Dark and twisted Addek. Before Mark even happened. . . .
I Hate You, Then I Love You
You hold me bound to you. . .
It takes two hearts that beat together to unite as one.
It takes two to love and listen.
Two eyes to want and feast, then, roll in ecstasy, and two hands to hold on tighter than ever and never dare let go.
It takes two to plan a forever after.
A sweet devine surrender.
It takes two for eyes to linger and meet, hands to wander and claw, a face to be buried in between breasts and at the throbbing of her curls.
It takes two to love it all.
But it only takes one to keep a secret.
I'd like to run away from you. . .
She still remembers it at times, when she curls unprotected and woeful in a pool of salt. And only since it is of that night all she can remember - how and why so soon. She do not understand what happened, still cannot wrap her head around that night.
Why? Why? Why?
She is desperate for answers.
In the pre of bright - long before the birds would chirp and the sun would mock, when the world would just be silent and eerie and the sheets sprawled over her would feel as foreign as the tenderness in Bizzy's touch at her leaving - she flits her eyes shut and remembers a glance, a pant, a caress, a slap, an arch of the back; a tear across porcelain in a cold, soul crushing, life-ending room.
It never was so cold and haunted before, though.
Some mornings - perhaps, most mornings, she wakes up to his eyes before he surges in, before the pain festers with the deaden familiarity and the adrenaline and the heat and before the "I will love you till we're old and grey." would set in and before reality became an everlasting echo.
It is real. She feels it. She still feels him. He is still here and not there.
On the days she is feeling almost audaciously bold, her fingertips will press against the inner flesh of her thigh on the purple, almost blue-gray lesion graciously left behind, weeping the blood clots beneath.
And she does not dare to have an inkling to face the fact that the bruise there would have already departed her skin by the end of summer, and she continues to press ferociously for a shock, a wince, a reminder, a whimper, a pain; an indication that it may have actually existed.
It is all she has now.
But if I were to leave you I would die. . .
She returns the week before Christmas, fingertips against the crisp frost of the cab window. The cab driver snorts, curses, flails and shrieks a staccato rhythm that is a decibel or two above the blaring horns as he snails through New York traffic, but it goes unseen by the passenger inside.
All she sees is the worn and white tread by Saks, the steaming cocoa held between cold, frigid hands; the pieces of herself in a city as strange to her as the woman staring out the cab window.
I'd like to break the chains you put around me and yet I'll never try. . .
It is Archer who greets her at the door first, towering and mighty, with a kiss to her sunken cheek, arms wrapping entirely around her near-gone waist and she is suspended for only a millisecond along with a joyous twirl, and a grin that is unmistakable even to her clouded eyes. She then turns as Bizzy takes a moment from preparations, before she sends her daughter up to her bedroom in a brush of a kiss, the gesture still as unusual to her as the moment it first happened.
It is only when pearl studs laces her ears that she realises her hands are deathly shaking.
She needs to ready herself.
No matter what you do you drive me crazy. . .
It is an unmistakable shiver up her spine that has her lids shutting for a moment.
It stings. It hurts. It is welcomed.
She grinds her teeth, flexes her fingers, and opens her eyes, watching as he simply regards her with a nod before turning back to his colleague.
At least he cares enough to give her a nod.
She can settle for that.
I only love you more.
And it is only one stop to the restroom, one finger pressed against her inner thigh, that allows her to smile through the night.
I'd rather be alone. . .
She watches him watch her - taking a sneaky glance every now and then at him; watches him remain in her vicinity, eyes catching him always as she greets her parent's guests with a toothy grin and in her best dress as an army of New York's finest elites welcome her back home from Congo, ergo completion of the MSF project.
They do not really actually know where she went.
She do not too.
She cannot remember.
Was she in Paris, Milan, London? Did she even leave the States?
It is what Bizzy had told her ladies at the country club anyway.
Just stick to the story, Addison, darling.
And the chase to be close to him is nearly effortless as she snakes her way from the parlor, past the doors, and up the stairs.
In the quiet dimly lit hallway, there is the most beloved embrace dashing ahead of her and she runs.
I miss you.
It takes two for hearts to beat, eyes to roll, hands to hold.
This time, it takes two to keep a secret.
But then I know my life would be so empty as soon as you were gone. . .
He breathes against the skin of her neck, presses his toes hard against the skin of her calves, and traces the curve of her ear with his tongue.
It is summertime and the room is blazing, sheets hanging off the corner of the bedpost, windows stretched and curtains still against the ill-present breeze. Trays of room service litter the carpet, his desperate need to fill the vacancy near her ribs translating into the remains of sweets and starches. His chest holds the markings of a mad woman, her nails ripping at the skin as he held her down and forced heavy plates of pasta, bread, scones, syrup, dusted cocoa truffles down her throat.
