Sweet baby blues glazed over in rapture, staring unseeing down to her naked
form. Her curls fell over her bent head, the golden veil caressing her
forehead, even as her lover caresses her skin. Her lips part in a sigh of
passion and joy; her tongue darting out to lick parched lips. Her lover
moved up and down her arm, leaving a crimson trail in their wake.
She tilted her head back, her eyes closing as the pleasure courses through her veins, as her lover moves onward to her hands and then her breasts. She loved their touch, as it pushed her problems and her worries away, for the brief, wonderful moments. She whimpered her desire and her urgency, needing more from her lover than what she was getting. She wanted it deeper, to go all the way in. To touch her darkened soul and bring her alive.
She was getting weak from desire. Can that be possible? The fleeting thought pushed its way into her consciousness only to be pushed away. Of course it was possible. She needed the oblivion. She needed the escape from reality, from losing her most cherished and loved soulmate. She wanted to absorb her new lover, to never let it go.
She opened her eyes slowly, but nothing would come to focus. Sweat beaded atop her quivering lips. It was never like this before. It was a brief interlude, until things got too overwhelming, and then they'd become one again. But this was different. She was slipping out of control. She was spiraling down into darkness. At first she feared the unknown, the dark abyss that loomed ahead. But to turn back now was impossible.
She asked for this trip, and so she must take it. What else was her alternative? Seeing the man she loved look at her like a stranger? As if he hadn't loved her mere days before? That he hadn't held her in his arms and made her his in everyway possible. He pushed her away, accusing her of his pain. But what had she done but loved him?
She gave up any struggle, as if she had to begin with, and descended further into the welcoming black. Her body went limp in the chair, her lover falling from her body with a clatter on the floor. Not a twitch to indicate that she was alive, even though she had been dead long before this had happened.
That was how Michael found Maria, slumped in the chair by her computer - cold and lifeless. He ran over to her, and gasped in horror. Her pale complexion was stained red from her life-blood. And the culprit lay at her feet, the glistening blade sneering its red lips up at him. Michael wrapped her in his arms and wept. He had brought this to her, by his actions. He cried for all that she had gone through. both past and present. She was fragile. Why didn't he see that? Why didn't he try and help her through it, instead of turning his back on her?
He laid her down on her bed, and draped a cover over her, placing a kiss upon her scarred cheek. He walked over to where the knife lay and picked it up. He wanted to scream in rage, but no sound would come out. He dropped the knife in the trash can, before climbing into bed beside Maria. She was always afraid of the nightmares, and she needed him to keep them at bay.
She tilted her head back, her eyes closing as the pleasure courses through her veins, as her lover moves onward to her hands and then her breasts. She loved their touch, as it pushed her problems and her worries away, for the brief, wonderful moments. She whimpered her desire and her urgency, needing more from her lover than what she was getting. She wanted it deeper, to go all the way in. To touch her darkened soul and bring her alive.
She was getting weak from desire. Can that be possible? The fleeting thought pushed its way into her consciousness only to be pushed away. Of course it was possible. She needed the oblivion. She needed the escape from reality, from losing her most cherished and loved soulmate. She wanted to absorb her new lover, to never let it go.
She opened her eyes slowly, but nothing would come to focus. Sweat beaded atop her quivering lips. It was never like this before. It was a brief interlude, until things got too overwhelming, and then they'd become one again. But this was different. She was slipping out of control. She was spiraling down into darkness. At first she feared the unknown, the dark abyss that loomed ahead. But to turn back now was impossible.
She asked for this trip, and so she must take it. What else was her alternative? Seeing the man she loved look at her like a stranger? As if he hadn't loved her mere days before? That he hadn't held her in his arms and made her his in everyway possible. He pushed her away, accusing her of his pain. But what had she done but loved him?
She gave up any struggle, as if she had to begin with, and descended further into the welcoming black. Her body went limp in the chair, her lover falling from her body with a clatter on the floor. Not a twitch to indicate that she was alive, even though she had been dead long before this had happened.
That was how Michael found Maria, slumped in the chair by her computer - cold and lifeless. He ran over to her, and gasped in horror. Her pale complexion was stained red from her life-blood. And the culprit lay at her feet, the glistening blade sneering its red lips up at him. Michael wrapped her in his arms and wept. He had brought this to her, by his actions. He cried for all that she had gone through. both past and present. She was fragile. Why didn't he see that? Why didn't he try and help her through it, instead of turning his back on her?
He laid her down on her bed, and draped a cover over her, placing a kiss upon her scarred cheek. He walked over to where the knife lay and picked it up. He wanted to scream in rage, but no sound would come out. He dropped the knife in the trash can, before climbing into bed beside Maria. She was always afraid of the nightmares, and she needed him to keep them at bay.
