Beautiful Liar | Adam Sackler

Just like the Rest

Warning: Abusive elements that correlate with alcohol. Adam gets verbally violent. Cheating/infidelity, very slight dubcon, breeding kink, degradation.

***

It was another frisky winter night. The heater squelched and spewed moderately-warm air. The torrid air was stuffy, hefty with the scent of dust that surfaced in the old machine. Old 80's classic rock blared exuberantly from your staticky stereo, the shitty signal eliciting a grimace on your face, as you finish mounting your newest painting on the wall above your flatscreen TV. 

The city was consumed by coruscating lights as the sky blooms black, encompassed by faint flickers of distant stars. The haze of pollution clouded the constellation, blocking your view from the sapphire moon and its babies that specked the atmosphere. You were grateful enough for the obscured vision of dimming, clustered stars. The city and the stars were equally as beautiful in your eyes of artistry.

The classic "Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks rumbled from your low-quality radio system and you beamed. Twirling around the living room as you pined up your amber-gleaming string lights. Swaying and rasping the lyrics contently, feeling a bit tipsy after the glass of wine you poured yourself— the wine gifted to you as an amiable welcome gift from your new boss, Mr. Seymour.

It was a hospitable gesture, and even though you were a recovering alcoholic, you accepted it with gratitude and promised him you would crack it open the moment you made it home from work. Which is exactly what you did. You lounged on the couch and sipped on the tart, luxury wine. You were accustomed to cheap beer as opposed to opulent liquors, so it took a bit of getting used to before you could pour yourself multiple glasses and chug them.

Now, you were on your third— nearing your fourth. Clutching it in your hands, shuffling around the apartment in your fluffy socks, feeling content under the warm-toned lights that you installed on your own accord. The artificial whites that were originally housing the ceiling were atrocious, in your opinion. The coppery tainted lights were more cozy and welcoming.

Everything was coming together accordingly. The apartment was starting to feel like home. The sensation of a home was so foreign to you, and it will take some accommodating before you grow used to living on your own in a bustling city, without a warped boyfriend looming over your back...

You shook the egregious thoughts away, blinking vigorously. Instead, your concentration zoned in on the music and the bittersweet burgundy of your wine.

Loud, hostile shouts thundered over the dull bass of your music, and you groaned, dramatically rolling off of the couch. You've grown accustomed to the high pitched, banshee-like shrills of Hannah Horvath. They were blood curdling, and quaking through even your own apartment, even with the music blasting.

You debated on pounding your fist into the wall and screaming at them both. Adam and Hannah were an abomination, an unhealthy couple that every renting-occupant would loathe to be neighboring.

You trudged into your bedroom, hoping the boisterous shouts wouldn't carry to the back of your apartment. To no avail, they did. And they were exceedingly louder. Their words were now coherent enough for you to fabricate precisely what they were saying.

"You're a sociopath, Adam!"

"And you're not? You're the most narcissistic piece of shit i've laid eyes on, Hannah."

"You're fucking insane. You have little to no regards for anybody's needs, other than your own. Like fucking your new next door neighbor, just for a sense of gratification?"