Stars
~~~Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires.
Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 4
I was the girl's first kiss.
Mine was Celine. She was drunk, high, and sad. I was sad.
I open my eyes and she is here. Is this a dream? In fact, it doesn't differ from my nightmares. Her nails scratching lightly at my bare torso.
Please stop.
I groan involuntarily, feeling the weight of hell pressing down on me.
"Hello, Jacey."
Her velvety voice echoes my nightmares.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've got some news. Am I not welcomed here anymore?"
"You rarely visit."
"Yes, but this is an important matter."
I sit up on my bed, and that's when I see a figure against the door. A man. Stoic.
"I hoped we could meet in a more-" she looks around my room. "Appropriate place, however-"
"What is it, Celine?"
She flinches. I hardly call her Celine. But she doesn't get disturbed. She wouldn't.
"I'm getting married. From now on, Richard will be your father."
Father.
Alcohol.
Drug.
Pain.
Belt.
Whipping.
Dishes.
Crash.
And.
I.
Am.
Always.
In.
Pain.
"Richard?" My whisper hardly punctuates the inquiry. I look over her shoulder and study the man more precisely. Blond hair. Fit build. Tall. Me. Except for his eyes.
"Now, Jacey, this is not the time to be jealous-"
It's like a blow to the injury. A knife cutting open the skin just when it starts to heal. Endless pain to my stomach.
"Jealous? Why would I ever be jealous?"
Her face is ice. Not necessarily angry, but unreadable.
"Right. You've got that girl of yours, haven't you?" She shakes her head. "Didn't seem like your type, really. But whatever keeps you warm at night. Literally."
"It's a bit psychotic, don't you think? Keeping track of your grown up son?"
She seems taken aback by my rebellious tone.
"You think I'm psychotic?" She sputters out laughter. "You, of all people... look, I don't have any time for this. Richard." She brings him closer.
It doesn't take me long to get the essence of him. Cheater. Drug addict. Liar.
"Jace," he acknowledges me carefully.
"Richard," my voice is sharper, harsher. "I want to skin you bloody red and rip your bones into fucking shreds and feed them to the fucking rats, you fucking asshole."
"Jace, your new father-" Celine's voice remains stern despite the wavering look on her fiancé.
"He's not my fucking father. I'm fully grown now, and whoever you marry does not concern me-"
Her hand cracks against my cheek, and I feel the familiar burn.
"Bullshit, Jacey. Everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit. You know I'm your mother. You can't escape from me. You are mine." With her last word, the heel of her stiletto rests upon my own foot, and a gasp erupts from my mouth.
The pressure is not yet fully applied on my skin, but I know she wouldn't hesitate to do so.
"You don't need any proof for that, right, Jacey?"
"I'll be off on my own then," Richard tries to excuse himself, sensing only half of Celine's mood.
"Darling," her nails, painted red, grab at the man's sleeve. "Please don't. You don't want to miss the best part, I'm sure."
My feet trembles unwillingly, and Celine pressed her heel harder. White is all I can see.
She hums a soft melody and I immediately recognize the 1981 song.
Sticks and stones may break your bones...
But names can never down you...
My eyes avoid hers, but in a quick second her hand grabs my chin and forces my gaze to meet hers.
"My beautiful boy. I always liked you submissive. But you've grown up so much," she crouches down to my eye level. "Let's see if it's to my liking, shall we?"
Her hand treads tenderly over the button on my jeans.
"Strip," she orders quietly, but harshly.
Automatically, I zip it down and my boxers go along with. It's like I'm a robot. A robot being punished. A robot who knows its punishment.
"I could be submissive," her lips wrap around me, and I shudder at the sudden heat. Then she pulls away, licking her lips. "Just like that petit red haired girl of yours. After all," her fingers lightly graze my shoulder down to my arm. "You're so strong. Tall. Easily overpowers me, but. You wouldn't do that, would you Jacey?"
"Mommy-" I pant, slightly hard unwillingly from her earlier ministration, but mostly repelled from her, and the haunting memories.
"Touch yourself," her heel lifts from my foot, and I feel the bittersweet exposure of the bruised skin to the air. "You're only freed after you come."
Richard shifts uncomfortably, but is hold still by Celine.
I taste bile at the back of my throat, threatening tears. It's such a familiar sensation, assuring that tears would never escape because they never did. Only the burn.
Celine notices my hesitation and slaps my cheek again. And again. And again and again and again until I come to my senses and place my hand on my length.
Pleasant with her accomplishment, she leans back against her new man's shoulder, kissing him passionately. They start to strip each other, occasionally taking a few glimpses at me.
I'm lost. Like the little boy she's found so many years ago.
And I know she lied. Even after I come, I know I'm still not free. Never.
Shame.
How weird, it never found me in the countless times I have killed. But now, it hits me.
But rage.
Is much stronger, filling every dark holes within me.
Celine has left, but her presence still lingers, on my most vulnerable self.
.
.
.
Death.
How easy.
The cold metal pressed against my palm.
Should I take pills? Jump? Cut?
But there's nothing disgusting about this. This isn't a horror show.
