Brigits Flame Entry - Week 1 December - Lie to Me
So, this is a very, very short story written for the Brigits-Flame community (a weekly/monthly writing contest). The prompt for this story was “Lie to Me” so…here we are. I've been trying to figure out my writing process so it's been an interesting experience, but the way I've written this one seemed to work out really well (well, I hope). My first completed story eva! I'M KIND OF NERVOUS, YOU GUYS.
Title: Gone for Tonight
Author: giinabiina
Rating: R for sexual content, drug use, and one curse word to be exact
Triggers: Heroine use
Genre: Fiction
Word count: 823 words
Our footsteps were the only sounds to be heard as we walked through the dimly lit hallway. It must have been two o’clock in the morning and I was happy to finally be somewhere warm to escape the cold winter night. I followed close behind him, studying the leather jacket he was wearing, trying to soak in every detail as we approached the familiar door. He pushed it open and gestured for me to go in first, with a smile, as always. As I stepped in I quickly glanced around the room I was so familiar with: the dark night cast a blue tint on the room as bright moonlight flowed through the open curtains, creating long shadows from every object. I landed my eyes back at him and could feel my breath nearly get taken away: his face, lit up with a smile that made the moonlight dim in comparison. His eyes glanced down and suddenly I felt his warm hand grasp onto mine, feeling it tenderly just for a moment. He began walking and I willingly followed as he led me toward the bed.
This moment, I kept thinking to myself, is what I wait for every minute, of every day. All of the sadness, the struggles, the seemingly unending despair, will be gone for tonight.
As we sat, he immediately started undoing my jacket for me. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, before realizing that I could not miss any detail of this. These moments with him came so few and far between that I couldn’t let any detail slip past me. I looked up into his dark brown eyes as he intently watched his own hands, obviously trying to be as smooth and efficient as possible. I smiled as he tenderly slipped my jacket off, always handling me with care. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much: because of his carefulness, his genuine tenderness when he touched me. Men treating me like that was such a rarity recently that when someone like him comes along, well, of course I would be drawn to it.
Men treating me like shit was to be expected. I knew the rules: no one could love you until you loved yourself. And, well, I haven’t loved myself in quite a long time - 10 years to the month, to be exact. What made it worse, though, was that it was my own fault. I grew up in a decent home, went to a decent school, had decent friends. Nothing too horrible, nothing too spectacular. But life was never the same after that night; the warm, summer night where I took that first shot of heroin. I remembered everything: the light gray patio we were in, smoking cigarettes and laughing, the “Why not?” thought as she showed me the syringe. Only a few seconds after the plunger was completely pushed down, I felt it: as if I was falling from the sky at 500 miles per hour, the warm, euphoric feeling getting stronger and stronger…
Right as I remembered that feeling, he climbed over me as I laid back, succumbing to his every move. The memory of my first heroin high complimented nicely with the high of that very moment. That very moment, when life was perfect.
I gave in to everything that night, as I always did. The whole night was magical, and to be honest, I expected no less than magic when I was with him. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was about that boy, but he did something to me. He made me feel like I was someone special, someone who deserved to be treated like a queen. My eyes were closed and I imagined the morning after: I’d bring him breakfast in bed as he would tell me about work. I imagined our perfect life together; our modest but comfortable apartment with our up-to-date furniture and our fashionable clothes. We would go to a friend’s party and show each other off. And we would be everything for each other - best friends, lovers, confidants. We would spend late nights sharing all of our secrets with each other as we sat together on the couch. Life would never, ever be sad again because, in the beauty of my reverie, I knew that I would wake up every morning and he would be by my side. And the beautiful imagery of this life ran like a slideshow through my mind through the entire night.
In the morning, we both got dressed again as the night sky softly faded into a cloudy dawn. I tied my boots tightly as he rummaged through his wallet. I finished and walked over to him, where he counted his hundreds for me.
“There you go. The, uh, $500 you usually ask for.”
