Malex Backlog : Fanfiction : "Trust dies first" NC-17
Date originally Posted: August 26th 2006
Title: Trust dies first
Author: Amie aka Smutty_Puppy
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my sometimes twisted and always perverted imagination. And a whole lot of CD's that are my inspiration.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sex, mention of rape, profanity, death, violence (the usual you can expect from me really
)
Summary: Someone goes a little psychotic, and let's you all take a look into their mind. The character's are, well, they can be whoever you want them to be.When I wrote it, I had Alex in mind as the storyteller, but it could also be Summer because of the hint at a rage blackout. Make them who you will. Ah and by the way, it's written in a broken manner. I'm not illiterate (I hope), I just felt it added to the unstable manner of the character.
Trust dies first
I remember it like the back of my hand,
Which actually I don’t remember well at all.
I know there’s a scar there somewhere.
How the fuck does someone memorize the look and feel of their own skin?
They must have a lot of time and barely enough of a social life.
Anyways I’m getting sidetracked by stupidity.
That happens a lot.
I get distracted easy.
I just have many questions about menial things that happen in this world.
See I’m doing it again.
Anyways, unlike the back of my hand, I remember the details of that night perfectly clear.
As clear as the freshly washed glass of windows,
Which are never actually that clean.
There’s always those smudgy parts.
Kind of how my life is actually, even when it’s at it’s clearest,
There’s always those small smudges I come across to fuck it up.
She was one of them.
I’m getting ahead of myself now.
Back to that night.
The air was moist, it had just stopped raining.
I remember that part because I’d just spent a fucking hour and a half walking home in it!
Just because someone, who was supposed to pick me up, decided to switch their phone off.
Anyways, bypassing the anger now, because that’s another thing that causes me to go off-track.
So I finally got home.
I’d been working that day, she knew that I hated my job
All I wanted was to come home to some comfort.
To lay in her arms, for her to tell me she loved me, that I was beautiful even though I know I’m not.
She was good like that, of convincing you things that weren’t real.
If you’re delusional like me, well you stood no chance against her charms.
I remember, I climbed the stairs slowly,
I wanted to be quiet, I wanted to surprise her.
Who knew I’d be the one getting the surprise of my life?
It was our five year anniversary.
Five years to the day that she’d put up with my bitching, my abuse, both verbal and physical.
And now I wanted to show her how much I appreciated her standing by me.
I fingered the box carefully, it felt tiny surrounded by my agitated palms.
Slowly I made my way to the door where I suspected she’d be sleeping behind.
It was late after all.
A small smile graced my lips, something that only happened with her in my mind.
I took a deep breath, rearranged the roses slightly, and checked the box in my hand one more time.
This was it.
The moment that I, and hopefully she had been waiting for.
Time seemed to slow down as I pushed open the heavy piece of oak.
Stepping forward, my mouth opened to form a cheerful greeting.
I froze, the flowers dropping limply from my grasp to the ground.
I guess it signified the crash and burn of my heart well.
My eyes widened, the crush of the roses beneath my foot being the only thing I heard as I entered fully into the darkened room.
There on the bed, she lay tied by the wrists.
Naked and glorious, that’s how she’d always seemed to me.
But now she looked like a dirty whore.
Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth hanging open slightly.
I let my gaze travel lower, until my narrowing eyes met the back of his head.
I remember cropped blonde hair, I can still picture the way her nails dug into the back of his head as he fucked her.
As he lay at the foot of the bed, his head buried between her widely spread legs.
His tongue undoubtedly lapping at her centre in a way that could never satisfy her.
Not like I could.
As I said, anger sidetracks me.
So I don’t remember what happened next.
I just recall flexing my arms, balling my fists and making my way towards them.
Her eyes widened in realisation of me being there.
And then I was on top of her,
I don’t remember how I got there.
I was alternating between punching and fucking her.
But I do remember that I cried the whole time.
She reached her orgasm fast, even though she was begging me to stop the whole time.
Slut.
When I had finished I pulled up my pants and noticed, for the first time the slumped body of my brother lying haphazardly on the ground besides the bed.
She was a liability.
At least she was until I put a couple of holes in her head.
Why didn’t I ever get told that dear old brother of mine was a pig cop?
You wouldn’t think she’d be that heavy to move with how thin she was.
Anorexic whore.
Maybe that’s why I don’t remember what the back of my hand looks like.
