Cruel Intentions | ✓

12 | SANGUINE TWILIGHT

12
SANGUINE
TWILIGHT

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       HOW MUCH PAIN is too much pain?

       She really wanted to know, because all she wanted to do was top the pain she kept feeling, as if more pain could cancel it all out until she felt nothing.

       She had wrecked herself just as much as he had wrecked her.

       Maybe that's why she wanted him to do what he did. Maybe that's why she left the pain in his hands, let him slowly suffocate her so she didn't have to do it herself.

       But that's not how it worked out because there she was, still burning herself with cigarettes as if pain was a drug she couldn't get enough of.

       The next time he came over, she was drunk and delirious. It had been another pitiful week.

        He grabbed her lovingly and whispered sweet dreams to her. Like always, he wanted to use her and then discard her. Except this time, she wanted to spit on him.

       Fuck you, she yelled, twisting away from him and distancing herself.

       He clenched his jaw, recognizing the spiral she was about to go under.

        Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! she screamed over and over again. And then she threw a plate at him.

        It smashed into the wall next to him, falling onto the floor and cracking into sharpened pieces, much like her heart. 

       What the fuck? he yelled. His eyes were on fire. But she loved it because finally, he was looking at her.

       Ever since that night, when her palm struck his cheek on impulse, he hadn't looked at her the same. He hadn't touched her the same. And it was slowly driving her insane.

       What about the monsters he warned her about?

       The alcohol danced in her mind, endlessly taunting her.

       So she threw another plate and screamed, You're fucking killing me!

       The shattered plate made him flinch.

       She was spiraling too far. Maybe she was the monster.

       You're a crazy bitch, he snarled, eyes flickering with hatred for her.

       Shut up! Just shut up! she shrieked. She was sick of his words. They only strung together to form unfulfilled promises and senseless lies. His lips whispered hypnotic curses to her. She hadn't realized she fell too deep for them until it was too late. His words were never what she wanted to hear.

       It seemed he was sick of her words too.

       Fuck this. Fuck you. I never want to see you again, he hissed. Crazy bitch. Then he grabbed his jacket and left, slamming the door behind him to match the finality in his tone.

       She cried and cried and cried, because she knew he was never coming back.

       He was a drunken nightmare that consumed all her demons only to replace them with a far scarier one. He was the embodiment of beauty in destruction.

       She had tried loving the unlovable, and now her lovesick heart had worn out.

       She missed her mom.

       It took a while, but she finally understood why her mom left. Pain wasn't as good as she had thought it was. It wasn't easy, nor was it temporary. It wasn't beautiful like he promised it was.

       It was fucking ugly.

       It had torn her apart and stomped on her shredded pieces. It had ripped her gullible heart right out and left her with a crushing loneliness deep within her cracked soul.

       She wanted her mom.

       Staring out the window of her apartment, she wondered what it would be like to never feel pain again. She wondered if there was a world where promises were kept, where gold wasn't blue and purple, where love was real...

       Leaning too far out, she felt the cold winter breeze softly beat against her cheek. Was her mother looking from the stars above?

       The stars reminded her of infinity. Oh, how she longed to be a part of them.

       Swinging her legs out, she wondered if she would be forgiven for her sins.

       I miss you, Mom, she cried silently.

       If her soul could be measured by pain, would she be considered divine?

       How much pain is too much pain? Is it when the brain tricks itself into believing blood means beauty? When self-harm becomes self-protection? When violence becomes a torturous love?

       Her skin accused its abusers, pleading for justice. She wished she had the courage to admit to her crimes.

       I'll see you soon, Mama.

       There wasn't anything left for her anymore.

       So she let herself fall.

       Out of love.

       Out of touch.

       Out of that broken window.

       The moon was crying again.

       Except this time in shades of red where her head had cracked open on the dead concrete floor.

       But at least under the sanguine twilight, the pain stopped.

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THE END