A one shot I literally writ in less than half an hour. It was inspired from all the talk recently that books like Twilight and Fifty Shades have underlying themes running through them.
The question I asked myself while writing this constantly was. What if Edward had been the bad guy?
Hope you enjoy.
Her eyes burn, her cheeks hurt and her teeth ache. Pain eats at her, as she curls up into a ball in the corner of her room, engulfed by her sorrow.
She tries not to cry, but the burning sensation in her eyes proves too difficult as she blinks and the tears fall. They do nothing but wet her cheeks and remind her of how weak she is. They don't take away her fear, they don't give her a sense of relief.
They do nothing.
But she won't stop crying, not now, not until she's all out of tears. It's out of her control. Just like everything else in her life.
When had life become a chore? When had life become so unbearable she dreaded the next sunrise?
She had had expectations, a plan, a dream. She had wanted it all, the education, the career, the marriage, the kids. But the idea of love had been too enticing for her, the idea of him had been too enticing.
She couldn't deny him anything. If he asked her to follow him off a cliff, she would've been the first to step off the edge, hoping he followed her.
They met when she was fifteen, she thought she was the luckiest girl alive, barely in her teens and already she had met the love of her life. He'd given her everything she wanted. Love, affection, a reason.
This was what they wrote about in books. This was the love they protrayed in movies. This was what inspired lyrics, poems, sonnets. She had that love.
It was hers and she refused to let it go.
It's mad, it's unhealthy, it's dangerous, they shouted. Everyone had warned her against him. All of them seeing something she was blind to.
It was jealousy he had said.
'They're jealous of our love. Our connection.'
They didn't know, they didn't know what it felt like to be so involved with someone, you thought your whole existence was merely for them. That you were put on this earth, just so you could be with them. To ease their pain, to ease their heart.
Was that really what life was about? Were you given breath just to experience love and then have it dwindle into something inexplainable?
Were you alive just to endure pain, sorrow and tears? Were those feelings really worth it when you compared them to happiness, joy and laughter?
Her nostrils fill with the vile stench of alcohol, vomit and weed as he makes his way towards her. She doesn't bother looking up from the floor, maybe if she stays still he'd forget she's sitting there.
Maybe then she'd be saved from him.
He picks her up from the shoulders, his fingers digging into her, bruising her already bruised skin. She flinches at the pain, still not used to it even after all this time.
She doesn't bother screaming for him to stop, or pushing him away.
It's hopeless.
She's thrown onto the bed and the broken springs from the mattress scratch her back, bloodying her.
His body is on top of hers now, closing her in. All she sees is him. She tries to remember the times she craved his loving touch, wanting to see only him as he surrounded her but she comes up empty.
Those memories were fading, replaced by the horror she had to encounter now.
He undoes the buckle on his belt, the noise all too familiar to her. She holds her breath, hoping for some sort of miracle even though she knows no-one would come to help her. She is a mere spot in the world cared for by no-one. Loved by no-one. Her existence is for him only.
It's him and her forever, they had taken vows, made promises.
She isn't going to turn her back on him. Not when he needs her the most, she would get him through this. Hope for him is the only thing that kept her going.
Where she isn't worthy of being saved, he is. He's worth so much, more than even he knows.
He grabs her legs and pulls her closer towards him. He has trouble entering her because of how dry and sore she is but somehow he makes it work. He always does.
She wants to scream at how bad it hurts, the pain bordering on unbearable. But she bites down on her tongue till she tastes blood. Once again harming herself just to please him.
He grunts and moans as he pulls back and enters her again. The need to puke overwhelms her but she swallows the bile everytime it rises.
She closes her eyes and tries to pretend that this is all out of love. She remembers the first time he had made love to her, he was sweet, soft and slow. He was perfect.
He was everything she had wanted and more. He had been the dangerous bad boy who had chosen little old her out of everyone. He had made her feel special, wanted, he had made her feel alive.
He loves her, she knows he does, otherwise he would've thrown her out into the street already. So if he is capable of love, he is capable of being saved.
The man she had lost her virginity to, the man she had her first kiss with, the man she had married, is still in there, and she's going to get him back.
Where no-one had fought for her, she would fight for him.
Until her last breath.