𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ♥

drink your testament

i shout upon no other ears but my own, the echo radiating off the tapering wallpaper. i claw maniacally at the oak door with the torn beds of nails, the polish chipping on my manicure. it was a pathetic poetic facade the way everything had all crumbled around me in such a short amount of time, but i was to blame. if my throat hadn't caught onto the hunger the rest of my body betrayed me with, making it impossible to breathe without feeling the jagged lines of darkness dancing around my vision- until i caved into the persistent, violent urges of my curiosity, then i might not be here in this very moment.

i might not be here in this disgusting, old room that smelled like a closet full of moth balls and dust.

my nose, it crinkled in blatant distaste. my tastes, wants, they had maneuvered themselves drastically in the two months since i had taken up residency here at the hotel cortez. wormed their way into needs of lavish, material things beyond my finances. or my family's wealth. shit, even my move into the hotel with my father's lay off from the factory had been ridiculously poor.

a one bedroom on the highest, most dormant tower of the place. it smelled the way it looked a lot of the time, much like this filth that surrounded me now. and he knew this. knew the way it crawled across my flesh like a disease that soaked into my pores. i hated him for making me feel so openly ashamed of being materialistic, especially when that was the most common problem on my stacked list of such.

fuck him, i thought. why did all serial psychopathic killers have to be such bastards? a little compassionate charm now and then, or at least plaster on the compassion for once, i inwardly chant it to myself, making it a mantra i would later have to spit at him. he was such a devious, accented flapper, slack jawed, mustached asshole that ruined my peaking expedition. such a hypocrite that relished in my embarrassment. it was humiliating that this man of all people was not as excited about my first time as i was. i had practically expected it from him the moment i came down from that high, noticing that he was there, remembering who he was, my hand leaving the mid-air, sheathed thick with a glossy layer of crimson.

he had chastised me, called me a rugrat, a harpy little brat lacking brains and self control. he criticized my maturity level at how i couldn't hold myself back, only barking at me when the hot tears glazed over my eyes. i could say it wasn't like him but i knew that would be a lie i told myself. he had dragged me by my elbow from the room, taking in stride my every insult, my loud tantrum. i had just tasted the adrenaline and he was so selfish, so fucking selfish for taking it away before the taste could reach the back of my throat. ironic, i dub it as his fingers close around my neck, the muscles caving to the pain of increasing pressure.

then. then i woke up to now. here. in this god forsaken dump that he had probably used to trap his defying victims in. no, i was better than that. than all his victims. if he was going to wipe me from this earth then he damn well better do it with respect, do it somewhere not, here.

i finally give into my tired, exhausted will and align my back with the thick oak wood, sliding until i'm slipping atop the floor. i give myself a moment's rest, not caring that my back might be facing my demise. whatever. it was in the category of my brain's many 'whatevers' lately. i curl my stocking clad legs into my dress, the black dress branched out across my knees where the sheer thigh highs stopped near the garter.

that was another thing. i splurged, i used, to gain all these fancy lingerie's, these fashions, these perfumes, the makeup. i had never cared much for it before, not until him. yet, here i was, locked in the dimly lit, shadowed room, a sheet of red light occasionally gleaming through the cream curtains that clung to the breeze, curled around the barred window. he knew i wouldn't scream into the alley for a savior, knew i wouldn't dare cast my frame in that window for an onlooker to spot me.