AN: I did something stupid, and decided to get inspiration for another story while I was writing this one. So I got distracted by something shiny, and a.d.d. really sucks. So, sorry for the delay, but I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Leave me some feedback if you can. :)
Selective Memory
I lie in bed alone, willing a sleep I know won't come.
Thinking about things I should forget.
Pictures of myself sitting on a throne in an empty castle, covered in darkness. Snow White is at my feet, on her knees, and I have a heeled boot digging into her shoulder as her hand snakes up my leg and under my dress. She's covered in all white, like a beacon shining through the night.
Just dreams. Or memories. Maybe neither or both, but either way it isn't real.
It's never real with her, and I need to stop. I will—I could stop—
{ you can't stop. }
And then the voices. I close my eyes tight to the whispering, try to clear my mind, an effort to control it before it gets too loud.
{ you can't stop anything. Not Daniel dying, not Snow living, not the curse breaking—Because you're nothing. Neither Queen nor peasant, you are a pawn. You are in the Ogres den. You are theirs, and that is all you will be. }
I don't move, my body still, trying to focus on the soft sound of fan blades from my bedroom ceiling.
{ you belong to the heartless women who raised you. }
{ you belong to the nameless man who trained you. }
{ you belong to blameless girl who controls you. }
My eyes open.
{ oh and she does, doesn't she? All your darkness—all your sickness—has been for her, has it not? And it is, you know, it is sickness. }
The memories I choose to have are selective. Though, I don't seem to get that luxury when there's pounding reminders inside my head as the rest of the world falls silent.
{ at first you just wanted to break her, just a little, just so you could see more of yourself in her. Then, you just wanted to touch her. Just a brief stroke of hair, of soft white skin, just to see if anything good could sink through to your blackened heart. It didn't work though, and her smile only grew brighter and your mind only grew darker. So you wanted to fuck her. Violate her. Rape her. You wanted pain and blood and screaming—and that would satisfy you. But she was too strong for such darkness, and you too weak for such violence, so your vicious words were muted by your fear. Your wicked hands slowed by her need. And you kissed her because she asked for it, begged you, and you did just what she said. Just as everyone always does. }
Just let me sleep. God, just for a little while. I've exhausted my liquor, and my pills, and my body, so just let my mind die for a little while.
{ so then you wanted to kill her. }
{ but she kills you first. }
My hands bunch up in fists, and I turn my head into the pillow next to me, ready to scream into it with everything I have, but once my lungs fill with air—all I can smell is her. My eyes close as I press my cheek against the soft cotton and take another breath. I lick my lips and think about how pretty the colors will be when I burn this pillow in the morning.
{ she makes you so weak, with just the sight of green in her eyes, with just the promise of suffering that she could provide. }
I lie straight again, head moving back to face the ceiling, as the whispering shifts and changes, taking on a voice that sounds so much like hers.
{ is that what I'm doing, Regina? Am I suffering? As you sit here with those memories you aren't even sure are real. Perhaps this was never your plan at all. Perhaps I just enjoy seeing you destroy yourself through your madness. }
"Shut up." I finally say to absolutely no one. Just a dark an empty room with all there is to mock me are the four walls. I know, I do, that the only thing torturing me is my cracked psyche, but it's hard to hold onto—to grasp—because I swear I can see her now, hovering over me in bed. Like a ghost with long hair, in all white, and a sneer that's more mine then it is hers.
{ perhaps I should kill you. And would you even fight it, dear? If it meant an end to this, and to all the pain I cause you. If it meant an end to the pain you cause others, because of your sick addiction. }
I see more then feel her hand go around my neck.
{ would you welcome it willingly, as I squeeze the air out of your lungs, would you use your last breath to say; }
{ thank you, my Queen? }
Last night was not fun. Going on practically no sleep, I'm spending hours in the mirror, trying to fix my appearance, trying to make myself look somewhat presentable. But I still see cracks in the foundation—flaws under the lipstick. I realize, not for the first time, that I'm aging. The curse stopped it, but now, a restless night sleep makes the dark circles under my eyes linger. The long days spent in this house makes my face paler, and I wonder how long it will take before my skin just cracks away, flaking off my bones and flying away into the wind.