Noooooooo! I can't!
She screams in his face, tears at his hair, slashes at the flesh on his back and finally runs into the shower. He is at her feet within second. He is always always at her feet, behind her and following suit, and she slams the glass shut and taunts him with eyes locking with his own and one finger shoved down her throat.
He is soaking beside her by the time she blinks and yanks the finger from her mouth, pushing her up against the shower stall and locking her arm behind her.
"Tell me you love me, Derek."
She is gasping and raging and most certainly crying as he lifts her up, whilst she squeezes her eyes shut, and acquieses.
He laughs. It is a deep and throaty one and so not of his character before he speaks, before he digs his fingers in her arms and leaves her seeing white.
"Then how can you do this to me?"
You treat me wrong. . .
It is a late when Savvy sees them, tiny love bites trailed from the curve of a shoulder, down the expanse of her back and across the portruding ridges of her vertebrae, finally wrapping around her hips and halting above her curls. She hears Savvy's loud gasp as she comes in, her arms unconsciously tugging the silk of her robe over her body, depleting the evidence from Savvy's sight.
The heaviness in those sapphire orbs becomes too much to bear, so she heads into the bathroom and locks the door behind her, fingers trailing down a particularly savage mark right above her sex.
"Addie, darling, please talk to me." she hears her plead, the knocking of frantic pounding at the doorway is making her head spin and palms grow hot.
"Please, Addie, you have to stop this. Please. Not again."
He had been so ever tender that night.
She kneels on skin and bones and heaves.
You treat me right. . .
"This isn't going to last." he murmurs against her ear with fingers so tenderly tracing patternlessly on her forearm that she barely felt them at first. Her eyes catching his in the silent backdrop of a mirror in the hotel bathroom. "And you know it too, Addie."
She is forced to watch wretched eyes regard her with as much respect as the memory of his tongue dipped deep within her sex.
"I don't want trouble."
She does not want to hurt anyone else.
It is a trembling degree laced with a hint of firmness that overcomes her. "I'm glad we have that settled."
Only when she tries to escape his body behind hers does his hand slip and she cries for him, because he is slipping far away from the memory of stolen kisses in library study halls and public kisses laden with coloured gifts and vengeful kisses atop dance floors and parting kisses in the rain.
"Love me. Please love me, Derek."
It slips, and he drags, and she pulls - like always and he clamps one hand over her mouth and whispers about fiancées, broken promises, forever afters and the places where only he can make her purr.
You make me fight with you. . .
She swears and promises him that she will not follow, but he only smirks and tugs at her arm and leads her out to the open window of the building. It is a long drop and it is cold and windy. She will surely splatter on impact. She will not look like her, then. Only like a freak accident.
She attempts to run back and pleads for him to let her go, but it is all pretend, really, all the most spectacular show ever invented as he holds her tight and has her laughing within minutes.
She is not done yet.
He pulls her to the fields and water and aids her in disrobing from the white and pearls and lace of what should have been the most memorable day of her life.
He taunts her to join him in the water, taunts her flesh to meet his and depart from the pounds of white fabric at her feet.
She steps into the water in her undergarments and swims and floats and has him at her back within seconds.
"I told you I wasn't going to let you go through with it."
She can only laugh as he smiles against her ear, presses a damp kiss at the base of the structure, lays her on her back to float.
"It's forever after, Addie. You want that, right?"
Yes. She does.
His voice becomes fainter and fainter, farther, then distant, and the water gets higher and higher, but she is smiling through it all.
Impossible to live with you but I could never live without you. . .
She awakens to a pair of clear gazing sapphire eyes and a thin tube pressed neatly at her wrist. Her lips feel chapped, and there is a numb and pain every moment she breathes, a numb pressure that overwhelms her lungs and makes her feel painfully lightheaded.
Savvy's lips are shaking as she presses a kiss against her forehead. She feels them. She hears words and senses movement and feels pressure at her throat.
"... A number of lacerations covering the mass of her shoulder down to her back and hips ... signs of starvation and perhaps regurgitation tendencies too ... severe hypothermia when admitted ... third admittance since her last suicide attempt following her husband's death ..."
"We're going to get you help." she hears her brother speak, it's hoarse and pained and she has no strength to comfort him because she can only watch Derek as he approaches her bedside and kneels beside her.
He brushes her hair with his fingers, rubs at her lips, and smiles widely.
"I'm never going to let you go."
She smiles.
Okay.
What do you think?
I love me some dysfunctional Addek relationship. Actually this is how I'm feeling about my GPA. I'm stressed about school so I'm writing.
Please review!