Darian Luka
Darian was the sort of guy who has walls wound around him like it was fucking cling film. You could begin to unravel and you just keep going and going and going.
There's no getting to him, no getting to who he truly is on the inside.
That's what everyone else thinks.
But you? Oh, love, you have seen parts of him he wasn't ready to show anyone. You sliced through that cling film with your nails like scissors, you exposed him, naked and vulnerable. You created the animal the others see today.
Because today, that cling film isn't just plastic, it isn't tearable as it'd once been, it's fucking metal crushing his body, his lungs, his soul. It's his defense against people like you who only take, take, take.
What did you see? Go on, tell me. Tell me that you saw his abusive father, tell me that you saw his dead mother, blood pooling around her naval, tell me that you saw his little sister, eyes wide because of the rape she just underwent.
And tell me. I dare you. Tell me what you did. You kept quiet. You laughed. You jeered. You watched as he became far more than just a victim of domestic violence.
But most importantly, you kept quiet.
Now look at him, punctured lung, slashed wrists, gaunt eyes. You take, take, take from him while he gives to, gives up, gives in to a man he is forced to call his father.
YOU ARE READING
Plastic Problems
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