BEAUTIFUL MONSTER

68: Broken Memories

@Booklings21 made the brilliant banner :)))) hOW AMAZING IS IT THOUGH????? Go read her stuff

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I was dancing with the devil and our bodies were entwined like we'd never part. His lips brushed against my own, igniting a passion that couldn't be tamed and he dragged himself to my ear, whispering promises of the world. I couldn't deny my lust for him even if I tried and I was susceptible to his mad ways. He led me to his bedroom and I gave myself over to him. But the wicked lovemaking was short and suddenly, I found myself feeling like a one-night stand, alone and miserable, and with a horrid aftertaste churning like butter in my gut.

Confusion brewed like a storm inside of me and I was powerless to control it; I didn't understand what had happened.

My hands felt slick with some sort of heavy, awful smelling liquid and I was gripping onto a handle tightly as if my life depended on it.

Shady colours splattered all over my vision; the damp grass, the dull brown fence, the drizzle of rain running down my face, the dark red gloves my hands were encased in - and the clouds rumbled, and the sky was like a child, unwilling to wake up and the sun blearily blinked and finally, I saw her.

Her face was a sickly grey, her yellow strands of hair was matted to her face, sticky with blood. With the wound on her head, she also had a gushing fountain spurting from her stomach, dying her clothes a rich crimson colour. She mimicked a statue with closed eyes and I wasn't sure if she was dead. It looked like death had already snatched her.

With immediate realisation, came denial. I desperately didn't want to believe the obvious truth. I couldn't ... I had no memory of committing the sin. But the blade was slick with blood and the wound on her head must've occurred by the jabbing of the handle. The offending weapon slipped from my hand, and I smacked a hand to my face, inhaling sharply - and gagging. The metallic smell of putrid blood attacked my senses, and crawled slimily up my nose.

I was covered in her blood and I felt absolutely filthy. It was like an open broadcast to what I did and I wanted to puke all over the beacon of truth.

I didn't know what to do. I was terrified. My body trembled and it felt wrong; my quick inhales of breath were poison. The possibility of Leila never drawing in a breath again was on the horizon. It was theft; I stole her life and the concept had me fearful. I didn't know what I was more afraid of, though: murdering her or not recalling raising my arm to strike her?

I felt a shudder run through me and like a coward, I ran, tucking my tail firmly between my legs. I stumbled, batting away imaginary voices that shrieked "Murderer!" at me and finally emerging into cold, crisp air. A dark silhouette was directly in front of me and for a mad moment, my mind labelled it as a higher being, something that came to attack me for my murder. Something that was sent by God. It was suffocating, not believing in a higher being and than having my mind play tricks on me. Have I truly lost sense of myself? I didn't make sense. I felt mad.

I was deranged, unstable, with many screws loose, the whole structure of my mind was ready to collapse in a ball of dust and broken memories.

"Doll?" He stepped forward, hesitantly.

I inhaled sharply, of course it was him. It was never not going to be him. He was always there. He was like a curse, a bad omen that stuck to me like glue and no matter how hard I tried to scrape him off of me, he became stubborn, resilient and unwilling to release his hold.

But that wasn't even important. The blood was sticky and uncomfortable and I wanted more than anything to submerge myself into a pool of warm water. I was already drowning but I wanted the real thing, I wanted the gasping, the sense of water filling up my lungs, the struggle to live and then the eternal bliss of darkness, of death, of peace.

"I ... I've killed her. I've killed her." I admitted and I was like a child suddenly, vulnerable. Despite how much I wanted to never see him again, I wanted him to fix what I've done. Because he wouldn't judge me, he wouldn't hate me, because he... had done it before.

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He looked stricken and he grabbed me by the forearms, demanding. "What?!"

I felt my head tilt and I said softly. "I've killed her. The warrior is dead."

"Leila? Oh, my, fucking... Tell me you didn't." Orion looked fearful for some reason and I couldn't fathom why. I thought he'd be overjoyed at hearing what I've done.

I could feel his fear and it made me uneasy. "You can help me, can't you?" I swallowed and asked, pleading with him.

He took an uncertain step back, shaking his head slowly. His gaze was like one of an animal's, terrified, flickering upwards and than back at me. "If she's dead... they're coming."

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Please don't complain that it's short. I'm having really bad period pains and everything is sort of irritating me at the moment - especially the fact that there are alex from target fan fictions. the guy looks like a beaver.

Idk what I wrote i just hope it makes sense