Dive into my world of sumptuous color and psychological frailty.
PinkGirl2. The Physiology of Guilt.
"One question," he begins. The venom in his eyes is acidic and threatening. Perspiration collects on my brow, and I know what's coming next. "did you ever feel anything for me? Any kind of adoration or appreciation or anything? Fuck, I'd even settle for resentment. Just something passionate." The iron gaze falters, and his eyes begin to shine. It's around this time that my chest tightens and the regret sets in, filling my insides with frigid fingers and the shame I deserve.
"Listen, you have to understand what I'm going through." I try to force an excuse out of my stupid fucking mouth. Even I can hear how insincere and distant I sound.
Before I can try again, there's a great rippling in my chest, spreading outward from my sternum. I panic and look down. On the surface, nothing appears awry. My breasts are still small and plain. My clearance-rack blouse confesses none of the tumult raging on beneath skin I'm sure should look splotchy and disgusting by now. But I can feel a kind of unrest in my center.
"What? You feel it? The fiery guilt; the divine retribution? You dirty fucking slut.", his voice says, but when I look up, his face is a mask of concern. It's plain that he hasn't said anything at all.
'What the fuck is wrong with me?', my skull says in hushed screams.
Always a doormat, he reaches a hand out to place on the side of my neck. I'd rather have him choke me than afford me these undeserved physical endearments. "We can have this conversation another time. I'm sorry. You don't look so good."
I nod shakily, and you retreat.
A brief head-rush takes me, and I flop onto my bed. Something in me looks at this like returning to the scene of the crime and I laugh at my own private joke. I raise my hand to cover his hand's tingling phantom on my neck.
It feels warm to my touch. It's an odd kind of warm, though. I rub at it, and it stings like raw flesh.
"... the fuck?", I mutter as I stand and walk toward the mirror. I remove my hand from the offensive mark and see the toxic, branching filth spanning the left side of my neck like spider's legs. It's burning me and I feel nauseous and unsteady. It intensifies until it's a pulsing conflagration, burning me from the inside-out.
Before I've fully registered the wild screech tearing from my throat at the blinding agony, he's dashing in to check on me, bracing one hand on the door-frame, as he sprints into the room.
"Oh God, what's wrong!? What happened? I heard you shout from outside!"
'Fuck this white knight,' I cynically reflect in a moment of clarity and remiss. He rushes toward me and places a concerned hand on my ribs. In an instant the pain returns full-force. I scream again and feel bitter liquid secrete into the back of my mouth. The heat is now unbearable. It's like being burned alive, and I'm helpless.
"Listen to me!" he shouts.
"I never have, and I never fucking will!", I shout back, flecking spit onto his faggoty glasses. "Now get the fuck away from me!"
"I'm trying to help you!" He sounds hurt.
I look at him; at the eyes I've learned to despise. "I don't need you. I've never needed you. Get the fuck out of my room." I'm surprised by the seriousness in my tone.
"I can't. Look at you, you're--"
"Yes you can! You're so stupid. Just leave! I hate, you, I swear I do."
"Okay, you seem better, and I'll go. I'll always love you." His words are like someone's hammering railroad spikes into my cochlea. The pain hasn't subsided entirely, and I'm wincing at even intervals when he leans forward and places a single kiss on my forehead.
My eyes widen impossibly, and an excruciating flame of pain rips through me yet again. I tumble onto my back, as inhuman sounds tear my larynx apart. I claw for any kind of purchase in the linens. I'm screeching like some kind of bestial avian. The rippling returns and my chest is heaving exaggeratedly. I feel a searing split and look down to see blood stain the cheap periwinkle poly-blend, before the fabric is torn by the expansion of my rib cage.
There's a sickly crunch, and my eyes slam shut. I feel my skin tearing sloppily and my thoracic cage spring-loading. My breathing is shallow and the shrieking is constant now.
The pain subsides for a split second and I open my eyes to see him smirking at me; a sort-of confidence gleaming in his eyes. He winks one piggish eye, and the stretching continues. My chest tears wide open, spraying blood onto his pale, spotted skin. He laughs and stands slowly.
It's worse than anything I've ever felt in the course of my existence. The agony pulses again and I turn and vomit onto my bedsheets at the sight of my gleaming costal cartilage. The beating of my heart is audible now. It's steadier than I'd imagined; its regularity far more unsettling than the knowledge that my heart is exposed to the stinging air, and the blood spurting intermittently, pouring over my sides and onto the sheets.
The soft, fleshy thumping continues and I watch him leave the room. He turns around upon reaching the door and whispers, "Divine retribution.", before exiting.
The rhythm slows and I hear the door close. Not slam, but close, and my eyes close reluctantly. The last thud is the loudest.
