End of the World
Days pass with blurred tension. Just like it was with the families. I guess I was wrong. She isn't really that different from others. And I know that if this continues, she'll leave me just the same as them.
These days, anxiety runs my heart, and madness controls my brain.
So I bring her flowers every morning-a futile effort to be romantic-with a silent pleading; please don't leave me, please don't go away, please be with me every hourminutesecond.
And I know this is pathetic. Better to leave than to be left. Better to hurt than to be hurt.
But somehow, that's not how it works with her. I can't dare to leave her.
That's why again, I'm buying these daisies for her. Daisies-innocence.
The flowers carelessly held in my hand, I walk back to my flat, only to find it empty. There isn't a sleeping girl on my bed. Out of my protection, out of my cage.
Gone. On her own. Left. Me. Behind. On my own.
Fear creeps up in my entire body, threatening to tear me open. Barely holding myself up, I run outside to find her.
Is she gone? For good? Leaving me all alone? In this coldhearted world? I was alone before, but I can't go back to that place. Having no reason to wake up in the morning, everyday just the leap days. I'll die if I can't find her. I'll die.
...and hope she follows you...
And I hate her. Hate her for making this worse for me. For turning me back into that little boy on the street, shivering and aching for warmth.
And the world is unimaginable if I'm left on my own-again. And this will be the last straw.
Fire burns through my throat as I walk past the people, my body urging for a kill. Anger. And devastation. This. Is the end of the world. And the world breaks into shreds and explodes all over when I see her red hair-with someone else. And then I see that hair being tucked behind her ear by him. She flinches away for a moment, tense. And then everything... turns... red...
.
.
.
And I kill him with my bare fists.
.
.
.
And I drag her back into my flat. She doesn't even protest.
.
.
.
"Tell me you love me now. Just like you did back there. Now, you fucking whore!"
"Jace," she cries out, tied down to my bed. "Jace, I was just out to look for you-"
"Say it! SAY IT!"
"I love you," she sobs. "Jace, I love you."
"Good. You won't ever leave me again."
"I wasn't-"
I grab her bound wrists before she can finish the sentence, climbing onto her. "Now kiss me."
As she does, I rip her clothes open, marking every inch of her body-mine.
"Mine."
Fear and desire take over. Possessiveness control my moves, urging me to go faster, harder. More pain, more pleasure.
Her sobs are soon mixed with whimpers of guilty pleasure, and my thrusts become rougher, deeper. Only I can ever make her feel this way.
Her struggles only amplifies the lust, to possess her, to claim her.
My teeth sink into the soft skin on her neck, drawing blood. Red. I groan deeply. Tasting every drop of it.
"Tell me what you are, sweetie," I growl into her ear.
"Please, Jace," she sobs. "Please stop. It hurts."
"Then why are you so fucking wet for me?" I hiss, licking the tears of her cheeks. "Tell me now, sweetie. Who do you belong to?"
"Yours," she finally spits it out, after pants of sobs. "Yours, Jace."
And now I remember. Daisies-beware the suitor.
And the beast has fooled the beauty all over again.
.
.
.
Love. Love. Is this love? Even if it hurts me? Even if it makes me hurt her? Even if I enjoy her pain her tears her screams?
I untie the tight ropes on her wrists and roll of the bed.
Black, blue. Bruises. Bruises on her body.
A part of me wants to kiss them away. Another part urges me to run; to run from this mess. To run from this life.
.
.
.
For days, she wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't listen to me, acknowledge me. Like a dead body. And maybe she is. Dead. Maybe I killed her too, just like what I am; a monster.
.
.
.
"You're broken," I state, holding the bottle of whisky in a trembling hand.
Her distant, green eyes meet mine, and I find nothing. Nothing.
"You're so fucking broken. You don't talk. You don't... you don't do nothing."
Her gaze drops back to the bedsheets, and I stomp over to her to grab her by her chin and urge her eyes to meet mine.
"It's what I did. It's what I did to you. I know, I fucking know. But don't blame me," I laugh. "Don't blame me for being born this way, for growing up this way-"
"Bastard," the word leaves her lips in a whisper.
"What did you say? What did you-what did you fucking say?"
"Bastard!" She screams at the top of her lungs. Her small hands close around my throat. I can easily push them away, but I don't. "Bastard!" She yells again. "You think you're the only one. You think you're the only miserable filthy shit. You want to die? You fucking die. You fucking die with me!"
Finally pushing her away, I splash the drink in my bottle all over her. She doesn't react, not at all.
"Alright," I speak, taking a deep breath. "I'll find a lighter and I'll fucking burn you right. I'll burn this whole fucking place down."
I launch myself on her, knocking her down and pinning her to the floor. She thrashes and kicks, and we fight like we're dying. And we are. Dying.
Then I gather her tightly in my arms, kissing her fiercely than ever. Lavishing her lips and her whole body soaking in alcohol. I gasp and roll off her to catch my breath as she knees me in the stomach.
Her whole body drenched in whisky, she hoists herself up and stands over me.
"You... you get turned on by that," it isn't a question. "Sick bastard."
Moments pass and her eyes remain on me. Then they land on the door.
Realization swallows me as I lay on the floor, looking up at her green eyes smeared with rage. She is going to leave me. She is fucking leaving me. Pang of fear.
I grasp her ankle with a trembling hand. "Please," I beg, too tired to get up. "Don't... don't leave."
