Wouldn't Let Me Sleep
Not for any of my stories, but this scene kept playing over and over in my head as I lay in bed. Had to purge my troubled mind.
She drank to numb the ache. It wasn't pain. Pain was sharp and fleeting, this ache was a constant presence that wouldn't leave her. She longed for pain.
She danced to lose herself in the pulsing rhythms and beats. She bacame one with the music. Nothing else existed. No drama, no baggage, no troubles, no feeling - just being.
Each song with a different man, sometimes more than one. She danced to feel wanted, to feel human. To feel more. She fed off the heat of their bodies. Their movements gave her energy. Gave her life. She leeched their lust and their life to fuel her own, and she fed with untamed abandon.
She never went home with them, as strong as the temptation was at times. It had become sort of a game at the club. They wanted to see who would be the first to break her. Break her self-imposed rule of "you can look and you can touch, but you can never have it." She encouraged the game, and thrived on the attention. A modern day perversion of Andromeda.
She got home just before the sun came up, exhausted and unsatisfied. Always wanting. She hit "play" on her answering machine. Her mother had called again. She'd been avoiding her calls for months now, wanting to escape and forget about who she really was as much as possible. She quickly hit the "erase" button and undressed.
He hadn't called. It had been months since he had. She hadn't really expected him to, but there was still a tiny sliver of hope that he would. She hurled her shoe at the wall, as if it could squash that sliver like a bug. She threw on an old t-shirt that had been washed so many times it was a miracle it was still intact the fabric was stretched so thin, splashed some cold water on her face, and collapsed on her bed; her mascara smearing on her pillow with her silent tears.
There, I feel a little better. At least now maybe I'll get some sleep. G'night Bob.
She drank to numb the ache. It wasn't pain. Pain was sharp and fleeting, this ache was a constant presence that wouldn't leave her. She longed for pain.
She danced to lose herself in the pulsing rhythms and beats. She bacame one with the music. Nothing else existed. No drama, no baggage, no troubles, no feeling - just being.
Each song with a different man, sometimes more than one. She danced to feel wanted, to feel human. To feel more. She fed off the heat of their bodies. Their movements gave her energy. Gave her life. She leeched their lust and their life to fuel her own, and she fed with untamed abandon.
She never went home with them, as strong as the temptation was at times. It had become sort of a game at the club. They wanted to see who would be the first to break her. Break her self-imposed rule of "you can look and you can touch, but you can never have it." She encouraged the game, and thrived on the attention. A modern day perversion of Andromeda.
She got home just before the sun came up, exhausted and unsatisfied. Always wanting. She hit "play" on her answering machine. Her mother had called again. She'd been avoiding her calls for months now, wanting to escape and forget about who she really was as much as possible. She quickly hit the "erase" button and undressed.
He hadn't called. It had been months since he had. She hadn't really expected him to, but there was still a tiny sliver of hope that he would. She hurled her shoe at the wall, as if it could squash that sliver like a bug. She threw on an old t-shirt that had been washed so many times it was a miracle it was still intact the fabric was stretched so thin, splashed some cold water on her face, and collapsed on her bed; her mascara smearing on her pillow with her silent tears.
There, I feel a little better. At least now maybe I'll get some sleep. G'night Bob.