She wasn’t one for late night issues but lately her psyche had been making exceptions. Feeling too hot, she stripped and relished the cool air against her bare skin. This is what she lived for. Quiet moments with no crazy family up her ass, no need for worrying about papers (there was study for that), and her social life was non-existent… and then the emptiness. She wished she had someone there to make her feel, something, anything, but there was no one there… it was a lover she needed. The princess needed a lover to make her rule complete. Alas, the princess was not a princess at all, but a foolish peasant pretending her days away, a fallen Aphrodite. People loved her, and for what? They were always let down in the end. She held no control, and she was tired of trying to steal it. And then, of course, there was the small issue of her rapidly deteriorating mental state… She felt pathetic. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself, and her good friend Meg, a rape victim for Chrissakes, was trying to get her shit together. And the girl, who was not a rape victim, didn’t have a shitty home life, and whose demons were all in her head… Only wished to succumb to the madness. Over and over… that song truly was about insanity…
She’s a goddess of kindness, true, until you realize she’s really just a scared, selfish bitch who can be as cold and heartless as the next serial killer. Breaking hearts is really quite addicting… Maybe it was for the better he left, she thought. The only issue she had with this situation was… she didn’t want to hurt him. Didn’t want to leave. She listened to every song they loved and grew a little deader inside. She found sick pleasure in raping and then killing him in her mind and sadistically wished for a legal chance in real life.
But she couldn’t. So she pretended none of it was real, like he wanted. It didn’t work. Her twisted love/hate obsession with him had come from her pain and the memories that had once made her laugh and now never failed to kill her inside. The twisted, shattered fragments of what was once beautiful… She held them tightly even as they shredded her hands. It would end tonight. This was her mental suicide.
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She Just Wasn't
Short StoryI was never her, and she is not me, but still she's here, living my life. ~><~ I am trying to find myself. Sometimes that's not easy. ~ Marilyn Monroe
