Thank You so much!

-DemonBarber14 & SkyCord1990

::Have you guys seen "Evilenko"? I love Malcolm, and he's absolutely wonderful at that part but I just can't sit through it, I can't handle children being victimized. Especially knowing that it really happened, you know?::

10. Miserable Rebellion

Bruises, she was covered in them. She couldn't remember what her flesh looked like, not covered in dry blood, bite marks, his cum…she couldn't remember what she looked like when she bright and sweet and innocent. The word, innocent, was venomous and mocking inside of her mind. Sour tasting on her tongue, and dripping with black humor. Innocent; ha, Eloise wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, her throat hurt. If I had a penny for every time he made me cry and she was so scared of him, the fear was like a black shadow that blocked out the sun—no matter how brightly the sun tried to shine.

Eloise felt like she was constantly drowning.

Suffocating, Dying, Fading Away, Falling Apart

Am I still pretty? Do you think I'm pretty, he won't let me where makeup or dress up. I miss my pretty dresses, I miss feeling beautiful.

He was gone to work and it hit her, she could…she could…No. She couldn't, he would know, and he would hurt her. She had to be good, she'd promised. And yet, despite her inner battle she found herself in her room, she barely came in her anymore—she hadn't any reason. Alex made her sleep with him and in the morning it was he who picked out her clothes, clothes that he'd bought; those horrible ugly clothes that hid the sexy lingerie he forced her to wear, the lingerie that made her feel so uncomfortable and painfully embarrassed.

She pulled out a box from under her bed, and—opening it carefully, as if he would be able to hear her somehow—pulled out a tube of ruby red lipstick. Her mother's lipstick; a memory flashed across her mind and left her in a strange half heartbroken and half joyful state that only lasted for a whisper of time, leaving as quickly as it had come.

Her mother, with her tragic beauty, standing in front of the mirror and looking like a Queen from one of those fairy tale books; her mother not wearing a t-shirt and jeans like she normally did, but a gown of ocean blue and pearls, not even her mother anymore but an angel; immortal in her beauty and then there was Eloise, proud to know that it wasn't really an angel but her own mother. She knew that there wasn't anyone prettier than mama, and mama would smile at her. She'd give her kiss, and Eloise would later smile at the tiny echo of red on her little lips; she was almost as pretty as mama.

She popped the top off, letting it hit her bed. The mirror on her wall had tiny waves, sometimes it could make you look like a princess trapped in time and sometimes it could make you look like a fat, ugly pig. Eloise started to apply the lipstick and felt a strange rush, yes. She was starting to feel it, that pride a woman feels when she's found the perfect lipstick. She muttered a quote from Marilyn Monroe to herself, despite the fact that it had nothing to do with lipstick it still applied. "Give a woman the right pair of heels and she can conquer the world"

Alex didn't care for Marilyn Monroe

He can go fuck himself she shook her head, she couldn't think like that. It was horrible of her, it was wicked and selfish like he always said. Wicked and selfish, her lips were so sensual looking now, red and perfect. The lips of a fairy tale princess, just like mama's had been on that night. She made faces at her reflection, the excitement and fear mixing inside of her belly.

Happy, pensive, seductive, bored; Eloise grabbed at the mascara and the eye shadow while her mind screamed at her—NO! NO! He's going to be home in less than an hour, you idiot! He's going to see—but her hands were at her face, applying the shimmery gold eye shadow, black eyeliner drawn in a dramatic Cleopatra fashion. It wasn't allowed at school, but Eloise had always had a flair for flamboyant makeup. She looked like a Goddess in the mirror now, with her shimmer gold eyelids; framed by long eyelashes and her Cleopatra eyeliner, her lips plump and blood red. She felt…she felt…beautiful again.

At this moment, she was not afraid or unsure or broken. Her mother had let her use this lipstick on the night she'd performed; and she'd felt powerful on that stage. There was a time, yes. She remembered, she remembered. Then she looked at her arms and saw the bruises, and reality crashed into at every side like mac trucks running down a hill because they'd forgotten their brakes

Eloise looked at the clock, twenty minutes and he'd be home. Twenty minutes, twenty minutes. She tore off her sweat pants and the snot green shirt that was too big for her; tore off the shameful crotchless thong and lacy bra, standing completely naked and feeling a vexing mixture of excitement, self-shame, and a strange sort of confusion. The latter was hard to even explain to herself, much less the another person but it was there. She opened her drawers and took out her favorite pair of boy short style panties, sexy but sweet at the same time.

