Shouldn't Want Her But i Do

True Colours

Alison luxuriated in the plush embrace of the covers, relishing their silky texture that cocooned her like a warm, comforting embrace. The room exuded an aura of tranquility, contrasting starkly with the impending storm within. As she basked in the serenity, a sharp voice pierced through the calm, shattering the illusion.

"You kidnapped my mother!?" The accusation echoed, cutting through the air like a serrated blade. Alison's eyes snapped open, a realization dawning upon her as if she had momentarily forgotten the gravity of her actions. Sitting up, she prepared herself for the tempest about to unfold.

"Baby," Alison began, her voice a delicate symphony attempting to soften the harsh reality she had woven. "I don't want to hear it. Let her go," Michelle demanded with unwavering resolve. Her blond, smooth, and wavy hair danced in disarray, a reflection of the turmoil within her. Hidden beneath those locks, Alison glimpsed the tears welling up in Michelle's eyes, a silent plea for mercy.

"You know I can't do that," Alison replied, her voice taking on a tender quality, an attempt to navigate the emotional minefield she had created. Michelle, however, saw through the façade, her anger bubbling to the surface. Barely mustering the words, she lashed out, resentment dripping from every syllable.

"You think you can just come into my life and mold me into the perfect little housewife?" Michelle's words hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of disillusionment. In response, Michelle defiantly gestured around the room, her actions a visceral expression of rebellion.

"How's this for perfect, huh?" Michelle sneered, a sardonic edge to her voice as she embarked on a rampage, doing what she does best, unleashing chaos upon the carefully curated order of the space. The room, once a haven of serenity, now bore witness to the destruction wrought by Michelle's tumultuous emotions, a manifestation of the tempest raging within her.

Alison observed with a sadistic satisfaction as Michelle unleashed her fury upon the room, a chaotic symphony of destruction orchestrated by her tumultuous emotions. She remained an impassive spectator until Michelle, drained and defeated, crumpled to her knees, sobbing pitifully. "Let my mother go," Michelle pleaded, her voice a fragile whimper that resonated with vulnerability.

Finally stirring from her perverse enjoyment, Alison rose from her seat, descending to cradle Michelle in her arms. However, any semblance of solace was shattered as Michelle, in a fit of anguish, thrashed violently. "Don't touch me!" she yelled, her punches aimed at Alison in a futile attempt to repel the very source of her torment. Alison, undeterred, effortlessly caught her feeble blows, holding her wrists in a vice-like grip.

As Michelle's cries persisted, an inconsolable symphony that echoed through the room, she eventually succumbed to exhaustion, sinking into a fitful sleep. Unfazed, Alison smacked her lips, surveying the aftermath with a detached amusement. "What to do," she murmured, a macabre sense of curiosity guiding her next moves.

Nonchalantly, Alison rose from the chaos, her joints cracking in the air as she shrugged her shoulders. She scooped up the unconscious Michelle, navigating the disarray with a twisted grace, and stepped over the wreckage as she exited the bedroom. The damage was far from over, but for Alison, it was a mere inconvenience easily overshadowed by the malevolent satisfaction she derived from the turmoil she had sown.

As she pondered the extent of the room's destruction, a cynical thought crossed her mind. Money could fix the physical damage, but could it mend the shattered psyche within Michelle? A sardonic smile played on Alison's lips. "Can money fix everything? That's one secret I'll never tell," she whispered, reveling in the enigma she had become, a purveyor of chaos with a penchant for toying with lives.

Alison, with Michelle limp in her arms, sauntered through the remnants of the room, a diabolical smirk playing on her lips. The destruction left in Michelle's wake seemed inconsequential to Alison, a mere backdrop to the intricate game she reveled in.

Exiting the disheveled chamber, Alison's calculating gaze fell upon the broader canvas of her plans. The turmoil within Michelle was a masterpiece in the making, a twisted symphony that Alison orchestrated with malevolent precision. As she stepped over the wreckage, a trail of chaos in her wake, Alison contemplated the next act in this dark drama.

Entering another room, Alison laid Michelle on a pristine surface, her gaze unwavering as she observed the slumbering chaos she had created. With a theatrical flourish, she surveyed the tools at her disposal, contemplating the myriad ways to further dismantle Michelle's world.

Michelle, in her vulnerable state, was a canvas waiting to be painted with despair. Alison, in her sadistic revelry, reveled in the power she held over the shattered pieces of Michelle's life. The room may bear scars that money could attempt to mend, but the fractures within Michelle's psyche were far more intricate.

In the quiet aftermath, Alison contemplated the extent of her influence. Money, a mere puppeteer's tool in her hands, could manipulate external appearances but was powerless against the intangible wounds inflicted upon a tormented soul. The question lingered like a poisonous whisper: what would be the cost of Michelle's salvation, if such a thing were even attainable?

Alison, devoid of empathy and driven by a perverse satisfaction, considered her next move. The twisted game was far from over, and she relished the prospect of pushing Michelle to the brink, unraveling her further in this macabre dance of dominance. The shadows of uncertainty cast by Alison's actions loomed large, leaving a haunting trail of destruction in their wake.

They say if it's meant to be, it'll be, but Alison was no passive spectator to fate. She was the woman who made things happen, a puppeteer pulling strings despite the world's checklist of moral codes.

And The shoulds and shouldn'ts? Mere suggestions for those who hadn't embraced the art of defiance like she had.

Shouldn't Want Her But I Do
Next book coming soon...