And that was it. As soon as the payment was made, our night was done, and my beautiful life with him was over. I took the suddenly worthless money from his hands, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Thank you. Have a good day, John.”
And with that, I walked out the door and into the cold morning, into my faded reality once again.
Title: Gone for Tonight
Author: giinabiina
Rating: R for sexual content, drug use, and one curse word to be exact
Triggers: Heroine use
Genre: Fiction
Word count: 823 words
Our footsteps were the only sounds to be heard as we walked through the dimly lit hallway. It must have been two o’clock in the morning and I was happy to finally be somewhere warm to escape the cold winter night. I followed close behind him, studying the leather jacket he was wearing, trying to soak in every detail as we approached the familiar door. He pushed it open and gestured for me to go in first, with a smile, as always. As I stepped in I quickly glanced around the room I was so familiar with: the dark night cast a blue tint on the room as bright moonlight flowed through the open curtains, creating long shadows from every object. I landed my eyes back at him and could feel my breath nearly get taken away: his face, lit up with a smile that made the moonlight dim in comparison. His eyes glanced down and suddenly I felt his warm hand grasp onto mine, feeling it tenderly just for a moment. He began walking and I willingly followed as he led me toward the bed.
This moment, I kept thinking to myself, is what I wait for every minute, of every day. All of the sadness, the struggles, the seemingly unending despair, will be gone for tonight.
As we sat, he immediately started undoing my jacket for me. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, before realizing that I could not miss any detail of this. These moments with him came so few and far between that I couldn’t let any detail slip past me. I looked up into his dark brown eyes as he intently watched his own hands, obviously trying to be as smooth and efficient as possible. I smiled as he tenderly slipped my jacket off, always handling me with care. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much: because of his carefulness, his genuine tenderness when he touched me. Men treating me like that was such a rarity recently that when someone like him comes along, well, of course I would be drawn to it.
Men treating me like shit was to be expected. I knew the rules: no one could love you until you loved yourself. And, well, I haven’t loved myself in quite a long time - 10 years to the month, to be exact. What made it worse, though, was that it was my own fault. I grew up in a decent home, went to a decent school, had decent friends. Nothing too horrible, nothing too spectacular. But life was never the same after that night; the warm, summer night where I took that first shot of heroin. I remembered everything: the light gray patio we were in, smoking cigarettes and laughing, the “Why not?” thought as she showed me the syringe. Only a few seconds after the plunger was completely pushed down, I felt it: as if I was falling from the sky at 500 miles per hour, the warm, euphoric feeling getting stronger and stronger…
Right as I remembered that feeling, he climbed over me as I laid back, succumbing to his every move. The memory of my first heroin high complimented nicely with the high of that very moment. That very moment, when life was perfect.
I gave in to everything that night, as I always did. The whole night was magical, and to be honest, I expected no less than magic when I was with him. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was about that boy, but he did something to me. He made me feel like I was someone special, someone who deserved to be treated like a queen. My eyes were closed and I imagined the morning after: I’d bring him breakfast in bed as he would tell me about work. I imagined our perfect life together; our modest but comfortable apartment with our up-to-date furniture and our fashionable clothes. We would go to a friend’s party and show each other off. And we would be everything for each other - best friends, lovers, confidants. We would spend late nights sharing all of our secrets with each other as we sat together on the couch. Life would never, ever be sad again because, in the beauty of my reverie, I knew that I would wake up every morning and he would be by my side. And the beautiful imagery of this life ran like a slideshow through my mind through the entire night.
In the morning, we both got dressed again as the night sky softly faded into a cloudy dawn. I tied my boots tightly as he rummaged through his wallet. I finished and walked over to him, where he counted his hundreds for me.
“There you go. The, uh, $500 you usually ask for.”
And that was it. As soon as the payment was made, our night was done, and my beautiful life with him was over. I took the suddenly worthless money from his hands, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Thank you. Have a good day, John.”
And with that, I walked out the door and into the cold morning, into my faded reality once again.