Broken, Flawed & Living (Discontinued)

Scandal Part II

My mind told a lie and my heart knew it wasn't real, but from his words, his voice, his entire character, all I had going was the mental picture I painted of him. Those years of drooling over a body I somewhat desired, sometimes, and the heart and mind of a professor, I couldn't break free from denial. It was too late that I realized, and still... I'm not over it. I continue to write about him, more of him, and I just want him to go. I can't seem to shake the urge of writing my pains away because of him, detailing the moments of my screams and cries he stole and yanked from the clutches of my innocence. I couldn't help but fall back in the depths of depression; the fiery pit of hell for me.

I thought when he graduated, his presence would no longer haunt mine and nor would I stare through the endless agonizing nightmares his eyes reflected. To many they were brown, a light hazel and that picture was torn the first day he took advantage of me, of course. And I of course I had to repeat myself — the only way I know how to make much sense of my reality. The only way I know how to write what I feel and what triggers me. And he wasn't alone; my own bloodline, or so I believed, triggered me past a breaking point.

In the light of my father, he was everything. His first, his best, his only representation of him. They looked similar and yet different enough where I never choked and whimpered when I saw my own father. How awkward and sad would that be? Breaking down in front of your parent and they question you for answers to which you reply with a lie built on another — and a couple more. When you start with a lie, it's hard to differentiate it from the truth.

The truth would never set me free. No way. Fuck the truth, it wouldn't do me no good considering how many other guys, in a situation most believe are only happening to women, would be branded as weak, a coward, less than a man or some strong, independent women out there. We were the bitches ridiculed and joked about when it came to something as serious as... what he and my brother had done.

I'm still fucking mad. And I'll never not say it again. I'll never not think how my anger transcends emotions and acts from the way I move around them. But I still quiver in the light of the devils. In comparison, they were still bigger. My change of plans of building body mass and strength more than five days a week never reached the level of what they did, not as yet. Besides, I was still younger, still in school and they were out with adults, masked as regular Joes who took care of their bodies and mind.

I was weak, I will admit. I was weak and I needed to get stronger. I would seek revenge — and how many times would I say that?

For Justice should be served. Equality for all.

But to be completely honest... I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with this anymore.

Dropping my pencil, I held the palm of my hands up on my eyes, sighing and groaning and chose to engross myself with the beautiful work of three harmonized sirens. Unlike some bastard, they never betrayed or deceived anyone, and kept themselves in the light of beauty every damn time they performed. Gold. They were stars and worked from the beginning; slaved themselves for the dream of a lifetime. The kind of determination desperation reached far lengths for me.

He just had to slave over a character I'd fall for.

Serene Destiny had success while I sat heaving at my words. I moved from my hands and rested my arms over the surface of my desk and deadpanned eyes over different editions of comics, a silver case with that stupid pendant and graphic novels surrounding the work I've done lately; homework and journal entries of the same fucking thing.

My blood curled in anger every time I wrote, trying my best at coherent and understandable thoughts and no matter what I did, they came out as a mess. Tori seemed to understand, but with how the nerves in her face wrinkled, she wanted satisfaction for my sake.