ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
A rumbling sound stirs the black night. It quiets to a baritone grumble, and then gravel crunches beneath rubber tires. She pulls the blanket up to her chest and listens to the car leave the driveway. She does not open her eyes. She lies still in the bed, embalmed in cotton and hushed night, before tentatively running her hand over the left side of the mattress. The sheets have already begun to lose their warmth, and she grabs at them, groping blindly for traces of him. She whispers his name, and then says it again, louder this time. No response. Finally, she opens her eyes. There's silence, and then the tears begin to fall.
***
The phone rings once, twice, and she can hear the sound of her own heartbeat. Why is she doing this? If he didn't want to see her, why would he want to talk to her? What if he thinks she's being clingy, or possessive, or even stalker-like? Maybe it's better not to call at all. Maybe she should leave him alone. Maybe she should wait for him to come to her.
Right before she loses her nerve, he picks up. There's a pause-he must be checking the caller ID- before he answers. She holds her breath and waits.
"Hello?"
Oh God. It's a woman's voice.
She wants to yell, to scream accusations, to reach through the phone and strangle this bitch, or better yet, him. But her breath catches, and all she can do is make a slight choking sound.
"Um, hello?"
She hangs up and throws the phone onto her bed.
***
The phone's ringing, and she doesn't care. She chops vegetables in her kitchen and lets it ring. Let him sweat a little. Let him know what she's going through. Let him know he's gone too far this time. Her knife hits the cutting board with a satisfying 'thunk'.
Will there be a next time?
She brushes a tear away and tells herself it's the onions.
***
She's still awake when he texts her at 3:00 a.m.
can we tlk?
She doesn't want to see him and has pointedly ignored his calls for the past five days. She's even changed the locks. Against her better judgment, she texts back.
usual place. 4 pm. dont be late.
***
By the time he gets there, she's been waiting for 27 minutes. She's sitting outside, holding a paper cup of untouched tepid coffee. She doesn't make eye contact, doesn't bother telling him he's late, and doesn't pay attention to his long-winded apology. She listens to the sound of his voice and tries to savor its distress, but she really isn't the sadistic type. Her lips tremble, and she tries to sip her coffee nonchalantly. It tastes a little burnt.
When she feels he's gone on long enough, she puts her drink down.
"And how do I know you mean it this time?" she asks, gazing tiredly at the parking lot. The glare from the car tops is dazzling, blinding even. She has to squint to see anything.
"Lucia." He covers her hands with his and squeezes until it's almost painful. "Lucia, look at me baby."
And she does. She turns her head and meets his soft brown eyes, those alluring, murderous eyes. It's a mistake, but even as she tells herself this, her resolve begins to crumble.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I won't do it again. Trust me."
"Then show me how."
***
He embraces her from behind and plants light kisses on her neck. Annoyed, she sighs, but doesn't resist him. She can't resist him, especially not when he's so gentle. Her hand moves of its own free will to touch his cheek. Emboldened, he bites at her neck, and she winces, more out of surprise than pain. There will be marks, dark, loud, and telling.
"Again," she thinks, as he pulls her closer. Her eyes cloud with disgust and hate until there's nothing left but blind love. "It's happening again."
***
A rumbling sound stirs the black night. It quiets to a baritone grumble, and then gravel crunches beneath rubber tires. She pulls the blanket up to her chest and listens to the car leave the driveway. She does not open her eyes. She lies still in the bed, embalmed in cotton and hushed night, before tentatively running her hand over the left side of the mattress. The sheets have already begun to lose their warmth, and she grabs at them, groping blindly for traces of him. She whispers his name, and then says it again, louder this time. No response. Finally, she opens her eyes. There's silence, and then the tears begin to fall.
In the end, seeing is believing.
***
The phone rings once, twice, and she can hear the sound of her own heartbeat. Why is she doing this? If he didn't want to see her, why would he want to talk to her? What if he thinks she's being clingy, or possessive, or even stalker-like? Maybe it's better not to call at all. Maybe she should leave him alone. Maybe she should wait for him to come to her.
Right before she loses her nerve, he picks up. There's a pause-he must be checking the caller ID- before he answers. She holds her breath and waits.
"Hello?"
Oh God. It's a woman's voice.
She wants to yell, to scream accusations, to reach through the phone and strangle this bitch, or better yet, him. But her breath catches, and all she can do is make a slight choking sound.
"Um, hello?"
She hangs up and throws the phone onto her bed.
***
The phone's ringing, and she doesn't care. She chops vegetables in her kitchen and lets it ring. Let him sweat a little. Let him know what she's going through. Let him know he's gone too far this time. Her knife hits the cutting board with a satisfying 'thunk'.
Will there be a next time?
She brushes a tear away and tells herself it's the onions.
***
She's still awake when he texts her at 3:00 a.m.
can we tlk?
She doesn't want to see him and has pointedly ignored his calls for the past five days. She's even changed the locks. Against her better judgment, she texts back.
usual place. 4 pm. dont be late.
***
By the time he gets there, she's been waiting for 27 minutes. She's sitting outside, holding a paper cup of untouched tepid coffee. She doesn't make eye contact, doesn't bother telling him he's late, and doesn't pay attention to his long-winded apology. She listens to the sound of his voice and tries to savor its distress, but she really isn't the sadistic type. Her lips tremble, and she tries to sip her coffee nonchalantly. It tastes a little burnt.
When she feels he's gone on long enough, she puts her drink down.
"And how do I know you mean it this time?" she asks, gazing tiredly at the parking lot. The glare from the car tops is dazzling, blinding even. She has to squint to see anything.
"Lucia." He covers her hands with his and squeezes until it's almost painful. "Lucia, look at me baby."
And she does. She turns her head and meets his soft brown eyes, those alluring, murderous eyes. It's a mistake, but even as she tells herself this, her resolve begins to crumble.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I won't do it again. Trust me."
"Then show me how."
***
He embraces her from behind and plants light kisses on her neck. Annoyed, she sighs, but doesn't resist him. She can't resist him, especially not when he's so gentle. Her hand moves of its own free will to touch his cheek. Emboldened, he bites at her neck, and she winces, more out of surprise than pain. There will be marks, dark, loud, and telling.
"Again," she thinks, as he pulls her closer. Her eyes cloud with disgust and hate until there's nothing left but blind love. "It's happening again."
***
A rumbling sound stirs the black night. It quiets to a baritone grumble, and then gravel crunches beneath rubber tires. She pulls the blanket up to her chest and listens to the car leave the driveway. She does not open her eyes. She lies still in the bed, embalmed in cotton and hushed night, before tentatively running her hand over the left side of the mattress. The sheets have already begun to lose their warmth, and she grabs at them, groping blindly for traces of him. She whispers his name, and then says it again, louder this time. No response. Finally, she opens her eyes. There's silence, and then the tears begin to fall.
In the end, seeing is believing.
Suggested Collections
Remember when I used to upload original stories? Neither do I.
© 2011 - 2024 fullxmetalxgir
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In