Her. He fucking hates her. Whatever her fucking name is. Joan? Yeah that bitch. She's the worst. She's what's getting in the way. It would be so much easier if he could just get rid of her. Wait thats it! He'll get rid of her! But wait. How? He's a frail boy with no ties to anyone so its not like he could harm her or he could get anyone else to harm her. Fuck. Maybe harming her isn't the right route anyways. Maybe he could get Cleo to do something because God knows she doesn't care for John like Joan does.
Vincent sat on his floor tapping the brush against the cup of teal gray water and watched tiny droplets splatter onto the floor. He sighed as he thought to himself about ways he could make Joan fall out of love. It can't be that hard, right? Does she even really love him? Vincent looked at his canvas and then at his boney wrists and back at the canvas. He sighed as he smeared globs of yellow paint onto the cloth. He felt something hit his exposed legs. Tears. He was crying. About a boy. This can't be right he thought to himself. That didn't stop the tears. They came out of his eyes so fast and so large it was almost as if he sprung a leak. He continued to sob as he brought his knees to his chest. Why me. Why do I have to feel this way. Why can't this happen to anyone else. Why does everything bad happen to me. What did I do to deserve this?
YOU ARE READING
Gross
FanfictionDown on the couch with your boyfriend, I need this The smell of his hair and the taste of his lips. I am hiding in the closest, but I'm not a faggot
