༺ღ༒ Murder's Log ༒ღ༻ (Henry Creel and 000 tale) A Stranger Things fan fiction

༺ღ༒ 009 ༒ღ༻

I groaned and thrusted my hips onto him, needing my friction. He chuckled and he disconnected from me, letting go of me. I looked at him sadly and he pouted right back he flipped us over and we kissed he was shimming his clothes off and mine as well.

I could feel his tip poke me I shivered, he kissed me and thrust in, he grabbed my calf's and put them on this shoulders to rest, he gripped my thighs  leaving bruises as he fucked me senseless. I moaned and screamed as I could feel my skin tingle at his touch.

A mix of sweat, moaning, and switching positions, different more intense situations. I could feel myself cumming again, and again, and again. Marks and bruises left as a reminder.

We showered again, fucked again, then relaxed on the couch, I showed him the alluring world of  television.

White walls.

Children's voices echoing.

Bouncing off the walls and to my solitary room.

Where I would sleep.

As needles and knifes  piercing every inch of my skin.

My blood dripping off the table once again.

The puddle of my demise growing.

As I shrink.

White walls, accented with red.

Children's screams echoing.

Splattering on the walls to my solitary room.

Where I will fight.

As I rip myself free from needles and knifes from every inch of my skin.

Others blood mixing with mine, dripping off of everything.

The puddles of my demise becoming everyone else's.

As I grow.

My skin stained with mine and others blood, never to permanently wash away.

Henry is asleep on the couch after eating pancakes from a food coma, I sneak up and teleport to the ruins of the laboratory. Yet it still feels real, well clearly it's a real building but it feels like it shouldn't exist. Why had I let it lived for so long, did I miss it?

Miss what? Torture, pain, trauma? No, I missed the simplicity. Possibly, maybe I did miss the pain. Because the pain was comforting some how. It made me feel numb, which was better then feeling alive sometimes. All this living for myself and having nothing to be worried about? No. I was created to be a weapon, to always be on my toes and ready to fight.

I wasn't made to be domesticated. I want to break this programming to my own brain. But I can't, I'm not human, I don't have emotions like normal humans, humans can't do the things I do. They can't make new dimensions, they can't read minds, they can't destroy planets. What's wrong with me? I was human at one point, in a younger age. Or was I? Or was I forced to. And that drew me away from the concept all together. The way my father would touch me, beat me, rape me. The way my mother would watch. I was never human, I've always been a toy, reprogrammed to be a weapon.

Even now all I can think about is killing, no one specific. Just to feel warmth again, just to feel at home again. To do something I was always meant to.

Because I'm nothing. Other then a weapon. Left on the battlefield, yearning for anything other then to be buried. I'm so far buried already, I'll never get out.

I wish I could be a human like Eleven, how she grew into Jane.

I have nothing to grow into, I've been built and I don't evolve. I can't be human. I will always be a number no matter how hard I try.