The magic helps. Or it makes it worse. It can fix any flaws I see on my physical body, but it takes energy away from me, and I have none to spare.
I need to see her.
That's all I know for sure, all I ever seem to know, so without preamble; I find myself outside her apartment door. After a moment of collecting my thoughts and clearing my mind, I knock twice.
Finally, after a long silence, she answers before my nerves get the best of me.
Immediately I feel my blood heating up at the sight of her, already it's late morning, and she's still wearing comically decorated pajama pants and an oversized blue t-shirt, the material thin and worn. It doesn't take but a second glance to notice that's she's not wearing a bra. It's a stark contrast to my professional red dress and black blazer. My unashamed view of her gets distracted by her wide eyes and scared expression.
"Regina? You can't be here." Mary says in a hurried hush, looking behind me for nosy neighbors.
My smirk doesn't waiver.
"Sure I can." She doesn't fight it when I let myself inside, closing the door behind me, preferring that I don't make any kind of scene out in the hallway. "Henry is gone camping with that idiot you married, and Emma is off at work, saving the world from drunk and disorderlies." I did my research before making this impromptu visit, because I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid. "Leaving innocent little Snow White all alone. Whatever shall we do to fill the time?" My hand moves to her cheek, nails trailing the length of her neck, watching goose bumps rise in their wake.
"No." Mary shakes her head and tries to look away. "Absolutely not."
I grip her jaw tightly, pulling her face close to mine with a sneer.
"I'll be quick." Because I just need a little, just to get by, just anything fast and painful—just so I can feel something.
"No, not here." She whispers, pleading and demanding all at the same time. "I mean it."
And her words are easily ignored. That's not what gives me pause before my lips descend on her. It's the sight of green in her eyes, with just the promise of suffering that she could provide. And more than her death, I've come to realize, I need her suffering. Perhaps I am weak. Perhaps at this moment, I couldn't care less.
"I missed you." I whisper against her lips, not very convincingly, almost taking on a mocking sound, but she hesitates at the words and not the tone. She moves back a little to look in my eyes.
"Really?" There's almost hope in her voice through all that suspicion, and I move my hand to rake my nails up the back of her neck and grab a fistful of her short hair.
"Something fierce." I hiss at her before crashing my lips against ones that suddenly seem so willing.
My blazer hits the ground before I realize that she pulled it off my shoulders, then my arms are around her waist, pulling her into me. I'm pushing her back farther into the open space of her apartment, until the edge of the dining room table stops us. Then we finally break away, breath heavy as my lips move down to her neck.
No marks, I tell myself. It would take energy to heal them afterwards, and I have none to spare. Just enough for this—for something quick. I tear myself away from her, taking her hands and pull her away from the table, walking backwards, but she doesn't budge from her spot, looking at me confused.
"Bedroom." I clarify, but there's something about that idea that she doesn't like, letting go of my hands and wrapping her arms around her stomach.
"Is that why you came here? You want to take me in our bed?" Our bed. And just that word; our. It fills me with a frenzied jealousy and excitement all at the same time. Just thinking about all the things he's done to her in the bed that's just out of my line of sight. Just thinking about all the hushed whispers of affection, the slow and careful way he makes love to her, as if not to hurt her—as if hurting her was even that easy to do. Just thinking about his scent that's all over her and their bed, and just thinking about how quickly I could shift it's tone to something dark and broken, and knowing that theirs could be mine. Conflicting emotions finally win out as a smile appears on my face.
Suddenly my quick fix turns into a long torment, just thinking about all the things I could do to her in that bed. Terrible things.
"Come on, princess." A sickly sweet sound rises out of my voice. "It will give you something to remember, when you pretend that what he does to you feels good."
