I basically wrote this with no plan...I knew what i wanted to do and how it was suppose to go but I basically jumped right into it and let Marik and Yugi flow on their own, A few things were changed, sticking to the original outline and I honestly debated if i was gonna do the lemons or not but in the end, the chemistry between these two characters just wrote itself...
In addition to the title song this one was very heavily inspired by my Dark/Libra playlist, so I wanted to add that here. just to give it the chapter a little more depth if anyone is interested.
Song: Almost Human-Voltaire
Playlist:
Monster-Imagine Dragons (my souls song lately)
Demons-Imagine Dragona
Monster-Skillet
The Monster-Eminem and Rihanna (which perfectly describes me)
My Demons-Starset
Flares-The Script
Let Me Love You-Ne-Yo (this song literally describes Dark and Libra to a T)
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of genocide, violence, pyrophobia, PTSD, threats of violence and murder and somewhat dubious consent depending on how you look at it but it IS consensual, and mentions of period typical homophobia.
PART II
Almost Human
I
What did I ever do to you
That you should cast me from grace
Though I love to rule in Hell
How I miss the taste of Heaven
It's cool and soft embrace
—Almost Human, Aurelio Voltaire
He landed with all the grace and silence of an assassin come to do murder. His prey slept alone in the bed and the room was empty and absent of guards or servants: it was almost comical how easy it all was. Behind him, the storm burst through the window with a rage that reflected his own bloodlust. Yet even then his query did not stir.
He chuckled, resisted the urge to laugh and snapped his fingers. The windows slammed shut, silent as shadows, and the howling wind and rage roaring thunder vanished: silencing the world in an instant. He took careful, sure-footed steps across the lush carpet and cast a quick glance around the large room. It was small for a house of this size and sparsely furnished, odd for the child of a man known for his expensive taste and wasteful spending. If anything this room looked...humble, homey. There was an old armchair in the corner beneath a gas-lamp besides a bookcase, the volumes worn and well-loved. A small night table was piled with heavy volumes and a stack of papers and a writer's pen. The large windows took up nearly the whole wall overlooking the moors and the rest of the other three were done in simple blue and gold wallpaper. There were no oversized portraits of the room's owner or rare and expensive art pieces. The pictures he did see were small portraits of a lovely woman, an old man, a young man and a small boy. Black and white photos of the four in various events and states of happiness crowded one of the bureaus: sweet, blissful images ripe with innocence and youth and a happy childhood he had never known past the age of ten.
He wanted to swipe them away in rage but resisted, less he woke his prey and all this be in vain. In the back of his mind, a small observant self noticed the lack of the lord in any of them, not even in family portraits. Shutting off this observation, he spun back to the bed. It was a dream: an ivory concoction of dusty golds and pale blues loaded with pillows and gossamer curtains like something a sleeping beauty might have been laid in for her eternal rest. A dark part of him imagined them splattered with red, drenched and reeking of copper.
The thought brought to life images of fire and screaming: houses burning down, hungry demons of flame devouring all with their fierce, red teeth and monstrous maws, curtains of black smoke rising like dead phantoms choking breath from lung, and the sound of metal slicing flesh, of men and women screaming and bodies collapsing to the ground. The stench of smoke and coppery blood and burning flesh and charred meat leaving nothing in the wake of its murder but ashes and dust. Bone dust. The dust of his parents, his aunt, his uncle, his family, his coven, his home.
The memory of phantom pain burning away the flesh of his back, the pain, so great, so intense, like a demon's needle like talons scraping, clawing and hacking at his back over and over again until all he felt was pain. Until the pain was so intense that he felt he must die, but the sweet blissful darkness of death would not come. As if peace itself had been ripped away from him. It awakened within him a rage and a fury and an anguish so intense, his lavender eyes blazed red with hate and he hesitated no longer.
He leapt into the air, hovered for just a moment as he settled himself upon the bed, landed on either side of his slumbering prey, a boy—the Lord of this house's youngest son, the child of the man who murdered his family. He landed soft as a phantom, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of the boy's slender hips pinning them there. For the briefest moment he felt those slim hips against his flesh, felt the quivering softness of his thighs against the curve of his calf and for the briefest flash of an instant, his anger quieted.
