’t drugs. It wasn’t alcohol. It was the need for something, though. The hunger and desire for something so wrong, it just felt good doing it. Every human desires something.
Warmth, love, money, happiness, drugs, alcohol, health, a white picket fence, children, polygamy, monogamy, sex, religion, and tons of other fucked up things.
Growing up, Bree thought that all she desired, all she had wanted out of life would be a family. A loving husband, two kids, a boy and a girl. Nice house. Nice car.
This is not what she wanted. This was never what she had wanted. However, somehow, she had gotten into this mess. And this mess was Taelyr.
It was inviting, it was new, it was passionate. It was something that Bree had never felt before, it was so fucking wrong, so wrong to Bree that it felt good just because it was wrong.
Feeling Taelyr’s mouth on her neck, collarbone, her cheek, sucking on her nipples, biting at her thighs, slipping a wet tongue between her legs. Thinking about it just made Bree start shaking.
Taelyr’s fingers inside of her, Taelyr’s moaning, the way Taelyr looked naked.
The way that Taelyr was a girl.
This mess was indeed a mess. Bree with two parents who were very religious, lived solely for God and hardly for themselves, much less for Bree, they did not have any tolerance for the type of behavior Bree was engaging herself with. Which would have been fine; if she didn’t feel so good while doing it.
If she didn’t shake every time Taelyr’s hands were on her thighs, her mouth between her legs, if she didn’t cry out in overwhelming amounts of desire, while clutching a handful of Taelyr’s hair and covering her mouth with the other. If she didn’t leave Taelyr’s house trembling and wet, this would be a different story.
However, it’s not. This is the story of Bree, a girl so confused by her own actions, she didn’t know which way was up or down.
A girl so beautiful, so intriguing, a girl that Taelyr just couldn’t stay away from. A girl who had been warned about Taelyr’s intentions, a girl that was too accepting for her own good.
A girl who stood on a bridge a hundred feet above water, tears streaming down her face and a cellphone buzzing incessantly in her pocket.
A girl who wiped her mouth with a dirty sleeve and took her shoes off.
A girl who sat on the edge of the bridge, her feet dangling.
A girl who used her arms to lift herself higher.
A girl who quietly went into the water.
A girl who couldn’t live anymore.
A girl who gave chances.
But couldn’t give
Herself a
Single
One.
Late.
Too late.
Who is anyone to say what is late? Five minutes, five years, five decades? Bree had been told, she had been told how hard it would be, but she was sucked in now. She couldn’t stop.
And it wasn’t drugs. It wasn’t alcohol. It was the need for something, though. The hunger and desire for something so wrong, it just felt good doing it. Every human desires something.
Warmth, love, money, happiness, drugs, alcohol, health, a white picket fence, children, polygamy, monogamy, sex, religion, and tons of other fucked up things.
Growing up, Bree thought that all she desired, all she had wanted out of life would be a family. A loving husband, two kids, a boy and a girl. Nice house. Nice car.
This is not what she wanted. This was never what she had wanted. However, somehow, she had gotten into this mess. And this mess was Taelyr.
It was inviting, it was new, it was passionate. It was something that Bree had never felt before, it was so fucking wrong, so wrong to Bree that it felt good just because it was wrong.
Feeling Taelyr’s mouth on her neck, collarbone, her cheek, sucking on her nipples, biting at her thighs, slipping a wet tongue between her legs. Thinking about it just made Bree start shaking.
Taelyr’s fingers inside of her, Taelyr’s moaning, the way Taelyr looked naked.
The way that Taelyr was a girl.
This mess was indeed a mess. Bree with two parents who were very religious, lived solely for God and hardly for themselves, much less for Bree, they did not have any tolerance for the type of behavior Bree was engaging herself with. Which would have been fine; if she didn’t feel so good while doing it.
If she didn’t shake every time Taelyr’s hands were on her thighs, her mouth between her legs, if she didn’t cry out in overwhelming amounts of desire, while clutching a handful of Taelyr’s hair and covering her mouth with the other. If she didn’t leave Taelyr’s house trembling and wet, this would be a different story.
However, it’s not. This is the story of Bree, a girl so confused by her own actions, she didn’t know which way was up or down.
A girl so beautiful, so intriguing, a girl that Taelyr just couldn’t stay away from. A girl who had been warned about Taelyr’s intentions, a girl that was too accepting for her own good.
A girl who stood on a bridge a hundred feet above water, tears streaming down her face and a cellphone buzzing incessantly in her pocket.
A girl who wiped her mouth with a dirty sleeve and took her shoes off.
A girl who sat on the edge of the bridge, her feet dangling.
A girl who used her arms to lift herself higher.
A girl who quietly went into the water.
A girl who couldn’t live anymore.
A girl who gave chances.
But couldn’t give
Herself a
Single
One.
♠ ♠ ♠
</3 time for a sentence