Her Beautiful Pain

Chapter 1: Gifted

"You ain't go no flow,
'cept for the blood I'm 'bout to freeze
My roast's stirring up smoke,
So better get down on your knees!"

The woman then ripped off her red cloak, driving the basement of D-Troit Bar mass hysteric. Snap. A shot of her cape drifiting to the floor like a rose petal. Snap. A wine red hourglass figure. Snap. A close-up on a black masquerade mask.

"Give it up for Red!"
"Who's behind that mask, Red?!"
Red didn't flinch.
"Take off you mask!"
"Your mask!"
"Take it-"
She took it off.
Extreme zoom-in. A feathery shadow on long, thick lashes. Snap. Large, sad eyes. Snap. Thick brows. Kewan Park put down his camera. Whoever this "Red" girl was, she was hauntingly beautiful. Despite her victorious smile, her eyes were full of sadness. He had to know those eyes, that despair. He had to know Red. Suddenly, she made eye contact. Directly with him. 

"I'll, be back." She sang the words as she swiftly turned around, in a panic, towards to backstage. No. You've not going anywhere. Kewan shuffled through the crowd- in vain. There was no trace of Red backstage. He ran to the bar upstairs. Nothing. The parking lot. Nothing. Kewan looked through his photos, and played his recordings. She wouldn't be too difficult to find.

...

"Young Female Rapper Detroit Red."
The results were plenty. The videos, although not viral, were existent. Comments. Replies Kewan zipped past them. 
"hoe's obviously on pot"
"#inspiration- she took down a man tonight!" 
"Who the hell is Red?"
New reply:
"Oh my god, she's Wisty Gogriez. She went to my school!"
Wisty Gogriez.
Kewan almost laughed out loud.  Wisty? Who named their kid Wisty? It was cute, in the least. He typed it out:

"Wisty Gogriez Detroit Facebook Instagram. "

There she was: Wisteria Gogriez. Same sad, beautiful brown eyes.  College drop-out, "taking a break"- but let's face it, Wisty was never made to be a student. She was, however, present on spotify, soundcloud, and...what's this, a YouTube account?

Masochism, Kewan figured, was best tolerated and expressed as an art form. The desperation in her voice- she sounded like a masochist. Her being bound- she looked like a masochist. Kewan licked his lips at the sight of her dress- winding around her wrists and ankles- as if she were captured prey. His prey. The way she held that rose between her lips, thorns piercing her skin, drops of blood running through her brown hair, tracing her neck...

Did she feel like a masochist? Did she smell like one? Did she taste like one?  Kewan couldn't sleep. Every inch of his body craved Wisteria. He paused her videos at every second to print out every shot of her. Instagram, Facebook, and all related tagged photos- printed. After he was done, he has collected 156 photos of Wisteria Gogriez- all to be glued onto his wall. He would need the sight before going to sleep.