1000 words of...something?
So I was listening to the radio and heard the song "Pain" by Three Days Grace. It inspired...whatever the hell this is. I'm actually proud of this becasue I've never actually written much of anything less than a thousand words. Some friends of mine point out that I can't even pull off a blog at less than 1k. Ah well. I think it's good.
WARNING: Not a fluffy bunny piece. Violence among other things. You have been warned.
Title: The Razor Blade Between Agony and Ecstasy
Author: Belladonna Bones
Rating: M +++
Word Count: 1,000 (Whoot me!)
Inspired by the song "Pain"
NO SUMMARY for you! You must read it. ^_^
Feedback appreciated.
The days and nights had begun to blend together into one endless stream of vague consciousness and nightmare-haunted sleep with nearly no definition between the two except the hunger when she is awake. There are demons in either place.
Sleep fled with the door slamming shut, and she looked up from where she had been sitting to see the reason she should have locked the door. A meal that she had forgotten to eat had gone cold at the table in front of her, a similarly abandoned plate across the table; a pair of beverages had long since gone warm, condensation had glided down the sides of the glasses until they stood in small puddles of their own making.
Demanding what the hell he thinks he’s doing here, why he has even bothered to show up now, she stands from the chair. He responds with a simple explanation that he is here now and offers no further details. She angrily assures him that he still smells like cigarettes and beer, telling him to leave.
There is dirt on his jeans and the stench of beer on his breath; his hair is in disarray and the shirt that was white the morning before now soiled with unknown filth and a smear of crimson near the collar.
He smirks and ignores her, shoving her away from him and rolling his eyes when she only bounces off the wall to come at him again, her ire sending adrenaline coursing through her used shell of a body. He thinks to himself that she is as dangerous as a pissed off porcelain doll, just nowhere as pretty and just as useless. He has the gleeful idea to inform her of his opinion. Had she been an animal her claws would have been extended as she slaps him, throwing the coat he had just laid down over the back of the tattered couch back at him and again demanding his immediate departure.
He smirks and seems content to make himself at home on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, kicking the photo album holding pictures of their once-happy life to the floor with one filthy, alcohol-speckled boot.
She lays into him again, kicking his feet off the table with a bare foot and leaning over him to grab the remote as he is trying to channel surf. He grabs her wrist to stop her movement and she goes to strike him again, calling him a useless bastard as he takes her other arm in his free hand. Grasping her thin arms hard enough to silence her he pulls her down atop him, another smirk darkening his face as she struggles to get away.
He wraps his arms about her after releasing her arms that now bear a faint imprint of his hands. Their embrace on the stained couch is a mockery of affection; she is nearly wild in her agitation as she fights to get away from him, trying to kick out but her legs trapped on either side of his hips. He chuckles when she cries out in pain when he fists a hand in her hair and pulls back to bear her throat to his teeth.
She stills in his embrace when his breath ghosts over her skin, his lips pressed against her throat in an almost tender motion as his other hand goes to the collar of her simple t-shirt. His grip in her hair is white-knuckled, much like hers that are currently leaving half-moon shaped scars on his upper arms.
In one motion he rips the t-shirt at the collar and she begins to struggle again. To keep her still, he sinks his teeth into her skin, pinning her in place with her desire for her skin to remain intact. She whimpers as he adjusts his grip to better enjoy her pain.
She dances on the razor edge of ecstasy and agony as his teeth finds her flesh again and then she is clawing at his clothes, tearing at him.
They tumble to the floor, a grunt of pain from her becoming a moan as her nipple is captured by his mouth. Heat pours off them in violent waves, the battle for domination destroying several objects in their path as they try to make it off the grimy carpet and to her questionably clean bed.
The glasses on the table meet a sudden end against the floor and the pair fell with them. Shards of glass found their skin as they rolled on the floor, struggling to get naked enough to have skin touch. Fabric ripped as she was slammed into the wall, his weight leaning against her as their mouths attacked one another.
They fell into the bed, unaware of the trail of carnage and blood they left in their wake as their combined voices were demanding of more and now and an empty prayer to God as he filled her.
Their heat burned the sheets, smearing them with sweat, blood and moans. Moving faster, fiercer; they shattered together and he collapsed atop her. They both lay gasping for breath, her throat a mangled mess and leaking even more fluid onto cotton candy pink sheets.
He rolls off her, licking her neck again to get a final taste. Naked he goes to the bathroom to get a wad of tissues to throw at her still form. Disappearing for a moment, he returns a moment later already pulling on his jeans. Pulling a small package of white powder from his pocket, he tosses it at her motionless body, watching her chest rise and fall for a moment to make sure she still lived. He reaches into the dirty laundry to pull another shirt, yanking it over his head.
Her fingers curl around her second addiction as her first walks out the door, the usual tears gathering in her eyes.
“See you next week,” he tells her, wiping her blood from his lips as the door shuts behind him.