When a confession goes wrong, Sutton Olivers blackmails the right man to help her complete the one thing on her mind: revenge.
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When the spitfire, Sutton Olivers falls in love with her sexy roommate...
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ＳＩＬＡＳ 18. the tainted king
A hurricane ranged inside the room— built by a surge of twisting black smoke which kisses your corpse until it bleeds into your skin and into your bloodstream mixing with the purity of life until you become something else.
Dirty. Polluted. Honest.
Honest to the bullshit that's pulled over your head, to fantasy of a better world, a better life, and a better soul that deserved to be saved. To him it was more than the truth, it was scripture, and the more he inhaled, the more the storm consumed him, fluctuating the daze that he couldn't help but be completed by.
A blend of purple, blue and white puffed from his opened lips and into the calm, stale air in the dusty room he had no memory of. Mist dripped from the faint brown glass of the windows as stardust rained over the room, allowing a seep of light to shift in the space. Sweat coated his body, causing the sheets from one of the items in the room— a lonesome bed— to claw at his skin. Resting crickets sung a tart lullaby outside the walls, sending the two naked women around him into an luring dream. Blonde and brown hair rested on his chest, hiding the unknown faces; which is another thing his memory wouldn't allow him to see.
He stared at the blank ceiling as smoke circulated around the rocking ceiling fan. One of the girls moaned softly against his chest as he reached over the bed to the tiny, rusted bedside table with ashtray where he found the already used cigarette earlier. He tapped the ashes against the stone gently before bringing the blunt back in between his crusted lips and inhaling the darkness which burned his lungs. His head fell back against the pillow as he blew out the smoke and fluttered his eyes close.
His body was alive; smoked and bruised but alive. Rushed and ragged heaves of his chest burned his lungs as he inhaled the smoke which would later define his adult years. Tears scorched his eyes as he tried to hold in his emotions but was quickly failing. He glared at the woman in front of him, a smirk outlining her lips as the scarlet dress that hugged her intriguing curves was lifted up to her hips, a cigarette hung between her manicured fingers, dangling in it toxicity and irony.
She reached towards him, her hands were individual needles as she reached for his hands which covered his newly scarred chest. She chucked softly, her fragrance filling the arm. Honeysuckle was all he could think of as he clenched his jaw. "I'm helping you, Darling, can't you see? I'm making you prepared for the real world. Now Darling, don't be mad at me, it's just some cigarette burns. You'll be fine. Let me see." And she dragged his hands away to see the masterpiece she created on his young body.
She dragged her nail against each red and purple blotch against his skin. "Beautiful," her lips curled into a great smile as she peered at his skin before realizing that he was still there. She pulled his lips towards her and gave him the reward that he so craved. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body to his, ignoring the thousand of needles searing his insides from his new found injuries. The blankets rippled around them as she flipped him over on his back and broke the kiss, her nose touching his. "Hide my marks," she whispered to the young boy as his naked boy flushed against hers, "don't tell your Dad." The mention on the man she was dating brought a sour taste to both of their lips. The boy, in his teenage intoxication, nodded swiftly before he closed his eyes and kissed the older woman on top of him.
