Feather strokes of his nails up and down her inner forearms. Her eyes closed, the indulgence of his touch almost to the point of intoxication. Chills left in the wake of his touch, his slender fingers laced with hers as he pulled her into his arms to welcome her home.
Maria Hightower was ten going on eighteen that summer. The only girl in the family, and all the kids teased her and told her that she would be just like her mother one day. The town whore. Kids can be mean at that age, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She wore makeup, smoked when she could find half of a cigarette lying around and even took a sip of her mother’s alcohol-infused coffee from time to time. She was going nowhere fast and would be pregnant by the age of sixteen.
How deeply you have fallen, my darling. You once wore the dress of a debutante, and now, you wear the Scarlet letter on your flesh. One stained with regret closes their eyes out of sorrow, not anticipation. In the darkness of her haven, she finds him again.
The brush dripping with paint, the artist puts her soul into her work. Stark white, she held the tip of her finger over the bucket, piercing the skin with a needle. One drip, two, three, mesmerized as she watched strands of red taint the bucket. One person’s chaos is another person’s masterpiece.
Have you ever been bitten and felt a pang of excitement? A small wave of pleasure as the teeth pushed into your flesh? She hadn’t until a recent client, and then, my addiction began. He paid an extra ten grand to bite her in addition to the usual suck and fuck. She’s had a few bite her in the past, but nothing could compare to this one.
“I need to step out for a moment,” Nicolette said. She knew what she had done, and felt as though she would vomit any second. Running down the hall to the public restroom, hovering over the toilet, Nicolette threw up for the first time. As a child, she was never sick. The main reason was that she was never allowed to attend public school or spend time with others. Arison made her a recluse, and she knew no other life other than the one he offered her. It was his way of keeping what was his all to himself. Slowly she realized that she was property, not loved.
Walking in from the small coffee shop downstairs, Gypsy was relieved to see her cousin sitting there with Grace. Her stomach was in knots since the fever spiked, but the doctors assured her it wasn’t the virus that swept the world. It was worse because none had a clue of what ravaged this little girl’s bloodstream. For the first time since the kidnapping, she was scared. Grace was learning to walk and talk, but she made sure nothing was accessible. Her home babyproofed by a professional. There was no reason for her to be sick.
She laid in the box, her body unable to move as each person she ever loved placed a yellow flower on her chest. Screaming from the depth of her soul, it wasn’t until he put that last kiss upon her head did a single tear mourn the love that broke her heart.
Hearts are not pebbles. You do not cast a good one across the lake each time a shinier one comes along. You treasure the stone and with attention and love, and it will give you the foundation to build a home.