Looking at her reflection in the cramped space of the bathroom, she wished the fluorescent lights didn't cast the sickly shadows beneath her eyes. She felt as dirty as the filthy bathroom, and trapped in the small space that held only a dirt toilet and a cracked mirror. Her army hung limply, purple blood roses blooming along the web of veins, and blacker bruises caused by rough hands. Pulling the width of white lace that bound her short blue streaked hair, she tied it around her upper arm, smiling as the pressure bit at her flesh.
Pain was a great leveler, she decided. It had the power to negate sadness, and amplify pleasure. It was relief from a harsh reality. A reality where she didn't know the name of the man in the next room, the man who'd added his marks to her scarred body. All she knew was his eyes, that eyes that seared her soul, and the relief he gave her. And what he gave her, a sigh escaped her lips as her arm throbbed.
Opening the door, she stepped out onto the scratches wood floors and away from the hated bathroom lighting. In the dim room, a match was struck and a cigarette lit and lifted to the mans lips, his other hand pulling the thick rubber band from his arms. He didn't say a word, he only watched with his endless eyes as she picked up the syringe from the table, and lit a match. Running it over the needles edge, she went through the motions she had done a thousand times before.
Kneeling on the bed, she searched her arm, hungry for the rush the needed to feel. That rush that kept her alive. When the fire entered her blood, she moaned in ecstasy, and laid on her back watching the tip of his cigarette. When it was nothing but embers between his fingers he moved toward her. The light from the bathroom made his hair appear to be more silver than cropped gold, and his skin impossibly pale. His gaze paralyzed her, her feet were splendidly heavy, and the skin on her ribs felt like velvet beneath her own touch. She felt like glass.
His hands were cold, but she didn't protest. She let him take off her clothes, though he didn't remove his own and she was dying to know if his skin felt like the marble it resembled. But he only looked at her, appraising and searing her. Sarah only closed her eyes, as all the pressure subsided, not caring if he touched her. An orgasm was nothing compared to this.
Sleep was coming, she could feel it. Opening her heavy eyes, she realized she was alone, the nameless man was gone. Gone were his disappointed eyes, his half remembered face. Gone was her feeling of shame and self hatred. Lowering her eyes, she watched the bathroom light get dimmer as her blood began to boil. Fade to black, she mused as the world was slowly blotted out, her mouth losing feeling and her throat tensing. My heroine....