And then he saw the boy's face. He was simply lovely. Innocent in sleep, his face reflected nothing less than a sleeping child who had never known suffering or pain, and yet the tilt of his pert mouth where soft, flower petal lips morphed into a frown and the tiny creases of stress at his bow, barely noticeable if one did not look, betrayed the innocent vestige. His skin felt soft as lilies beneath his touch and its tone matched their pinkish white color. Frosty by the moonlight, it was a striking contrast to Marik's own mocha brown skin that spoke of an ancestry belonging to desert nomads. The round face sported plump, full cheeks and a pointed chin that tapered to a heart and though closed, the big round eyes and lush lashes spoke of an angelic almost effeminate beauty. A crown of raven black spikes fanned like wings atop his head crowned with a forelock of silken gold like scattered sunbeams and highlights of purple and magenta boasted the rainbow darkness of sterling's feathers. He looked…nothing less than lovely, like an angel made of flesh.
For a precious perpetual moment, Marik's undead heart stopped, stumbled and then began to beat, a silent, hopeful whisper in his chest assuring him that hope was not yet lost. He had seen the boy before, of course he had! He and Bakura had stalked the two boys for weeks: monitoring their habits and observing their movements, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, for the absence of the Lord's presence in order to strike and answer treachery in kind, but the moments were rare and fleeting. The man seemed to dominate the two boy's lives, flooding the room with his presence and whose roving eye watched his two sons like a hawk in the presence of others and yet was strangely absent from their home life. To the best of their knowledge, he spent as much time as possible in the homes of like-minded friends and business associates, or in the office he occupied in the city, very rarely returning to the family homestead on the moors that his sons loved. Whatever control he seemed to exert over the boys, the manor was the one in which neither youth would budge.
The choice presented the ideal opportunity for the two vampires with bellies for blood and rages that would only be sated by justice.
And yet, as Marik stared down at this boy, this beautiful angel he'd studied from a far, took in every detail of his face and loveliness, came the sudden sick realization that he had come to do murder. His gut twisted with a vicious shock of horror that he quickly, forcefully, shook away.
No! He scolded himself! NO!
He could not, would not humanize him. Would not view him as anything other than what he was: the boy whose family, whose father, had slaughtered his. The boy who lived while his family was dead .
How dare he. How dare he sleep peacefully, carelessly, innocently, while his family lay dead!
Steeling himself with that hatred, Marik grabbed the boy by the neck, enticing a terrified gasp from him. his hands rose to strike out at his assailant, but Marik was quicker and seied both slim wrists in his stronger, larger hands and pinned them above the boy's head, eyes burning read and his fangs springing free as eager for vengeance as he was and elongated in his jaw, ready to bite and snap the brat's neck and tear out his jugular.
And then those eyes snapped open.
II
I still remember your light
And it was streaming down
And burning out my eyes
—Almost Human, Aurelio Voltaire
They stunned him with their color and expression. They were neither blue nor purple but some majestic color in between, the deepest most mysterious shade of violet, like moonlit pools or the evening sky just before moonrise. Big and wide, they did nothing to hide their expressiveness and Marik found himself lost in the deepness of their dark, penetrating depths. But what mesmerized him most of all was not their color but the range of emotions visible between them: bewildered surprise, startled shock, survivalist calm, stunned mystification, curious concern. No, it was the emotion they didn't show: fear. Those beautiful violet eyes as bright and shimmering and expressive as polished amethyst stared up at him with a fearless, breathless, calm.
It surprised Marik enough to stop.
"You…you're…" the boy spoke sounding uncertain and…relieved? A mix of both most likely. He did not struggle against the bonds of Marik's hands, did not thrash and buck in terror, did not beg and scream and cry and plead for his life like a pathetically weak little coward, or fight with a survivalist desire for even a second more of life. He remained just as he spoke: calm, clear and uncertain, a slight tremor in his hands and hips.
"Beautiful." The word rolled off those delicate lips with such earnest passion and raw desire that Marik almost whirled back in utter shock.
He was well aware of the consequences of his exotic appearance: how his sharp leonine features and the paleness of his sandy blond hair made him appear both strangely elegant and untamedly dangerous in the eyes others. How the brand of his dark skin perpetually marked him as an outcast and a stranger in this arrogant, aristocratic world of Europe. There had been plenty who'd seen desire in his exotic beauty, in his dark strength and quiet resolve and sought pleasure in his bed but not his personality. None of them had ever called him beautiful. None of them ever looked at him with such adoration as this boy, this angel, compared to himself did.