"Not there." She's stern when she says it, but it's okay, because a part of me knew she wouldn't give in so easily. Too bad for her that I've always been good at breaking her down.
My eyes move up and down her body like a predator, getting ready for our game to begin. This violently dangerous foreplay that either has her begging for more, or pleading for me to stop. I take a few steps towards her, and she moves back slightly, my face not even trying to hide all my dark intentions.
"You know, it's barely decent, answering the door like this." Again I take in her thinly clothed appearance, how comfortable she's become in this world—in this small town—all semblance of royalty melting away in lei of domestically. "Honestly, dear, how do you expect one to react?" Another step towards her and the back of my hands move up to brush against her chest, her hardened nipples from the cool air of the apartment pebble tighter against the movement. Mary gasps and flinches from the sensitivity it causes, and she's pushed against the table once more. I take her hand and look at it curiously, finger tips brushing over her knuckles as I lower my face close to hers. "Is this what you do? You wait for them to leave so you can close your eyes," I move my lips to her ear, my tone a sickly hush. "And hear me whispering in your ear," I pull her arm up to my shoulder, and she's quick to accept the gift, running her fingers along the nape of my neck and through my hair, as my other hand moves down between her legs, pushing against her pants crudely, and feeling such heat already. "Telling you who you really are," I push my palm into her. "Making you shake," And she does. "And moan." She does that as well. I push again, then again, then she starts pushing back. "Oh, you're so good for them, it must be exhausting," My voice starts out as a purr, but then starts to shift into something more menacing. "That must be why you act like such a whore with me." I move my hand up slightly, to linger at the waistband of her pants, not having to look to already know she's soaked through. "Were you missing me too? Were you touching yourself?" My face moves in front of hers again.
"No." She barely denies, face flushing. Stubborn girl. It makes my eyes darken, glancing briefly at her fingers that are now tracing my jaw.
"I can smell it on you." Her eyes look to the ground, and she pulls her hand down and away from me. My fingers trace the skin below her navel for a moment before dipping underneath her underwear, and moving deftly through her folds. "I know he doesn't get you this wet." As quickly as I'm there, I pull back, presenting my two soaked fingers to her, looking at them for a moment as they linger between our faces. "All for me, isn't that right?" Then they disappear in my mouth, as I watch her watch me, and I'm almost able to suppress the soft moan that comes from my lips as I suck them dry. Her eyes flutter slowly at the sight, before I release them. "And you love every minute of it. You always have, even in the beginning." My hands move under her shirt, lightly grazing skin as I feel the muscles in her stomach twitch. "Do you remember, Snow? How desperate you were, just to have me brush against you in passing?" I trace the swell of her breasts with my nails. "Do you remember all that time you spent in the convent, praying for a way to stop those thoughts?" I avoid her need, and aching nipples that I can see clearly through her shirt, moving farther up to scrape along her collar bone. "Skin pure as the driven snow, but oh what a dirty mind."
With that, my palms cover her breasts, pushing hard and squeezing, making Mary groan deep from her chest, feeling it vibrate against my hands as she arches into the feeling. Mary's breathing heavy, as I work her over with my words more than my hands. The memories we share, however false or far between they may be, are affecting her quickly—bringing her back to a time when this was all we were. She's unsure and quiet—wide eyed and submissive—and practically hyperventilating as every nerve inside her is burned, leading way to a virgin-like sensitivity.
"Just admit it." My teeth are bared in a twisted sort of smile, before I pull away and turn her body around in my arms quickly. Mary gasps as I bring her back against me, my head resting in the crook of her neck while hands are roaming over such sinful curves. And those curves—they always did give me pause. "Admit your impurity," I whisper, teeth scraping lightly at the skin behind her ear. "The way your sight would scan over me at dinners, and the view would turn your cheeks into such a shade of pink." The tone in my voice is changing into something familiar to the both of us, along with the memories behind our eyes. "Those restless nights when your racing mind wouldn't calm the heat inside you. I did have a magic mirror, dear, and you did have a tendency to be loud." Fingers move under her shirt, and my nails roam along the dip above her hips, almost hard enough to leave a mark.
