A Beautiful Life

Break Stuff [Limp Bizkit]

Being with Aiden was pleasure, euphoria. It was the taste of his sweat stained skin on her tongue, his heat scorching her mouth. It was salt and the bitter flavor of his cologne. But how sweet it was, and addictive. So addictive she always wanted to savor him—began to crave the smooth texture of his flesh caressing her lips, to feel the layer of softness that coated his solid body. Skin against muscle. Golden, lean, defined. Tasting and worshipping his body because now she was obsessed with it.

From a curiosity to a desire, and then a fierce need. She needed him now, had to touch him as often as she could, for her hands to plaster on his chest, her teeth grazing his nipple, to allow his warmth to radiate on her own naked body. And his grunts, mixed with the echoing sound of her own moans—such a glorious chaotic melody they created.

Because once he said the words to her, and after she felt the fullness of him within her, something changed. A shift, mentally and emotionally. Physically. One she knew would happen if (when) she allowed him to touch her, so deep and wholly. One she feared, leaving her so vulnerable and fragile and needy. Needing him to keep touching her, kissing her, fucking her. To hear those words spill from his mouth endlessly, dripping like honey down his lips, and she would kiss them hungrily. Devour those words and all the succulent sweetness they were glazed with.

Being with Aiden was pleasure. It was an intense, quavering orgasm. It was a climax that she felt from the hardness of her nipples to the dramatic point of her toes. Being with him was gushing wetness she could not control, splattering down her thighs, trickling down the length of her legs. Thick sticky fluid, that when his fingers searched her, they'd become doused, a layer of her slick connecting them.

Being with him was pleasure—blinding, trembling, fast and chaotic. But she would learn it was also pain. Confusion. Intoxication. So much pain. She could have never prepared for such a level of misery. A gut wrenching, physical agony. For, how could someone who brought her so much pleasure be an equal source of hurt?

It started a week after they had been together, and he began to grow distant.

~oOo~

Sakura witnessed the fight from behind the window of the studio. Though she could only hear the muffled feminine voices, the intensity of their argument was visible. The wild hand gestures, highly contorted expressions that resembled physical agony. Tears that slipped down porcelain skin. And porcelain skin alone.

She hadn't meant to intrude on their argument. Her scheduled practice with Tyler was nearing, and as she approached the room, she found herself frozen in place, unable to look away no matter how desperately she wanted to. Like watching a horrific accident unfold, flames consuming and spreading, but she remained there, stuck in place. Simply watching, staring. Unsure of what to do or how to react.

They weren't trying to conceal their theatrics. And perhaps they were too caught in the heat of the moment to contemplate that they were on full display, visible from the glass walls. Performing for an audience of one, the bright studio lights shining upon them fittingly, the stars of their own performance.

But there was no dancing. No murmuring sounds of elegant music, classic harmonies bouncing from the walls and captured in the soul of their movements. There was no dancing, but shouting. Crying. Desperate pleas.

Sakura found it incredibly strange to witness. The altercation between Elizabeth and Olga. Usually two friends inseparable, always smiling and embracing, now caught in a fiery exchange, almost as passionate as scorned lovers.

Elizabeth, who had a permanent smile tattooed on her lips, was sobbing. Reaching, curled fingers. Trembling hands. Throwing herself at the taller woman in all her longing.