Shatter Me (18+ Only)

Introduction

HEY GUYS!!!

Welcome to "Shatter Me" I'm so excited to start this book and journey with all of you!

For those of you who came from my "I Am Not A Prostitute" series, this book is NOT apart of that series, there are only 2 books in that series ("I Am Not A Prostitute" and "Come Back To Me").

Warning!!!

This book is for MATURE audiences only! There is STRONG sexual content, explicit language, violence, and lots of R-rated situations. Read with caution!

I would like to dedicate this book to all of my supporters & readers, who have made me into the writer and person I am today. I thank you all for everything you have done, and continue to do!

Cover made by jessiescott243

Enjoy my lil chickens :)

xx

Aleksei

***
INTRO

Let me first off tell you, that things in life do not happen for a reason. Why is my hair white? I couldn't tell you, it's probably because I take 4 Advil instead of 2, and I'm edgy.

Why do I have freakishly blue eyes? Probably because one time my dog took a shit on someone's lawn, and I didn't clean it up, and this was the worlds way of punishing me.

Why can I shoot fucking lightening bolts out of my hands? It might have something to do with the Devils 666 tattoo I have branded on my back.

My story is a little mixtape of Shark Boy and Lava Girl, meets Harry Potter, meets Darth Vader, has intercourse with Spider-Man, and gangbangs Willy Wonka.

Let me just say, on record, that I'm not the Devil. That would be cool, but my extreme lack of religious beliefs and horns could probably explain that. To me, the Devil wasn't real. He couldn't be. The power of lightening was something unheard of, but I refused to believe any reasoning in the energy that seemed to flood my core.

When my mother gave birth to me, I was still-born. She told me how she prayed to God, and begged forgiveness from Virgin Mary to bring me back to life. But instead of Mr. Christ giving me life...it was the Devil. And believe me, my Jesus-loving, saint of a mother was less than pleased when the Devils mark was branded into my pasty white skin, and my flesh flushed red with the blood of life.

    I never cried, even as a baby. I never grew sick, and whenever I scraped my knee, or sliced my finger open with a paper cut, my wound would always heal abnormally quick.

Now...you're probably questioning the whole "lightening shooting out of my hands" thing. And believe me, I'm just as confused as you are. So let me take you back to when it all happened....

***

15 years ago

    "Willow, honey, can you put down the scissors?" My prehistorically-old nanny pleaded, as she walked into my room.

I frowned, holding my perfectly tanned, blonde headed Barbie in one hand, and the scissors in another.

"But I don't like those lumpy thingies on her chest." I whined, pointing towards the Barbies excessively large boobs.

"Sweetie, I just don't want you to hurt yourself." She smiled nervously, wrinkles forming at the edge of her lips. Her face flushed with understandable concern.

I shrugged my tiny shoulders, ignoring her concern as the blades of the scissors cut into the Barbies plastic tits, effectively slicing them off. I was about to rejoice, when I felt the handles of the scissors being swiped away from me.

"Willow, when I tell you to do something, you have to do it. I'm the adult, and you're the child. You have to listen to me." She said sternly, holding my favorite neon purple scissors away from me.

   I frowned, feeling anger pool through my tiny, adolescent body.

"Give it back." I demanded, my Barbie long forgotten, as my eyes trained on the purple blades in her wrinkly hands.

"No" she said sternly, "you'll have ask your mother for them, when she gets back from work."

My chest heaved, my anger pooling over, as I felt my rage bubbling tight inside of me.

"Now." I said, my airy voice turning dark with distaste, my little hands raised up as I pointed at the scissors in her hands.

    She shook her head, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel to walk away.

And that's when it happened. An electrifying jolt of energy sizzled from my core as it flooded up my body, and into my hands. And suddenly, a light of bright purple lightening flickered out of my hands, embedding itself into my asshole of a nanny.

I heard her groan, as her weathered body collapsed into a heap. The smell of burnt flesh filled my nostrils as I hopped up, grabbed my scissors from her sizzling corpse, and trotted back to where I had been playing.

Yup. I'm a fucking psychopath.

***

It turns out I killed her, not that I knew that at the time. The doctors ruled it as a heart attack, since my little lightening bolt had, quite literally, stopped her heart. My mother knew better. She told me I was the Devil itself, ruling hell on Earth, and killing innocents.

Unfortunately, my saint of a mother didn't give me up for adoption after that. She said my birth was God's plan, and that it was a test, a test to take care of the Devil, and "nurture" his reincarnation.

Apparently, a blue-eyed, white-haired, tiny child, was the Devils "reincarnation."

**

XX
Aleksei