Sanity

Chapter Twelve

Third persons POV

She knew he was bad. She was certain he was a sinner. In the eyes of her religion she was to stay clear of him, but she hoped God would understand everything she done wasn't done willingly. He was supposedly psychotic, yet he appeared sane. He murdered for reasons that nobody would understand, yet he has no idea why he took her. He knew she wouldn't suffer, she didn't want to live. She wouldn't squirm in his grip begging him to let her live as he placed the cold metal gun to her temple, seconds away from pulling the trigger.

She was too innocent for this world, she thought she had experienced all the bad yet her childhood was nothing compared to his. He was a troubled child, he wasn't haunted by Demons in his head more so in the living flesh. He soon took a stand and tore them apart piece by piece.

He went off the rails, in many ways they were alike, both troubled. He wanted so badly to leave her there but he knew deep down she didn't belong on this messed up planet, yet he took her with him, into his screwed up life.

He wanted something to call his, a person, that only belonged to him. One that he didn't have to rent out to others. He just so happened to cross paths with her. Her. Maisy. She was a sight, but not his usual sight. He preferred tall, slim, model like girls. Not an ounce of realness showing. She had blemishes, imperfections. She was real. She had a curvy figure, thick thighs and a set of breasts that women would pay for. But like most women they don't appreciate what they have. They crave what they don't have. Her skin was a milky pasty colour and her eyes, her eyes were the most magical thing. They grasped you if ever you got to see them. Her gaze was always fixated on the ground, she feared him, just like everyone else and he craved that. He craved for people to look at him and fear to replace what ever expression they withheld before.
At their first encounter he realised she was everything that he had been looking for. Easy. Easy on so many different fixtures. He thought she would be easy to manage. Spare her a few kind words about herself and she will do as you please. Simple. She wouldn't demand much. She craved affection and he couldn't give her the boyfriend type of affection, but he could say a few nice words about her and she would forever relapse back to him. He thought this was all going to be oh so easy.

He was known for his crude ways. Feared by so many. People anticipated his arrival. London was big, yet he was known in all parts. He had a plan on what to do with her, yet he knew there was no way in hell he was bringing her back. He used the term "borrow" lightly. They all knew she wasn't coming back. There was no escaping the wrath that is Harry Styles. Every girl before her knew that. He destroyed them, but in the most innocent way possible. They knew what they were in for, yet they still agreed to it, he simply wasn't to blame. He needed his next fix and she was just at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

So there she lay limp in the passenger seat of the car, with a strong heartbeat and the faint sounds of her breathing could be heard. That was all he needed to know he hadn't killed her. Yet. Killed her yet. He won't physically kill her, he will kill her soul and drive her to kill the flame that only ignites for him, that flame, that can only be extinguished by killing herself.

As they approached his apartment block he parked the car in his spot. A spot that caused fear to rise in people's throats. He grew aggravated as he gazed over at her, she looked helpless, exactly how she had appeared at the rehab centre. He wondered what she was doing there but deep down he knew she wasn't sane nor did she have much sanity left. She screamed anytime someone approached her in a way that was foreign to her. That wasn't normal. Normal. What does that even mean? She didn't belong with him for he was the devil and her a placid Angel. Possibly a fallen one,as they were once God's favourite. He gazed at her. Her long hair tangled and in a mass of knots. Her face littered with small freckles. Tiny blemishes located on parts of her porcelain face. Her legs weren't covered. The bloody shorts still placed on her legs. Her dark red blood in small blotches on the shorts. Her thick milky legs crossed over each other. Her thighs touching. She hated that. Only a couple of months ago they didn't touch, they were so far from each other, yet when she looked at her reflection the one word that describes her was fat. It was constant.

When she first started losing weight her parents were so proud to see that she wouldn't have any major health risks, they didn't realise that the worst health risks came from what she was doing to herself. People complemented her figure. Complementing her for what was the first time. They told her how she should be so proud for loosing her puppy fat. That drove her further towards her illness, so far that what was left of her was only skin and bone. People at school finally started acknowledging her, asking her for tips, she simply told them, I am sick, they said no you are an inspiration. How could she not fall in love with her illness.

He felt an unknown feeling creep through him as he stared at her, he didn't do feelings just controlling,
so this was something he needed to rid of. He bashed his head off of the steering wheel in aims of making the warm feeling inside him go away. He then realised the girl seated a few centimetres away from him was sent as a blessing her aim was to fix him and him to fix her, yet he knew he couldn't let that happen, she was too broken for him, or so he thought.

That was some fairytale shit and this is real life. People don't fix others, as this world is a selfish place. You will never succeed if you don't put yourself above others, always think of yourself. But she , she just couldn't. It wasn't possible.

It's not the typical story I swear. It might sound like it but it's not.
Also I got inspiration from a slam poetry poem cause it was so inspiring.