"You're disgusting." She murmurs against me, shaking slightly. I pull her harder against me.
"You're a tease. You always have been. Dukes and nobles would drool at your feet, and you would smile and laugh, but ignore them all the same." Ballrooms and castles, courtyards and bedchambers. She's there with me, and I close my eyes to see her more clearly. "Even the guards were brave enough to have their eyes on you. Hardly proper for a princess."
"And out of all of them, yours were on me the most." She turns around in my arms, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hardly proper for a queen." And the look holds not a single trace of Mary, or Mrs. Charming, but just pure and driven Snow White. She comes back to me like she never left.
I react something fierce to it.
A growl tears its way out of my throat and I grab her hips roughly, digging in my nails as I pull her against me. "And you enjoyed that, didn't you?" My accusation causes her to whimper and bite her bottom lip, bringing my face closer to hers, with a dangerous whisper. "Flaunting yourself in front of me, knowing I couldn't claim you as mine—"
"I am though. I am yours." It's a lie when she says it, just like every time before, though even lies sound beautiful when they come from her lips. But I punish her regardless, claiming her mouth in a ferocious show of passion. This coy child that brings goodness to her entire land—except for me. The only thing she brings me is destruction. She is my end, and I swear for the millionth time—but it feels like the first—that I will be her end as well.
It pushes her back, and back, myself in tow, never breaking the kiss until we both fall. We land on soft blankets, and I see her notice where we're at, in her bed—in their bed—and it makes her nervous for a moment, knowing that we ended up right where I wanted us. But I don't much care anymore, giving up the reality of this world, for the memory of another. I kiss her with purpose, breaking away her inhibitions, and soon enough there's fingers in my hair, and I allow for it. Somehow my intentions of exploiting her guilt are no longer important, and all I see is her lying under me, like it used to be, before the curse, before Charming, and it almost seems as if this is where I wanted us.
Her cloths barely come off, just pushed aside and maneuvered around. She has a hand pushing against my back as it moves down my spine, her other arm trapped under me while I lie over her, our legs wrapped together. My fingers replaced my thigh some time ago, and I watch her intently, relishing in each expression of pleasure and pain.
"That—" A moan breaks up her words with a twist of my wrist, but she gathers her bearings once more, staring at me deeply. "That first time you came to my room." I slow my movements slightly, my interest peaking. "I was…" She swallows as her cheeks grow flushed. "Thinking of you." That makes me smile, her sudden bashfulness, remembering that she was doing a bit more than just thinking of me. I dip my head down to her neck, kissing the soft skin I've found.
"Were you now?" My murmur lingers on her pulse point.
"Did you know? Is that why you came to my room when you did?" Mary's voice is raw and hitching in time with my strokes. "Could you see me?" She finally whispers, and I hesitate in answering her, unsure of her reaction. Finally, my lips are against her ear.
"Yes."
She groans and I add a third finger inside of her, stretching her as I speed up my movements.
"I was still burning up inside, and you stood so close to me—you…" It's getting harder for her to talk, my teeth pulling at her earlobe. "It was just too much…"
"And it did burn, the heat I felt as I ran my hand up your thigh." I lose myself in the memory for a moment, and I know she's close. "It was all for me."
"Always." The word is forced out right before her body tenses and shakes around my fingers. I linger for a moment before pulling my hand away from her, and it isn't until I hear the choked sob come from her throat do I notice the tears welling in her eyes. She tries to turn away from me, but I don't let her, my hand firm on her hip as she starts crying.
"God, it hurts." She says, broken and pained, as if she was burning alive from the inside. Almost as if the cloud surrounding us finally breaks against our fantasy and the golden slivers of reality shine right into her eyes. And something like that, something so bright and hot, something that shows such clarity on our clouded foolishness, on our weakness—something like that would hurt.
I move up to wipe at the stream of tears streaking her face, in an odd show of compassion, before whispering back;
"Always."