It’s difficult to memorise such contours when all you see are blood stains.
THE END
Title: Trust dies first
Author: Amie aka Smutty_Puppy
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my sometimes twisted and always perverted imagination. And a whole lot of CD's that are my inspiration.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sex, mention of rape, profanity, death, violence (the usual you can expect from me really
)
Summary: Someone goes a little psychotic, and let's you all take a look into their mind. The character's are, well, they can be whoever you want them to be.When I wrote it, I had Alex in mind as the storyteller, but it could also be Summer because of the hint at a rage blackout. Make them who you will. Ah and by the way, it's written in a broken manner. I'm not illiterate (I hope), I just felt it added to the unstable manner of the character.
Trust dies first
I remember it like the back of my hand,
Which actually I don’t remember well at all.
I know there’s a scar there somewhere.
How the fuck does someone memorize the look and feel of their own skin?
They must have a lot of time and barely enough of a social life.
Anyways I’m getting sidetracked by stupidity.
That happens a lot.
I get distracted easy.
I just have many questions about menial things that happen in this world.
See I’m doing it again.
Anyways, unlike the back of my hand, I remember the details of that night perfectly clear.
As clear as the freshly washed glass of windows,
Which are never actually that clean.
There’s always those smudgy parts.
Kind of how my life is actually, even when it’s at it’s clearest,
There’s always those small smudges I come across to fuck it up.
She was one of them.
I’m getting ahead of myself now.
Back to that night.
The air was moist, it had just stopped raining.
I remember that part because I’d just spent a fucking hour and a half walking home in it!
Just because someone, who was supposed to pick me up, decided to switch their phone off.
Anyways, bypassing the anger now, because that’s another thing that causes me to go off-track.
So I finally got home.
I’d been working that day, she knew that I hated my job
All I wanted was to come home to some comfort.
To lay in her arms, for her to tell me she loved me, that I was beautiful even though I know I’m not.
She was good like that, of convincing you things that weren’t real.
If you’re delusional like me, well you stood no chance against her charms.
I remember, I climbed the stairs slowly,
I wanted to be quiet, I wanted to surprise her.
Who knew I’d be the one getting the surprise of my life?
It was our five year anniversary.
Five years to the day that she’d put up with my bitching, my abuse, both verbal and physical.
And now I wanted to show her how much I appreciated her standing by me.
I fingered the box carefully, it felt tiny surrounded by my agitated palms.
Slowly I made my way to the door where I suspected she’d be sleeping behind.
It was late after all.
A small smile graced my lips, something that only happened with her in my mind.
I took a deep breath, rearranged the roses slightly, and checked the box in my hand one more time.
This was it.
The moment that I, and hopefully she had been waiting for.
Time seemed to slow down as I pushed open the heavy piece of oak.
Stepping forward, my mouth opened to form a cheerful greeting.
I froze, the flowers dropping limply from my grasp to the ground.
I guess it signified the crash and burn of my heart well.
My eyes widened, the crush of the roses beneath my foot being the only thing I heard as I entered fully into the darkened room.
There on the bed, she lay tied by the wrists.
Naked and glorious, that’s how she’d always seemed to me.
But now she looked like a dirty whore.
Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth hanging open slightly.
I let my gaze travel lower, until my narrowing eyes met the back of his head.
I remember cropped blonde hair, I can still picture the way her nails dug into the back of his head as he fucked her.
As he lay at the foot of the bed, his head buried between her widely spread legs.
His tongue undoubtedly lapping at her centre in a way that could never satisfy her.
Not like I could.
As I said, anger sidetracks me.
So I don’t remember what happened next.
I just recall flexing my arms, balling my fists and making my way towards them.
Her eyes widened in realisation of me being there.
And then I was on top of her,
I don’t remember how I got there.
I was alternating between punching and fucking her.
But I do remember that I cried the whole time.
She reached her orgasm fast, even though she was begging me to stop the whole time.
Slut.
When I had finished I pulled up my pants and noticed, for the first time the slumped body of my brother lying haphazardly on the ground besides the bed.
She was a liability.
At least she was until I put a couple of holes in her head.
Why didn’t I ever get told that dear old brother of mine was a pig cop?
You wouldn’t think she’d be that heavy to move with how thin she was.
Anorexic whore.
Maybe that’s why I don’t remember what the back of my hand looks like.
It’s difficult to memorise such contours when all you see are blood stains.
THE END