Lower case intended, again.
beyoncé sat across from her wife. her leg bounced up and down and she glared at the woman.
"i hate you more than i hate myself." she spat bitterly. onika chuckled, she rolled her neck and leaned back in her chair.
"in some alternative universe—i really do give a fuck. but here, right now? i could've give a shit if I had one up my ass right now." the woman replied with a dark chuckle.
onika was; sick, not physically—but mentally and emotionally? the woman could use a few doctors.
she had her wife strapped to a chair, both her legs in arms. and, truthfully; she found the sight attractive.
"you're such a crazy bitch. this is why my father told me to run while i had the chance." beyoncé screamed. she knew nobody could hear her, but that's how she chose to express herself.
and again, her wife just giggled. Onika stood from her own seat and walked in front of her wife's.
"mm, i know. you should've listened." she chided. beyoncé rolled her eyes as the woman before her stuffed her face into her neck.
onika ran her tongue from the woman's collar bone all the way to her earlobe, moaning at the taste of her wife's skin.
"now i'm addicted to you, bey. there's no running now." she taunted. beyoncé struggled in the tape that held her bound. she snatched her head away from her wife and released a heavy breath.
"you're not addicted, you're psychotic." she corrected, pure hatred laced her sharp words.
"possibly, but, that doesn't mean i'm not in love with you darling." Onika smiled—it was twisted and dark, just like her eyes. the sight ran a shiver down beyoncé's spine as she looked into them.
"ya see my love, you're like my own personal brand of heroin—and i'm hooked." Onika professed. she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, the blade freshly sharpened.
beyoncé stared at her own reflection in the blade, an all too familiar look of fear residing on her face.
her wife ran the knife down from the very same ear she'd licked, and down to her cleavage. beyoncé's body shivered in fear, the realization that she could very well die tonight started to sink in.
"you know what addictions like, don't you honey?" onika giggled and beyoncé cringed at the mention of her past. her eyes never left the knife that grazed against her exposed cleavage.
"what it feels like to not have your daily fix—" onika grunted, she swiftly moved the blade away from her wife's flawless skin and choked her lightly, careful not to bruise her too much.
beyoncé moaned in pain, the sudden tightness around her throat made it hard to breath.
"i want a divorce." she choked out, and she could physically see onika's eyes darken a shade.
her grip on the woman tightened and she leaned her face in even closer to beyoncé.
"you're breathin' my heart, darling." onika sang—although she tried to mask the hurt with sarcasm she was sure beyoncé could hear it.
"good, now we're even. so let me go," beyoncé strand out. onika sighed, her wife just wasn't getting it, she just didn't seem to understand.
so, she released her throat roughly. the jet haired woman stormed away from her wife and dug into her purse.
she pulled out a gun and swiftly held it to her lover. that sick smile plastered to her face yet again.
"ahh, giselle. why don't you just listen to me, hm? why must I always go to the extreme to make you understand?" Onika ranted when pacing back in forth. she cocked the loaded gun and continued to hold it at her wife.
