Who Had A Mind to Disagree?

Care

Twiggy's P.O.V.

The house had gone dim. Mr. Manson left me bawling silently in the kitchen. I fell to my knees, clutching the stinging hand tightly to numb the physical pain. Above all, I wanted to be numb from all of this. I wished not to feel anymore. That way, all I would be was a working robot and not a worthless scum bag.

It hurt me how everyday I expected a miracle to happen. That something would spark in Mr. Manson then He'd be back to his sweet self. Things would go back to normal one day. I always hoped. Nothing ever blossomed from that small ounce of expectation and desire I had left. And that killed me. Every day.

Today, it was much worse. Panic consumed me and an overwhelming amount of depression drowned me. I was panicked because it became evident that not a single soul truly cared for me. Part of me wanted to be gone. The other parts hoped, and that was the worst part. Then the rest of me is just resentment eating me away because of my one weakness. I chose to stay, but that was a mistake. I chose my weakness. I chose what made me this way, what killed me.

I just knew I had to run away. Far from Mr. Manson or even Brian, who was already gone in the first place. I sobbed harder at the horrible thought, and I wanted to believe that it wasn't true and that he'd come back to me in a while.

But I didn't want to keep hanging on to that thought anymore. All He ever did was hurt me. Maybe He didn't mean to hurt me... or maybe He did. Whether He meant to or not, I had to get out of here. He would be the death of me... or he had already succeeded in killing me.

Mr. Manson wouldn't mind if I left or if I was gone. He told me I could go whenever I pleased. I came to conclusion that it was the time to go. It hurt, but I had to cast myself away before matters became worse. Surely Brian would be missed, but he wouldn't miss me. Brian was too far gone to care.

Brian was gone. He rotted into Mr. Manson, a heartless hothead who cared nothing for His old lover or even Himself. No, He cared for himself. Just far too much that he forgot about me. I missed him dearly, everyday, so much. The moment he changed was the moment he took part of me away. I was no longer his bright and sunny boy. I was just His worker. And He was not my sweet protector nor was He my dark guardian angel. He was just my boss, the person I tried to satisfy.

I figured that if this was how my life would go if I should stay, then I would leave. There was more out there for me than here.

The wounded hand still stung but the bleeding ceased. Whenever I moved the hand, the cuts stung worse. A small whimper came through my gritted teeth as I held the injured limb.

Brian would come to me with his pained expression and he'd already have his first aid kit ready. He hated seeing me in pain as much as I hated the feeling of stinging cuts.

It wasn't really his kit because it was more of mine. The kit was just more frequently used on me. Brian would clean up my wounds with cotton balls gently. Then he'd wrap it up in a Hello Kitty bandaid. He'd coo to me and tell me how brave I was. He'd tell me all sorts of reassuring things before professing his love for me. Like Mr. Manson had said, he'd kiss my open sores. He loved me back then and I knew He still did. His love for me was never ending like the galaxy, he once said. I was a fool to believe him. Deep down inside He probably does love me. He still does. That was one reason why I was still here. I waited for him to come back. He was a plague inside me, something that ate away at my insides until I was hollow. I was nothing to him but a parasite but I still believed he loved me.

I waited for nothing... or so it seemed. Call me delusional. Call me any name. Call me stupid. Call me a slut. I hoped. That was all I could defend myself with. I hoped. In the end, I was nothing to him.

I sat on the cold tiled floor, dripping blood and wiping salt carefully off my hand. Often times the salt would wind up on open sores. I'd hiss in response then try to be more careful. Those efforts, clearly, were not enough. I'd wind up delivering more pain to myself by trying to care for it.

Mr. Manson's dark figure silently crept down the stairs. Panic rose inside me until the hollow of my chest pounded rapidly. He could be unpredictable at times that it scared me. Sometimes his actions were violent...

He reached the landing of the stairs. In his gloved hands were a white case. It might have held something treacherous because he was in a malevolent mood, but my instincts told me otherwise. The object resonated a good vibe, causing me to let my guard down. I trusted Mr. Manson as of now. Once he made it to the kitchen, he did not look at the mess he had created with disgust. Mr. Manson simply did not mind the fact that it was messy in the kitchen today.

His slender arms hauled me up by the underarms then let me rest myself against him. One of his arms snaked around my waist as the other supported my bottom. That one underneath me held a first aid kit which, quite obviously, he'd use on me like he did before. The older man carried me to the living room where his leather love seats were nestled. The room was dimly lit with a low ceiling and cherrywood floor. Bookshelves with neatly shelved leather-bound books and vanilla scented candles atop aligned the black walls. Leather wallpaper gave the room a darker aura, but the furniture made it comfortable enough. We used to lounge in the large love seats, hiding underneath a black comforter. Sometimes we'd be in between the sheets all day to make love. The sight of the room was ever so painfully reminiscent of our once passionate relationship.

Mr. Manson gently placed me on the soft couch. He hovered above me as he set the kit down. Those pretty hands of his worked their way into the kit then dug for the items he needed. Being there on the chair with him within my reach made me yearn for his touch. I wanted him the same way I lusted for him long ago. I didn't care if this contact were to be intimate, I just missed his soft and gentle touch. I missed his loving caresses so much that I dreamt I felt them at the moment. I knew he was still digging through the kit, but the false sense of him made me happy.

Mr. Manson pulled out a spray can that did not seem bad. It was the type to use on cuts to clean them. It wouldn't harm me. He wouldn't harm me. Manson uncapped the bottle and shook the contents thoroughly. My hands were then taken into his soft hands with care. I watched him in the process. He didn't speak nor did he look at me. His eyes were fixated on my hand and the bottle that was pointed to it. The bottle hissed. Once again, my hand was engulfed in an extreme stinging sensation. I snatched my hand from him. Things began to blur and my throat felt swollen. Hot tears spilled from my eyes as I gripped my aching hand.
"Shh," Mr. Manson whispered softly to me. He then took my injured hand into his. A bandage was positioned on the back of my hand. Marilyn coiled a roll of it over my wounds.

I was motionless as he worked, but willingly submitted myself to him yet again. Gentle hands worked the last few inches of bandage around my hand before he placed a heart shaped sticker on it to secure the bandage.

I stared at the heart on my hand. Was that supposed to mean something? Was he apologizing to me somehow? Brian grabbed me by the chin softly. His hand led me to look up into his sparkling brown eyes.

Brian knelt down to my level, his bright eyes bearing into mine with an emotion I could not decipher. Normally, his eyes were blank or loveless. Why was he like this? Those eyes of his melted me... That gap between us was closes. After what seemed like years, our lips finally reunited. It was a chaste kiss, no lust or any sign of animalistic desire. It was an act simply out of love. His lips felt oh so delightful, the sweet taste he had how could I forget? This was all I had been waiting for. This sign that he would return to me.

Brian let go first, but his lips lingered for a moment. He stood up, without a single word, then left. The dark figure he had hurried up the stares before he made it into his safe fortress. A small smile formed on my face. This was the sign I knew I would get. He still loved me. He cared.

After that, I decided to stay here a little longer to see what will be the outcome of our relationship.

Oh, Jeordie. WouLd you ever Learn?
LoL, thanks for reading!