That small spark of hope enraged him and Marik shot forward, once more seizing the boy by the grip of his throat, growled like a vicious beast and dragged him up to meet the fire and the fury and the hatred and the hunger burning in the twilight flames of his lavender eyes. "What is the matter with you!" He raged, furious fire enraging his voice with a high, raspy shriek.
The boy allowed him without even a flinch. His eyes dark and half-lidded with arousal. "Your eyes are like lilacs," he whispered and that sweet, low melodious rasp was nearly Marik's undoing. The softness of the words, so rich and velvety and delicate and light and airy that if ever Marik could imagine an angel's voice, this would be it. "Lilacs are my favorite flower."
Enraged, Marik screamed and released the boy's wrists and throat, grabbed him by the arms and slammed him back against the headboard with such force it knocked the air from the boy's lungs. Marik watched him deflate into silence with no small amount of satisfaction. "Do you not know why I am here? Why I've come? Are you so naïve?" he mocked, his voice thick and snaked with derision desperate to destroy the effect the boy had upon him by destroying the boy himself.
To his utter shock however he found only dark, defiant amethyst eyes staring back at him and not the submissive purple he had expected. "Have you come to kill me?" the boy asked, but there was nothing of a question in his words.
"YES!" Marik shrieked, furious not by the word themselves but the boy's reaction. '"Why are you not scared? Why are you not sobbing and begging for your life? How dare you deny me my vengeance by being complicit!" He threw the boy back against the bed and Yugi sank into the comforters but was offered no reprise as the vampire snatched him by the wrists and pinned them level with his head, pinned his legs and hips in place with his lower half and curled over him so close there was no way to ignore him. Their faces mere inches apart, both the boy himself and Marik could make out every detail of the other's expressions, and knew there was no mistaking the madness twisting his fanged smile, nor the rage burning his eyes bright as candles.
And yet the boy's face only fell, frowned as if hurt.
Damn him! The boy had no right to feel anything other than fear and retributional shame! Marik wanted more of that hurt more of that pain to make up for his own: for the screaming he still heard in his nightmares, for the stench of copper and smoke and burning flesh that still haunted his nostrils and rose like bile to stop. Hurt for the pain he's felt for years, for the phantom scars still burning into his back, for the pain and suffering his father had caused and had caused him.
And yet those eyes were alight with curiosity instead of cowardice.
"Why?" came the simple, honest question.
"What?" Marik snapped, his mind frozen by the shock of the word.
"Why do you want to kill me?"
III
What did I ever do to you
That you should treat me this way?
Is it really such a crime
For an angel to speak his mind?
Anytime I'll try to shed some Light
—Almost Human, Aurelio Voltaire
Marik exploded. "Why!"
He sank his nails into the boy's wrists, making him wince, but blinded by madness and rage and grief Marik did not notice as he bore down upon the boy with so many hateful words and anguished gasps it was impossible to stop. The damn of enraged grief exploded out of him and there was nothing left to do but ride the waves, "Why! I will tell you why! I want you dead because your family killed mine! You Father killed mine! My family and I lived in a village in the deserts across the sea far away from this disgustingly arrogant Europe with its pompous pride and mock righteousness. He, like the rest of the invaders wanted gold, or spices or resources, but my family stayed away from all that, because we were not like others. We are vampires. Yes, you stupid, child, for I see the denial in your little gasp, we were a very rare breed from the deserts of Egypt were like most desert kin we slept beneath the earth by day and roamed the world at night. Our village was small but plentiful and wealthy, we were trained as hunters and thieves but we were also kind and loyal, then one day your father came and decided he liked our land and because his skin was white, and ours wasn't and because he was from Europe and we were little more than desert rats, and because he wanted it and didn't think us even worthy of asking, decided he would take it. When we refused, he came back with an army but we decimated them in the night, for no one can stop a hunter born to the dark. That should've been the end of it, but he used this to rouse pity from others and hired mercenaries and spies to learn our habits and plans, and when he learned our secret and our weakness to the strength of the desert's sunlight, he had them all come at dawn and set our entire village ablaze! Every single man, woman and child who was not set on fire escaped into a trap where their swords were waiting. The only reason I escaped is because my mother told my older brother to take my sister and I and run to our leader's house, his son is my best friend and they sheltered us there, but the soldiers followed us and while the Nomach and his Lady fought, the princess hid us in the caves and sacrificed herself, so they'd think we all died! We barely escaped! Well…" The horror he saw on the boy's face was gratifying, and Marik's smirk twisted with cruelty and hate. "That's not a true statement, we didn't necessarily escape. Do you need proof? Certainty that your dear feather is not a monster? Well here!"