"One question," he begins. The venom in his eyes is acidic and threatening. Perspiration collects on my brow, and I know what's coming next. "did you ever feel anything for me? Any kind of adoration or appreciation or anything? Fuck, I'd even settle for resentment. Just something passionate." The iron gaze falters, and his eyes begin to shine. It's around this time that my chest tightens and the regret sets in, filling my insides with frigid fingers and the shame I deserve.
"Listen, you have to understand what I'm going through." I try to force an excuse out of my stupid fucking mouth. Even I can hear how insincere and distant I sound.
Before I can try again, there's a great rippling in my chest, spreading outward from my sternum. I panic and look down. On the surface, nothing appears awry. My breasts are still small and plain. My clearance-rack blouse confesses none of the tumult raging on beneath skin I'm sure should look splotchy and disgusting by now. But I can feel a kind of unrest in my center.
"What? You feel it? The fiery guilt; the divine retribution? You dirty fucking slut.", his voice says, but when I look up, his face is a mask of concern. It's plain that he hasn't said anything at all.
'What the fuck is wrong with me?', my skull says in hushed screams.
Always a doormat, he reaches a hand out to place on the side of my neck. I'd rather have him choke me than afford me these undeserved physical endearments. "We can have this conversation another time. I'm sorry. You don't look so good."
I nod shakily, and you retreat.
A brief head-rush takes me, and I flop onto my bed. Something in me looks at this like returning to the scene of the crime and I laugh at my own private joke. I raise my hand to cover his hand's tingling phantom on my neck.
It feels warm to my touch. It's an odd kind of warm, though. I rub at it, and it stings like raw flesh.
"... the fuck?", I mutter as I stand and walk toward the mirror. I remove my hand from the offensive mark and see the toxic, branching filth spanning the left side of my neck like spider's legs. It's burning me and I feel nauseous and unsteady. It intensifies until it's a pulsing conflagration, burning me from the inside-out.
Before I've fully registered the wild screech tearing from my throat at the blinding agony, he's dashing in to check on me, bracing one hand on the door-frame, as he sprints into the room.
"Oh God, what's wrong!? What happened? I heard you shout from outside!"
'Fuck this white knight,' I cynically reflect in a moment of clarity and remiss. He rushes toward me and places a concerned hand on my ribs. In an instant the pain returns full-force. I scream again and feel bitter liquid secrete into the back of my mouth. The heat is now unbearable. It's like being burned alive, and I'm helpless.
"Listen to me!" he shouts.
"I never have, and I never fucking will!", I shout back, flecking spit onto his faggoty glasses. "Now get the fuck away from me!"
"I'm trying to help you!" He sounds hurt.
I look at him; at the eyes I've learned to despise. "I don't need you. I've never needed you. Get the fuck out of my room." I'm surprised by the seriousness in my tone.
"I can't. Look at you, you're--"
"Yes you can! You're so stupid. Just leave! I hate, you, I swear I do."
"Okay, you seem better, and I'll go. I'll always love you." His words are like someone's hammering railroad spikes into my cochlea. The pain hasn't subsided entirely, and I'm wincing at even intervals when he leans forward and places a single kiss on my forehead.
My eyes widen impossibly, and an excruciating flame of pain rips through me yet again. I tumble onto my back, as inhuman sounds tear my larynx apart. I claw for any kind of purchase in the linens. I'm screeching like some kind of bestial avian. The rippling returns and my chest is heaving exaggeratedly. I feel a searing split and look down to see blood stain the cheap periwinkle poly-blend, before the fabric is torn by the expansion of my rib cage.
There's a sickly crunch, and my eyes slam shut. I feel my skin tearing sloppily and my thoracic cage spring-loading. My breathing is shallow and the shrieking is constant now.
The pain subsides for a split second and I open my eyes to see him smirking at me; a sort-of confidence gleaming in his eyes. He winks one piggish eye, and the stretching continues. My chest tears wide open, spraying blood onto his pale, spotted skin. He laughs and stands slowly.
It's worse than anything I've ever felt in the course of my existence. The agony pulses again and I turn and vomit onto my bedsheets at the sight of my gleaming costal cartilage. The beating of my heart is audible now. It's steadier than I'd imagined; its regularity far more unsettling than the knowledge that my heart is exposed to the stinging air, and the blood spurting intermittently, pouring over my sides and onto the sheets.
The soft, fleshy thumping continues and I watch him leave the room. He turns around upon reaching the door and whispers, "Divine retribution.", before exiting.
The rhythm slows and I hear the door close. Not slam, but close, and my eyes close reluctantly. The last thud is the loudest.