White and covered in little strawberries, and the bra—which hadn't come with it—but still matched; a strawberry pink and the middle decorated with a white ribbon. Modest enough to make her feel safe but sexy enough to make her feel like a woman, if that made any sense. She pulled on a black cocktail dress, the dress she wore to her school dance before mama died. It still fit like a glove and made her feel like a princess, the soft material felt heavenly against her skin.

Eloise looked at the clock, fifteen minutes and he'd be home. Get back in the sweatpants, take off the makeup, before he gets home. Hurry up you sad, stupid little bitch but she couldn't stop her hands from fastening the shimmery gold belt around her waist, couldn't stop her feet from stepping into the golden pumps, couldn't stop her fingers from clipping the red artificial rose into her hair to match her lips.

Beautiful again, was this it felt like? To look into a mirror and not hate yourself?

Eloise had to admit it was a nice feeling, a very very nice feeling (real horrorshow, as Alex would say) she would never to tell him but she never cared for that nadsat speak, and she'd never point out that he wasn't even a teenager anymore. It simply his way of speaking and it made her smile cryptically to imagine him as an old man, still talking like that. Imagine Alex as an old man…she couldn't picture it for the life of her, and pushed the thought away.

Was this her rebellion against him? Dolling herself up when he forbade it?

Ten minutes until he was due home, she started stripping as fast she could; shoving the dress and shoes under the bed and quickly putting on her (ugly, ugly, ugly o so ugly) regular clothes back on, she started to wipe away the makeup; the cleaning pad stained black and gold and red. She knew there were still traces of eyeliner, perhaps a few stray sparkles that were too stubborn to detach themselves from her skin, her lips a faded pinkish color.

Eloise the victim, Eloise the terrified, Eloise the timid was back again. The princess in the mirror had whispered goodbye and now—no matter how hard she looked—she could not see her anywhere. The door opened, "I'm home-y home home, come give your beloved Alex a great bolshy kiss" he called out, she hurried to him and went to give him a kiss when he suddenly grabbed at her hair, clutching the red rose she'd forgotten to take out with an iron grip. "What's this then? I don't recall buying this for you" he said, his voice dripping with accusations and viciousness.

"I've had it since I was twelve, please Alex…please" He stared at her for a few painfully long moments but then let her go, "Alright. I believe you, come here" she sat on his lap, sideways and reminded herself—as she did a lot this days—that she had to be careful, their...relationship (if one could call it that) was like walking on egg shells; except the egg shells were detonators that would blow up and destroy the world if she stepped on them.

She'd sung for him once, by accident, back in the days before the demon had taken over him (the power of Christ compels you…no, she wasn't a hardcore Christian but yes…she found herself thinking that he needed an exorcism. For some reason, the thought of a priest throwing holy water on him and Alex writhing in pain was darkly humorous to her and she didn't know why) she'd thought she was alone, and she'd sung a silly and sweet little song that had been stuck in her head all day long; oh the embarrassment when he'd made his presence known.

"What a pretty little warble of a voice you've got, my darling. And to have the honor of hearing it within the confines of my own beddy-room; how horrorshow for me indeed" he had said, leaning against the door frame and smirking at her blushing face. She was mortified, flattered, embarrassed and overwhelmed with her feelings of infatuation, he was just so handsome. He was her dream come true, the classic portrait of male beauty, unreal and almost frightening in his gorgeousness.

Eloise wondered if she'd known, even then, that there was something off about him. Had she merely pushed it away? She couldn't remember thinking for a moment that he was…bad. But one cannot archive every single tiny thought that passes through their mind, so maybe she'd thought he was bad news…at one point, but now she couldn't recall thinking or feeling such a thing.

"Where's that warble from little sister? I'm not familiar with it, I fear"

"I-It's from an American film…called Please Don't Eat the Daisies…starring Doris Day"

"What a strange title for a vinny, does this Doris devotchka really eat flowers?"

She laughed, "No, no it's just the title. I suppose they took the title from the song"

Alex was holding the red flower in his open palm, her head tucked between his jaw and shoulder; she could feel his body—strong and powerful and unforgiving—against her own and when he hand rubbed up and down her back she forced herself to suppress a shudder. Knife hands, metal hands, evil hands. Stop it, Stop it, Stop it. I don't want your hands on me ever again.

Upstairs the black dress hid under the bed, a symbol of something…something but what?

Please Review

Yes! I'm actually quite proud of this installment, which of course is great because the last few chapters haven't been completely satisfying to me as a writer. Thank you so much, my dear friends and reviewers, for seeing the beauty in my writing even when I couldn't :)