The boy sat petrified and wide-eyed in his shock, and Marik, overcome with the grief of his own victory, seized the moment to release him. Quickly he unclasped his cape, stripped his vest and finally his dress shirt, his smirk curling at the corners as the boy watched, memorized by horror and terror and a dark realization.
But Marik did not touch him, instead he turned around and exposed his back, hearing only the swallowed screams and the telling sound of hands clasping over one's mouth as Marik exposed him to the cruel scars that raked across his back: the remains of the flaming demons/ attempt to destroy him before Bakura saved his life.
"This is why I want you dead, Ujalah Van Darkholm," he spat the words over his shoulder like they were a sacred prayer. His voice rough, anguished; his eyes wet with unshed tears as he whirled around and faced him. Stared into those amethyst eyes that shined more than usual. Shined wetly, he realized, wet with unshed tears.
"Because your father killed my family. Because you are alive while they are dead. Why should he live and have his family while my siblings and I are alone?" The tears came freely now, big wet drops spilling from Marik's eyes as all his grief poured out of him. "It's not enough to kill him, he doesn't deserve a quick death and the sweet bliss of peace, no, he deserves to know . To suffer. To continue to live this life without his family and to feel that pain every day. To know that life without your loved ones is far worse than any pain death might bring."
He stared into the boy's eyes, never expecting what happened next.
The boy threw his arms around Marik's chest and burst into tears. The tiny body wracked with sobs as he wept uncontrollably for the man he held. Marik could do nothing but sit there, sit and feel like the weight of the world suddenly evaporated from his shoulders. He let the boy cry the anguished sobs, he, himself had run out of long ago, and yet still felt the pain.
"I'm sorry," the boy whispered in a voice choked with tears. "I'm so sorry that happened to you." The boy pulled away, his face ashen and soaked with tears, those magnificent violet eyes heartbroken and that single sight caused Marik more distress than anything else.
"If I thought it would help, I would gladly give you my life if I thought it would ease your pain…" he paused and there was no denying the earnestness in that declaration. The boy's hands fisted. "But it won't, because my father is not like you. You love your family, and my father…he never loved his." The boy's angelic voice twisted with bitter rage, so much so that Marik was surprised by the depth of such hatred, such indignation.
"You…believe us?" Marik choked on a gasp.
The boy laughed, a harsh bitter bark of sound. "You think I do not know what that man is capable of?" The tone showed he did not expect an answer, and the boy answered too quickly for Marik to give one. "He is my Father, our Father, my brother's and mine. The man who blackmailed our grandfather to wed his daughter so he could marry into wealth and aristocracy and then abandoned her once the documents were signed and the marriage bed was still warm. The man who hates my brother and I because our mother loved us, and we hate him because he never loved her. Our father who tried for years to force us to do his bidding because mother and grandpa made us the sole inheritors of their funds and estates, and bribed the Magisters to remain our guardian until Temmy turns twenty-one. Who dictates every word we speak, every ball we attend, every action we say in public so we will not embarrass him and does nothing but insult us when we are alone, Believe me when I say, I know better than anyone how cruel he is."
The boy deflated as if exhausted by his own outburst. He brushed an arm across his face and held it there, shaking. "My death would cause that man no grief. In truth, he would be grateful if someone came and rid him of his 'weak, worthless, effeminate son who exists only to embarrass him'," Yugi spat.
Marik sat back then, stunned as the boy looked at him, wide eyes dark with an emotion he knew only too well "You are not the only one his selfishness and greed has suffered."
Marik reeled back as if he'd been scorched, shook his head and steeled himself. "It is not the same!" he snapped clinging desperately to the last tendrils of rage. He needed his rage for without it there was nothing left, but pain…even as the phantom pain in his back and heart that had burdened him for years felt less and less a physical thing.
"No," Yugi agreed with a sigh, his hands falling limply in his lap. "No, it isn't. You're right."
Marik growled at him, a howling, mangled sound like a wounded animal, afraid and confused and had nothing left but savagery to keep it from surrendering.
"I'm sorry…" the boy said again, and Marik felt fingers weaving through his hair. "I'm sorry I cannot do more to take away your pain."
