Dahlia //M.H.//
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- Votes 3
- Parts 4
MatureOngoing38m
Last published Thu, Apr 9, 2020
"I suppose it was the look in his eyes that got me, that really made me look twice. It glimmered and sparkled so beautifully; he had this little secret to life that I had to know. I think that's what got me to stay. He was so unpredictable, so reckless and unapologetic, and I craved that chaos more deeply than I could ever describe; and God, did he make chaos look so fucking good. That's what got me addicted.
When the morning sun would slip through the curtains and illuminate the smoke, and his hands were sprawled against my naked spine, I thought of him as Heaven, my personal salvation. I depended so consistently on the love, the sex, the never-ending drugs. He provided all that and more, he filled me up entirely and I felt myself spewing over with adoration and obsession. I was without myself, but it felt so good that I didn't let myself care anymore. I was so happily lost in the dizzy mornings and the blacked out nights, the conspicuous touches and the private distance. He consumed my every thought, action, speech. He swallowed me up and I let him do it.
He spoke with conviction, as if every syllable that left his lips was absolutely nothing but the raw honest truth. He stumbled and slurred and murmured purposely, to draw you in and make you hang on every word. His speech was so sentient, his thoughts flashing across his face before they even slipped out. He was a genius in all his glory, but too sensitive and poetic to understand his chemically-imbalanced brain; and I suppose that's why I left. "
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Still mourning from the untimely death of her mother, and a week before leaving the Nassau county with her best-friend, and with that, everything else she had ever known, Sol find herself wrongfully charged and incarcerated for the murder of a member of her family. Already depressed at the idea of her once-promising future now marred by the bleak confine of a prison cell, she now also has to the deal with the fact that she has just caught the eyes of a man, whose power and reputation for brutality alone precede him. ....... "Little flower" , He said, his fingers gently tilting my head up to look at him. "Yes", I breathlessly exhaled "If you ever speak to me like that again, I will rip your fucking throat out.", He continued with a terrifying smile. ...... - And because his ancestors were never picky about their business endeavours, partly due to their direct ties to royalty, and due to their connections to upper-class members of the justice system in Europe and eventually in North America and Asia, the man's family had been direct benefactors of both world wars due to their involvement in the weapon industry, and as suppliers of the adrenaline-pumping drug both the Germans and the French/Americans were injecting in their soldiers before sending them to battle. It's safe to say the man's power knew no bound or restrain. Power that carried through with every single one of the man's actions. Indeed, The man never yelled and never raised his voice, he never had to. The man was curt in his speech. His deep, raspy, baritone voice almost always resonated through with the same monotonous tone. Unless it was to handle his bi-daily entertainments, which were often eccentric in genre and deriving from eclectic sources. It was only then, you'd see the man's eyes twinkle with amusement, frequently at the expense of others. - ______ WARNING [Contains mature, potentially triggering content]
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