I stop thinking.
I sense.
I feel the cold, hard gun on my temple.
I smell the metallic air around me.
I hear a voice of a girl.
"Sebastian? Sebastian! Can you let me in?"
Knocks on the door. Rapid but cautious.
Angered, I shoot the window and the glass erupts into pieces.
The girl turns silent for a moment, then starts screaming my name hysterically.
"Go away!" I yell.
"Sebastian, I'm sorry!" Notes of sobs escape between her words. "Please let me in! What are you doing? Let me in!"
The door shudders with each of the banging.
I press the gun harder into my temple, my finger resting on the trigger.
Outside, she starts to scream bloody murder.
But why would anyone care? Why would anyone tend to a screaming little girl? Why care? Why love?
"I love you."
A gasp exits my mouth as the words she groaned out enters my system.
"DON'T!" I scream. "DON'T!"
Why love? Why love? Why love? Why love? Why love? Why love?
Why me?
One. More. Girl.
One more girl to kill before I fall to hell.
I bang the door open and find her crouching on the floor, her eyes wide. In a quick moment, I pin her down to the cold tiled floor, our faces an inch apart.
My gun touches her forehead, and her eyes flutter close.
"What do you fucking know about love?" I demand, and she whimpers in fear. "I know love, I know love! I know it will burn you out and swallow you inside out, and you- you fucking stupid girl, you think you love me?"
She opens her mouth, but is too horrified to say something. My finger rests on the trigger, slippery and warm.
"Well guess what sweetie, only after it kills you, you realize-it's only a reverie. It doesn't exist."
"But I, love, you..." she drags out the words painfully, tears slipping soundlessly from her green eyes.
"That's what he said when he beat me! That's what they said when they all left me! That's what she said when she captured me, raped me, cut me, KILLED ME!" I gasp for breath. "You want to see all my scars? The cuts, the burns? The people I've killed, the people who mourned for? World is evil, and so am I. So you think love can fail that many times?"
"Please, Sebastian... please," she caresses the small skin of my cheek, tenderly, and I can feel her whole body trembling from fear. Her eyes snap open, allowing me to see her soul breaking into a thousand pieces.
"Please never saved me from all the beatings, the burnings. It never saved me from people leaving me behind, families that never felt for me. Please never saved me when she... when she raped me and tortured me and..." my words quiver from anger to pain, the words I'd never imagined I would say.
And I don't believe the way tears are welling up in my eyes, furiously streaming down my cheeks. Some of the fear from eyes change into something else.
"Fuck it," I whisper. "Fuck it."
I get off her and walk into my pathetic place again, slamming the door behind. Then I lean back against it, hearing the girl's cries, feeling tired. Tired of living. But when she stops making sounds, I become more frustrated.
...begging for a girl's sympathy?...
No, no, not sympathy.
...then love?...
...
I swing the door open again, finding the girl with wide eyes, containing both fear and relief. Then I kiss her, hard. Cradling her entire body against me, my lips unrelenting and defined. Her soft body fills me up, empty with sadness.
"Sebastian," she pulls away, her eyes closed. "Sebastian, tell me about your life. Your real life."
.
.
.
I stop thinking.
I sense.
Her woodsy scent.
Her green, grassy eyes.
Her small, warm body.
Her soft, melodic voice.
My salty tears on the tip of my tongue.
.
.
.
Every stories crack out of me like a broken bottle of poison.
No one has made me cry more than her.
.
.
.
Her body is tightly pressed against me as I collapse backwards on my bed with her on top. Her face is just an inch away, and I kiss her fairy nose lightly and cringe from the foreign feeling of tenderness.
As she kisses all my tears away, three facts melt into me; one, I am definitely not good at softness, two, she is only a virgin and I'll hate myself tomorrow morning, and three, when did I start worrying about those stuff when I absolutely. Want. Her. Now.
Yesterday, I was a merciless killer, and today...
Today... what am I?
A gentle lover? Is that what I am?
Flipping us over so that her small body is underneath mine, I glide my lips down from her own, to her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and right there, breathing hot and shaky all over her, all the while slowly undressing her.
When I first enter her, her body stiffens up with fear, and that's the first time- first time I've ever felt something. To care enough to go slowly. And as I finally start pounding into her, soft but overwhelming pleasure fills me up. And looking at her face, tightening and relaxing with my each thrusts, her flushed lips making those soft, erotic moans, I have to urge myself not to go faster.
All the dirty things I have said to her in my fantasies disappears. We are silent, but desperate, slow, but urgent. And I wonder if this is making love. And I wonder if it is even possible for me to do so.
But her soft gasps, and this infinite moments of wants, desire, passion, heat, sweats, my whole body covering up hers, feeling protective, jealous, pleasured, and desperate, it definitely feels good. And maybe it is because of the hazy euphoria bursting inside me, but something has changed inside me.
And with the last, longingly deep thrust, we are both satisfied, and I collapse on her. I try to keep my weight off her, but tired, I press my lips against her ear.
"It's Jace."
Sheesh.
Thanks for reading&reviewing.