Marik shot up then captured the angel and pinned him on top of the comforter, stared down into eyes a mixture of surprise and fearful excitement, and something that was akin to arousal. Marik leered over him again with all the grace and wildness of a predatory cat, but it was not with malice that he spoke. "It is not my pain, you've taken."
He only had to move an inch or two before his lips enveloped over the boy's.
IV
I'm just like you
Better than He
To Hell with they
I'm almost me
I'm nearly human
Pity me
I'm almost a human being
—Almost Human, Aurelio Voltaire
They parted with a small little gasp and then relaxed with a moan, allowing Marik to sample them thoroughly. He tasted chocolate and hazelnuts and strawberries and the rich, tangy flavor of spiced meat. Marik devoured it all until he was drunk on the taste, the boy's tongue rising to meet his and briefly Marik wondered what he must taste to the angel.
They parted with a loud, breathy gasp that left them both panting. Their eyes met again blazing with arousal and the secret language that only lovers understood. Yugi's shadowed eyes became half-lidded and he nodded, giving his consent and then whispered. "Yugi."
Marik hummed only slightly confused so he elaborated.
"My name is Yugi."
Marik needed nothing else. He captured the boy's lips again, devouring his breath in a kiss, and squeezed the pinioned wrists, earning a delicious gasp from the boy beneath him and an encouraging buck of his hips.
Releasing one wrist, Marik clawed at the night gown he wore, and tore it open with a single sharp tug, broke the kiss and devoured Yugi's neck and collar, enticing delicious little squeaks and moans from him. The boy writhing and wriggling under the rough treatment: all shivering hips and quaking thighs that spread wide like wings and enclosed around his hips as Marik greedily explored every inch of the soft subtle flesh. The tender softness of his chest and the pert little buds of his breasts—Yugi seemed to like the way his fingers pinched and prodded and teased if the little mewls and squirms were any indication, the taunt smoothness of his belly as he ran his fingers down over the valley of his belly and tapped spidery fingers over the sensitive junction of his pelvis and thighs.
He let go of Yugi's other wrist to tear away the rest of the gown leaving the boy naked and exposed to him, displayed in all his magnificent glory like Marik's own personal feast. His teeth and fangs explored freely, leaving tiny bites and lovemarks in their wake while his strong hands held his hips down, slid up and down the subtle flesh of his thighs, kneaded the plump, pleasant globes of his bottom.
All while Yugi writhed and bucked and moaned, wantonly beneath him. His hands squeezed Marik's shoulders and fisted his hair, his hips buckled against their binds desperately urging him onward especially when Marik's teeth and tongue began teasing his inner thighs, licking and sampling the flesh but avoiding the place where Yugi wished to be touched most.
His arousal hung heavy between them and Marik teased it with his fingers. Desperate and eager, and yet driven to the brink of madness with pleasure, Yugi forced himself to sit up, to steady himself on the man's hips while his strong hands continued to grope and stroke. Force the shaking fingers of one hand to undo the lacings of the man's pants while the other fished for something in his dresser drawer but the man's skilled finger about his length made it impossible not to shiver, let alone focus. Finally, Yugi could stand it no longer and collapsed in his arms, tossing him the vial of oil.
Marik ceased his actions and looked at it with an arched brow.
Yugi grinned shamelessly. "You are not the first gentlemen I've had in my bed," he confessed unabashedly: eyes shadowed, a coquettish glint to his smile. "But I suspect you will be the only one from now on."
"Yes!" Marik growled, hungrily spilling the contents over his fingers and pulling the evidence of his own arousal free. It felt hot and heavy between them and Yugi swallowed, and licked his lips. Marik ceased him around the neck, eyes blazing with bold possessiveness. Yugi shivered in delight "I will be." And he thrust his fingers inside.
Yugi screamed, back bending in a perfect arch as Marik skilled fingers thrusted and angled, stretched and prodded. He released the boy's neck to snake an arm around his waist, pulling him flush against him and arching his fingers, thrusting them deeper. Yugi writhed deliciously under the penetration, grabbing his shoulders and struggling to wrap his legs around the man's waist, his mouth open in a series of delighted moans and shrieks as those fingers pushed and prodded, stretching against the velvety tightness of his warmth. Yugi's arms tightened around his shoulder and just when he thought he might die from the onslaught of pleasure, the fingers removed themselves.
Yugi barely has time to mourn their absence before he was once more pinned against the bed by his wrists, Marik loomed over him, eyes wild with delight, spreading Yugi's thighs and burying himself completely with a single, solid thrust.
