My Forever Transgression..(Bill Skarsgard)(Roman Godfrey)

13] The Governments Hidden Project

My lips are numb to all the biting, anger, frustration, jealousy, disarray, and every single emotion an individual beholds once in a lifetime.

I hate this feeling.

I run up the stairs, causing Roman to follow behind.

"Ana, come here," he states, trying to grasp my waist.

I hate this.

Roman snatches me, pinning my body against the flat black marble wall. Leaning his frame and greenish orbs against mine he says, "Darling," our lips are so, so very close. "Please."

I hate myself.

He moves his hand away from my waist, swiftly painting prints on my cheek; a design I would buy, encouraging me to uplift my sanity from crazed presumptions.

I hate his touch.

Moving his hand away he paints two dots on my neck, the placement of the forbidden bite.

I̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶

I grab his hand, his body, forcing it away from mine to avoid the close connection, the close connection that we would be sharing if it wasn't for my obnoxious requests.

I grab a bag, the closest bag I can find. Walking to the room I pick up my clothes, and throw them in the bag.

Roman follows behind, watching every single move I take.

Walking down the stairs I grab my phone that I have thrown on the couch to dial a number.

"I would like to Uber a ride from-"

"Put the phone down." Roman's frame leans against the wall, observing me with impatience.

"Yes, I'm still here. A ride from-"

"Put the fucking phone down!" he demands.

I do it. With every will of fight I have left in me, the energy of solitude I wish I was, the given right, the given struggle, I do it.

I hang the phone up, set it down, and stare directly at what he has to say to me.

The blood from his nose is now percolating down his lips. The lips that kissed me, from head to toe. The lips that consumed the hesitation out of my lyrics. The lips that are now layered with blood.

He wipes his lips.

"Listen before you decide to leave." Roman steps closer, layering his hands forward cautiously on the air that is attempting to push him backward, straining to do me justice.

"No." I'm now sitting on his long sofa, unable to escape. "I don't want to hear you, I don't want to see you."

"Ana." with both hands he layers them on the bridge of his nose. Breathing in before out. "Please, my love. Listen."

He walks to me. Kneeling in front of me.
I twitch as he positions his hands on my thighs. He bows his head, grinning as his dimple becomes exceptionally observable.

"God, after today," his thumb brushes me, making the only movement compared to the atmosphere. "I have a feeling this will be the last time I touch you. Feel you."

My knuckles are pale from grasping the surface, tightly, so, so very tightly.

I can't give in.

I close my eyes as they fill in satisfactory elements of despair.

I can't give him what he wants.

My lips are now more impassive than ever.

I'm not enough.

"If you allow me to explain, I declare my promise to you, I'll leave you be. Just," brushing his hair back with his hand he says, "Just, allow me to explain myself, Ana."

"Whatever," my words aren't bowed to speak with him. My heart, my mind, my voice, is blocking him out but my fight, my fight is conversable, associated with.

"Whatever I saw is nothing compared to normal, Roman."

"I know." Roman stands up, stressed. He sits across from me, laying his arms on his thighs. His palms cover his face.

"But I want to know." I bite my lip, intending to hold back the hunger I have for his lips. "I want to know who you are and what you're in and why you did this to me." I scrunch my eyebrows at the floor of dignity. "Why didn't you tell me about yourself before we, before we,"

"I'm not quite sure." he interrupts, gawking at the interior. "You did something to me that compelled me to forget everything, Ana. Everything. I assumed that you would understand today."

"Before or after we had sex?" my eyes are wailing at him. Compelling him to look at me, angry from unspoken barriers. "You could have said something, Roman,"

He laughs. At the serious crisis, he laughs. "Darling, I'm not absurd." he laughs again.

"This isn't supposed to amuse you, Roman," I stand. "None of this is intriguing. None of this."

I sit back down, acknowledge the fervent of the couch. "You should have said something,"

"Don't do that," Roman says, staring straight from his eyebrows. "Don't blame me for your denial, love."

"Excuse me?"

"You know you were seduced without intentionally trying, Darling." he sits down and places his knuckles on his lips. He perks up at me, motionless, in the same spot.

"Roman, I gave myself to you before I had the chance to see only slightly who you are," I say, angry.

"And you slept on my bed, enticed me the same hour, allowed me to feel you, touch you, be inside of you. Ana, you gave yourself to me, Darling. The vulnerability is on you. Don't blame me for your foolishness."

"Then I'll be a fool, I'll be everything associated with exposure, I just need to know who you are."

"Darling,"

"Roman." I sit, push my hair to the back of my ear. "Please, the truth."

"Ana, I'm only ever trying to protect you, love-"

"I don't need your protection, I want the truth so I can leave." I spit.

"Ana," he intends to hide the mark on his hand. "My father," he stops. "He couldn't get me away."

I bite my nails and bleed from perturbation.

Away.

"From what?" I ask, numb.

He released a pint of air. "Ana,"

"Who. Are you."

"The institution." he lets out. "The institution isn't what you think it is."

There it is. The rationale for all of this. The solution to what I've been seeking. Without needing to direct his basis, I guess he's what endangers society, what endangers us.

And I know. I know that this will hurt.