Note: My first SOR fic so be nice. Yes, it's angsty. Yes, it's Freddy/Summer. Yes, they are old and it has almost nothing to do with the origional story at all. Haha, I abuse characters. These could be my own, I guess. But anyway. Read if you don't mind abuse and eventual death.
Disclaimer: Woo hoo, not mine. Pretty Girl is a song by Sugarcult. YAYAYAYA don't sue.
Pretty
Pretty girl is suffering while he confesses everything.
Pretty soon she'll figure out what his intentions were about.
And that's what you get for falling again;
You can never get him out of your head.
And that's what you get for falling again;
You can never get him out of your head.
She was pretty. Pretty with brown red hair. Pretty with deep, dark eyes. Pretty with long, thin legs and a shapely waist. Pretty with golden skin and deep pink nails. Pretty with bags under her eyes and bruises on her wrists.
Pretty.
He sighed, leaned back on his chair and watched her move; watched her hips sway under her oh-so-short school skirt. It was the first day she'd been back in weeks. But she smiled always, telling tales of falling down the stairs: Tripping over her little cousin's roller-skates.
But she's not your cousin: She's your daughter. And you didn't trip; you were pushed he thought glumly, watching her laugh animatedly with Zach, touching his arm in a simple, sexy way.
Yes, she could afford to be doing that when she was away from him. She'd hidden the pregnancy well, he gave her that much. She must have starved herself to stay so thin. Lucky for her that summer break had come before the baby showed too much.
Lucky.
But she was everything but lucky.
It's the way that he makes you feel.
It's the way that he kisses you.
It's the way that he makes you fall in love.
He knew that she loved him, in a sick, perverted sort of way. He had never though of her as a masochist, enjoying the pain and power he held over her. But she did.
"Summer…"
She turned, her pretty face with a pretty puzzled look and her pretty hair windswept. No answer. He didn't need one.
"D'you want to go for a drive?"
It was a simple request, innocent to any uneducated bystander, but the hearts and minds of both adolescents knew better. Knew that the risk was huge.
"Freddy…I…I…I can't," Hanging her pretty head, she turned to walk away. He wouldn't let her go. He would save her.
"Come with me…" he commanded, grabbing her hand, instantly regretting it. Pretty eyes welled up with pretty tears as his fingers curled around her damaged skin, blue and bruised. He couldn't speak, couldn't save her. Couldn't make the pain better.
He dragged her to his car.
She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and
The killer instinct tells her to be aware of evil men.
And that's what you get for falling again;
You can never get him out of your head.
And that's what you get for falling again;
You can never get him out of your head.
She had fought him weakly, but now she sat, silent, as he drove her away. Three hours late. Three hours late and a baby to feed and a boyfriend to please. She couldn't be late, he had known that, but she was.
He parked the car in an abandoned lot, locked the doors and turned to her. She worried, he knew, her pretty eyes told the tale her pretty mouth could not. And she could love again, he knew, her pretty eyes told him that too.
Unbuckled seatbelt, and he lent forward, climbing on top of her. Shallow breathing filled the car and he knew she wanted it, knows she needed it. He kissed her softly; she responds. She was hungry. Beautifully hungry.
Backseat sex; hot and frenzied. No time to worry, she pulls him down on her. Once. Twice. Three times. He moans, she screams, and it's unbearable to feel her pain.
It's the way that he makes you feel.
It's the way that he kisses you.
It's the way that he makes you fall in love.
She was pretty and silent on the drive home. He smoked, one hand on the wheel at all times, just like daddy told him. Tomorrow would be back to normal. Tomorrow would be bloody messes and shredded dresses. But today. Today he had loved her.
Pretty girl... pretty girl...
She wasn't at school the next day. He worried. His pretty girl. He wondered if he should visit, decided better of it. Went down to 16th street and smoked a joint, watched the cops fly past.
No one cared.
His feet took him to her door and he knocked, softly first. No reply. He knocked harder. No answer.
"Summer…"
No reply.
"Naomi…"
A whimper. The sound of a child crying. He kicked the door open and the child, only two, ran to him; crying.
No sign of daddy.
No sign of pretty mummy.
"Summer…?"
Pretty girl is suffering while he confesses everything.
Pretty soon she'll figure out: you can never get him out of your head.
Plain white dress, hiding scars and bloody deaths.
Pretty eyes forever closed. Pretty scars and pretty blood cover her now.
Poor baby girl, crying. Daddy's in prison now.
He can't help her. He can't save her. He gave her what he could, but it killed her.
Turned away, he cried hard angry tears.
It's the way that he makes you cry.
It's the way that he's in your mind.
It's the way that he makes you fall in love.
It's the way that he makes you feel.
It's the way that he kisses you.
It's the way that he makes you fall in love...