Heat and white light exploded behind Yugi's eyes as pleasure fired his blood. The unexplainable feel of his own velvety heat wrapping so tightly about that wondrously thick arousal crashed against the burst of it stretching his tightness. The friction, so hot and wonderful that Yugi wanted, needed, craved more and he immediately bucked his hips, putting the man deeper inside him and encouraging to continue.
Marik growled, savagely and obeyed, thrusting wildly and rapidly into the boy beneath him, stimulated by the way those velvety walls brushed and scrapped and absolutely squeezed as if desperate to keep him there. Aroused by Yugi's thighs tightening around his hips and his long legs kicking at his sides, and the arc of his spine, Mark let go of his wrists and wrapped his arm around Yugi's waist, the other grabbed his hip and dragged it forward: the actions in combination with Yugi's own movements put Marik deeper inside him, decreased their time apart and rapidly increased their speed, until both men where writhing against each other.
Until their stomaches tightened and the coil of pleasure grew taunt. Until their nails sank into the other's flesh and pleasure exploded behind their eyes, and they came together in a single shattering climax that robbed Yugi of all his breath and drew from Marik a possessive scream of the other's name just before he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of Yugi's neck. Large, greedy gulps of blood that was nothing short of ambrosia: like chocolate and hazelnuts and strawberries and fresh spices. He drew away slowly, licked the wound clean, and saw Yugi visibly shudder at the sight of his own blood on his lover's slips and the feel of his essence spilling inside him, burning him like a brand.
They collapsed together against the bed, swallowing the other's breath and spirit in a kiss that was of both love and resilience. They stay conjoined, tightening their hold on the other as Marik's essence branded Yugi with the evidence of his love and Yugi's spilt across their stomachs, marking Marik as his own.
Fire boiled their blood, and their hands explored once more. Invigorated by the sudden sensitivity, the vampire once more began to entice the other to arousal with bites and licks and kisses and pets. Yugi returned the affection and pushed back, rolling Marik onto his back so Yugi was now seated in his lap.
Marik growled at the new position a combination of pride and tested dominance. Yugi felt the evidence of his arousal—still conjoined from their last lovemaking—and moaned at the feel of him growing hard within him. Without warning, Yugi began to rock in the other's hips, riding him as fiercely and recklessly as he rose his favorite stallion. Marik matched the fervent pace, rutting his hips up and slamming Yugi down to meet his erratic thrusts by once more grabbing his hips. Their eyes locked as they made love—blazing with a mixture of passion and desperation and wildness and savage acceptance.
They made love again and again that night and did not stop. Not when Atem, concerned at the commotion, burst into the room and found Yugi riding him, enraged until his own dark lover swooped him and caught him up in an embrace and left them in peace. Each time Marik sampled Yugi's flesh and blood until the younger collapsed: spent and satisfied, drained and delirious with pleasure.
When dawn rose the next morning, Marik remained at Yugi's side. And when dusk fell the next night, four lovers met, ready to face the consequences of their actions and planned their next step: the two families now allies in goals far more passionate than rage and vengeance: love and justice.
And though he knew there was still much hardship ahead, and many more ghosts he still needed to put to rest, for the first time, with Yugi at his side, Marik looked to the light with new hope and felt, at long last, the beginnings of an end to his grief.
I initially had a huge debate with myself on how much exposition related to their past lives i was going to explore...and honestly whether or not I wanted to add it at all or leave it ambiguious but once I started exploring the characters' backgrounds, the emotional depth and trauma they enduried, they different levels of genre and parentla abuse (in Atem and Yugi's case) they endured and the attitudes of the time period, it offered me a whole level of characterization and development i was very eager to explore, and I have always loved writing flawed characters as they work through their grief and traumas.
This chapter was one of the results and I am personally very happy with how it came out...it was honestly quite cathartic for me, too, I won't lie.
I've struggled and suffered from my own experiences with grief and loss, and pain and toxic relationships and environments and while, I will admit they were no where near as bad as they could have been and the experiences of others, the struggled are all real, and they are consuming.
I have faced my demons, embraced my monster and made peace with my inner darkness, but one thing I've learned is that you cannot do it alone. I was only able to get out of a toxic relationship because I had a VERY supportive friend, and was able to overcome my grief because of the loved ones how pushed me to get help. You need support and love and even if just one person believes in you, then you can overcome anything...
Never forget that you are loved.