Tears. Fucking tears of panic, of desperation run down my temple.
"I..." I almost pass out from the grief. "I am in love. With you."
She sucks in a breath, biting her lower lip.
"I am in love with you," I repeat desperately. "I am in love with you. Please. Please. Say it back."
"Just like you forced me the other night?" She whispers.
I gasp for breath in pain.
"Say you're sorry," she sobs. "Say you're sorry, and mean it."
"I love you, Clary. I love you."
"Tell me you are fucking sorry," she whispers.
"I am sorry," I rasp out, the word foreign on my tongue. Sorry. Never heard the word, never said the word.
"Say you're sorry for raping me abusing me tying me up-"
"Please, Clary. Sweetie-"
"Don't," she cries out in agony, as if she's the one trying to make me stay. "Don't. Call me that."
"Clary," I groan out. "Please stop. Please. I love you."
"You can have your own anger outbursts and I can't?"
"Please. I love you. I love you. Please..."
"Yours," she repeats the word from the other night with venom. "Yours, Jace. Can't help it."
Then she falls onto the floor next to me in a sobbing mess, shrinking once again into the girl I first met.
"Let me love you, Clary," I whisper, pulling her into my embrace. Darkness to the darkness. "Let me make it up to you.
She melts into my touch, letting my lips roam all over her.
"I'll make you feel better."
Slowly getting rid of her clothes, I kiss the bruises and marks on her skin, longingly, painfully.
"Make me feel better," she pleads.
"I'll make you feel better."
Our touches are agonizing and arduous, scorching to each other; poisonous. I suck the skin over her pulse, making her soft moans come out. Her hands wrap around my hard cock, making me inhale sharply.
"Fuck, fuck, Clary," I gasp. "Stop."
But her grip only tightens around me, and I release a long moan. I take her hands away from me, then kiss her finger tips before sliding my lips down on her. I undo the button and the zipper on her jeans and slide them down with her underwear.
She flinches at the exposure, and I slowly kiss her downward and downward until she lets out a moan. My lips on her clit, I thrust my finger into her, adding another as she bucks her hips closer. I shudder at how tight she is, growing hard every second. When I finally can't take it anymore, I reach up to her lips, plant a kiss, then slide my jeans and my boxers down.
"Do I make you feel better?" I whisper with my erection throbbing against her naked skin.
She nods, whimpering.
Then I thrust into her, and again, and again. Slow and deep.
"Please. Faster," she moans after a moment.
"Aren't you sore?"
She swallows hard, fluttering her eyes close.
I keep my pace, until my patience wears thin. Her pants grow louder as my pace increases, and a voice enters my head after each thrust.
She almost left me.
She almost left me here.
In my miserable life. Alone.
Better to hurt than to be hurt.
I had already expected this when I offered to make her feel better. In my head, pleasure is associated with pain. With fear.
Better to hurt than to be hurt.
Better to hurt than to be hurt.
"Clary, Clary," I pant, kissing each of her closed eyelids. "I love you."
She holds tight at my shoulders as she orgasms, and I soon follow her. Instead of rolling off her, I kiss the tears away from her face, her soft skin. Then I reach underneath the bed. Where the one last knife of my possession lies, waiting for its opportunity.
"I love you," I groan out. "I love you."
Then my arm makes a slashing movement on its own accord.
Red.
Red hot thickness covers her naked body as her green eyes go lost in panic.
"I love you," I whisper, attempting to soothe her futile breaths. "I love you, Clary."
What have I done what have I done.
"I did you a favor. You wanted her dead, didn't you?" My hand of betrayal speaks with the knife still in its grip.
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" I sob, burying my face on the center of the pooling blood. I try to lick away the blood, to suck them all in, pretend it never happened, but the blood only increases. So much blood... Too much...
"You wanted to kill her. You did this. Not me," my hand speaks again and the blade glints in agreement.
"No, no, no, no," I gasp for breath, both of us covered in red. "I love you, I love you."
"Then why did you kill me? Then why did you kill me?" A voice.
"Who said that? Who said that?!" I scream.
My love-my angel, she gurgles on her own blood, choking, dying.
911. 911. No time to hallucinate. No time to...
I punch the numbers in and tell the truth.
"I stabbed the girl I love."
.
.
.
Can I bring you back? Can I bring you back? My tears splash onto her face, around the green eyes, losing life.
Sirens.
I hear sirens. They're near.
Wait.
DON'T LET THEM TOUCH HER DON'T LET THEM NEAR HER
Wailing, I drag her limp, naked body across the floor, out of the building, out to the street.
"Don't leave me, Clary. Don't leave me," I grit through my teeth.
I try to run. Run away from the ambulance. From the darkness, from the light. Mine. Mine!
"You killed me!" A voice screams.
"Clary, please, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to, I'll make you feel better-"
"You killed me!"
I don't stop dragging her across the road, leaving trails of blood.
"Why did you kill me?"
"I didn't. Clary, I didn't. I swear. I love you-"
SCREEEEEEECH-
A light-a headlight?-swallows both of us up as I clutch her in my embrace, waiting for the end of the world. I do not dare to let her go as I am sent into the air-flying?-and all I see is howling darkness. And blinding light.
Cliffhanger! Never used that for a long time *evil laugh*
Oh shit. What did you say? I'm in deep shit?
oh.
sorry.