Implode [edited version]

o5 implosion

The walls were plastered with posters of all the latest popular singers, bands, and athletes that she’d vowed to sleep with at some point in her life, though they tended to change rather quickly. The little furnishings pertained to the basic needs of a bedroom, and there was nothing more to fit into the small space that Leslie really cared for.

Lost in her musings about the possibility of redecorating, she failed to see the stranger crossing the room towards her until he was right in her face. Startled, she jumped back slightly and gasped. The sound was smothered as he shoved his hand over her mouth and pushed her back onto the bed.

Let it be said that one aspect of Leslie’s beauty was the perfect skin that covered her body. Not a mark or blemish could be found on it, and she was forever without a reason to worry for scars. Tattoos were cliché and of no interest to her, and the only piercings that covered her were restrained to her ears. Taking this in now, her guest’s lips curled into a cross between a snarl and a smirk, as if he’d been given the best present of destructive capabilities.

Shattered syllables attempted to form words as Leslie gasped under the hold of the man, eyes wide with terror. She should have realized it sooner, from the way he walked and talked. He’d probably planned for something like this to happen, but she of course would never know that he happened upon her at that moment by chance. It was really a cruel twist of fate that lead her to be in the position she was in now.

What was her position? She was throttled by an inhumanly perfect man that could have been the companion of the evening if things had gone well. But, they clearly hadn’t. So she was left to probably be the victim of some psychopath. A terrible thought of her ending up like one of those girls attacked by killers back in the seventies flashed in her mind, but her growing terror made it near impossible to hold on to a single thought for long.

Questions continued to try to push past her ragged gasping, but failed. Tears welled in her eyes, and for some unknown reason, it registered in her mind that this was what he wanted. The way the stranger leaned in was as if he were examining the small droplets of salt water that slid down her reddening cheeks and between his fingers. For a moment there gaze met, and she took note of that familiar dullness in his gaze.

“I can help,” she finally managed to rasp out, “I can make it go away.”

It could really only be the pain of resignation, like someone had hit you with a ton of bricks after you’d tried so hard. Giving up wasn’t easy, but that’s what it made you do, like you had no choice.

“What could you possibly do for me,” he questioned, brows raised and lips curled into a cynical appraisal.

There could have been many answers to that question, but she could think of none of them at that moment. Instead, she continued to snivel and plead, and the stranger realized then that he’d been let down once more. It was only as he had expected, but this was of no consequence to him. Though, he couldn’t stop that wrenching of his gut that coiled his features.

Turning her roughly over onto her stomach, he shoved her camisole further up her back. His hands laced through her hair, gently at first, before he pressed down enough to smother her in the mattress. Her muffled pleas and gasp for breath were only weakened as she began to struggle, hoping in vain to dislodge the larger figure from her back.

His gaze bounced around the room, looking for a suitable brush for the work of art he was to create. He locked on to a dainty pink perfume bottle, star shaped and obviously made from glass. Hand raised, he looked back to his canvas as the bottle shot towards his outstretched hand, and with a crunch of glass between his fingers, he was ready to begin.

He thought about counting down and waiting until she passed out, mostly due to the throbbing of his temples, but that would be no fun. No one would find her fast enough if she wasn’t screaming. Twirling the shard of pale pink glass in his hand for a moment, he brought it down sharply and a ragged scream ripped through the girl.

〈♚〉

She was meant to return to a school back in its original form, but life wouldn’t give Exodus such an easy time. The whole incident with the heart had her on edge, and another of Matt’s lovers had decided that they’d call her out for something, as if she was meant to be the scapegoat. If they’d really wanted to get rid of her, she wondered why these people who were hurting those around didn’t just come straight at her. Unless, they wanted to kill her with hours of questions from the police. That, however, didn’t quite make sense to her if they wanted her to suffer, but she was also trying to wrap her head around why she’s a primary suspect.

Why would she have hurt Matt?

Sure, the two of them had some falling out before, but she didn’t really have much of an opportunity to hold it against him with her current standing. She could barely persuade someone to be on her side, let alone turn them against Matt.

Things only seemed to worsen when she walked into school that morning, the air heavy with the news. Apparently, someone else had been mutilated, only this had gone far enough to carve names into the poor girl’s back. She, luckily and probably sadly, didn’t suffer anything fatal, but would forever be branded with whatever name was inscribed on her back.

She was second guessing the thought of how horrific and unusual it was when she walked into class. The usual arsenal of glares, but they seemed just a bit more charged this time around. She stared around for a moment, confused by the added hostility, before she made her way back her seat.

She felt something strike her foot, and the ground was suddenly rushing towards her. She probably would’ve broken her nose if she had hit the ground, but something caught her. She looked up to see Ambrose’s arms coiled around her protectively.

There was something in his gaze that she couldn’t quite name, and then it was gone. He was back to his usual self and shuffled to sit in the seat beside her. For a second, she’d been worried that he’d do something that he’d likely regret, especially after the whole restroom incident a few days prior.

The thought it also brought back the memory of the heart wrapped neatly on her doorstep. A shudder rippled through her spine, and she spared a glance at the golden eyed boy. Had that been the gift he’d referred to that day? Or was it just as Laurisse had said; a sick, twisted joke?

Pondering the matter did her no real good, she realized, and shook it from her thoughts. A sigh slipped past her lips as class began, but something felt off. She could feel Ambrose’s stares and glances, but refused to acknowledge them to focus on that off-putting feeling sitting on her chest. As the class drew on, she felt a brush of wind on her neck and the hairs rose in alarm. Gooseflesh pimpled her skin and the faintest of whispers entered her hearing.

“What’s love without tragedy?”

 // so slightly different from the original, as in, Leslie's part is helluva lot longer, but you know. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and hopefully I can start getting them up faster. I wanna try to have this done by NaNo.