Part 1: Him
Dreogan Lovell. Looking at him you couldn't possibly pick out where the lines blurred. His hunger for everything left his eyes looking like smeared watercolors. Yellows streaks of pain blending with black smudges of lust and specks of blue sadness, all smeared upon the desperate brown canvas that was his eyes. Drugs and sex, violence. It all left it's mark, on not only his eyes. Once a handsome man, his cheeks were hallowed and his midnight hair was faded and brittle like straw. A white scar ran down his face like a tear; starting at his eye and curving to meet his lips. He was a dead man walking, a mere memory of who he once was. Broken, beaten down this way and yet he still craved it. The pain of it all. All the beatings and harsh words, the bruises and blood, he yearned for it. It was programmed into him by his mother, a smoker who never used an ashtray. He was so deliciously broken. A three course dinner in a restaurant where the veggies were cut upon diamond cutting boards, prepared just for her, compliments of the chef included. She would destroy him, leaving bits of him on the ground like a messy eater. She would dole out the pain slowly, let him survive it, and then ultimately ruin him. Best of all, she knew that he could not wait.
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