Story cover for What he did to my Skin and Bones by AugustTheEmoChild
What he did to my Skin and Bones
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    Time 2h 43m
  • WpView
    Reads 180
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  • WpPart
    Parts 6
  • WpHistory
    Time 2h 43m
Ongoing, First published Nov 03, 2020
Mature
Water. It bubbled in my throat, as I gulped down a knot. Spilling in my lungs. It glistened in a waving light, washing out my eyes. Mixing beading tears. I coughed, ripping to sit up. Eating at air, liquid spilling out the holes of my body. White knuckles gripping the tub. Wishing I had just... weighed myself down. 
	
I was scorned under my mothers tongue. Wobbling over cracked pavement, neighborhood eyes staring wide, never blinking. Sitting in a desk, watching blank faces, sanded skin. Alex's smile, leaching with grey. Grey walls, grey ceilings, grey people. A grey car, roaring to my side. A stranger reaching out his hand. Flies seeping through the cracks of his stretching, joyous mask. 
	
The shut of the car door. The tearing of my sweatpants through nails. And my breathless voice, whispering to the man next to me; "Please, please kill me." 

He drove me to his apartment. Caressed his hands over my waist, up my neck. Easing into the brush of fingers, before he wrapped thin arms over my skeleton body. Tainted and bruised, but bandaged. Thrown but kissed, but punched, but warm. Hugged by a pile of bones, the man pressing his lips against my greasy, dreaded hair.

I love you, sunflower. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I cooked him dinner. I wiped his counters. Wiped the blood from his floor, blurry in tears. I wore his clothes. He was pale with tinted cheeks, pursed and pink. Almond eyes. Pattered in chocolate freckles. Sun dripped down his body, down his pillow, as he giggled through white teeth. He'd kiss, he'd feel, and he'd snap. He'd hold tight, and he'd stab, and stab, and stab. And when the night soaked the bed, when he'd curl me into sheets and blankets, he'd soften my bones with the peck of his lips. 
	
Holding the tip of the blade to my stomach.

***This story dives into descriptions of abduction, kidnapping, gaslighting, blood, gore, rape, sex, murder, depression, and attempted suicide. Read at your own risk, this is a work of fiction.
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54 parts Complete Mature

He smiled. The devil himself couldn't have crafted a more wicked grin. "What do you say we play a game, little Reaper?" I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher his intentions. "What kind of game?" His grin widened, showing the tips of his fangs. I watched the prince curiously as he strode over to his bag. With a swift motion, he withdrew a bow and a quiver of arrows, flinging them at my feet without so much as a second glance. I furrowed my eyebrows, casting him a look of uncertainty. That sinister grin stayed plastered upon his lips as he said, "Run." *** I, Skyla Ashforth, am what some might call a "sociopath." It was a title that fit. Why shouldn't I embrace it? I am a vampire slayer, a Reaper of bloodsuckers, and an exceptionally good one, if I do say so myself. Yes, being a sociopath has its perks; I could manipulate and deceive with the best of them. So, when captured by the notorious Red Prince, I embraced the challenge of manipulating my freedom. Pierce Darcee, was a sadistic vampire with a God complex. The fool actually believed he could break me. Little did he know, I was the kind of Reaper who would dance through a battlefield, whistling a merry tune as I twirled my braids. I relished the challenge of manipulating his oversized ego, planning to stab that rotting, blackened heart of his with a venom-laced dagger. I crafted a scheme so delightful, so intricate, that I couldn't help but salivate at the prospect of victory. It was foolproof, or so my mind believed. But then... then there was that pull. That unexpected, unwelcome spark that ignited something within me. Feelings, of all things! Now, that was a complication. Disgusting, messy feelings that could very well lead to my destruction. Or his. It was a dangerous game we played, but then again, the most thrilling ones usually are. *Rated M for Murder, Mayhem, and some profanity. Sorry but no smutty interludes. You've stumbled into a blood bath, not a bodice ripper.*