"No, you don't realize what you done to me
Look out, here comes blue desire.."
Blue Desire by The Silencers
Warning: this chapter includes a mature part, which you can skip, but make sure to read the part that follows, as it has a crucial effect on what's to come. Thanks x.
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His words nearly knock me down, and surprisingly send a twinge of tribulation through me. It's the first time I listen to someone as they accuse themselves of someone's death, the way I'm languished every day by the ceaseless slashing of my guilt. "What do you mean?"
"What I mean, is that I'm the reason why she committed suicide." He proclaims, his expression turning desolate, like he will never feel happiness ever again. "I was cruel, nonchalant, and arrogant. Too arrogant to forgive her for doing something I did every single day without remorse."
He walks away, his feet looking wobbly and lost, his old self irretrievable. I could've paid to see him looking submissive and susceptible, to see him stripped of the control and the confidence he always possesses. I could've done anything to know his weaknesses, yet seeing his stance feeble and curbed does nothing, but break me, riving my heart in two, tearing my sanity limb from limb.
Muffled melancholy, and deafening void, and no witness.
He takes a seat on the couch, leaning back to rest his head against its back, before he concentrates his gaze on the ceiling. "We were never exclusive. Of course, that's what she wanted, but commitment never sounded very engaging to me. I was always wasted, always throwing parties that would end with me in bed with another girl. I watched her ruin herself, and instead of saving her, I stood there, watching her vaporizing her entire being.
"Can you imagine how fucking cruel I was? She slept with Logan, and I fucking lost it! It didn't fucking matter that I betrayed my friend, and slept with a different girl every night, I still lost it! I treated her like absolute trash! She's show up at my place, and I'd hurl unspeakable insults at her, and then kick her out. I wouldn't look at her face whenever she approached me. Everyone started to treat her like shit, when they learned that I'm no longer interested in her. I drained her, and she-" He stops, his voice slowly becoming unsound.
And she killed herself.
I lean back against the wall to support myself, unable to talk or fathom what he just told me, and letting myself be submerged in the resolute memories that keep haunting me.
What are the odds of me meeting someone whose life resembles mine so much? Someone who happens to be friends with my ex-boyfriend? Someone whose girlfriend happened to die with drug overdose, the way my mother did?
Except that my mother didn't commit suicide.
I can't believe I feel bad for him after what he just said. Is that what you do when you.. like someone? You give them every excuse for every single depravity they commit? Because that's what I'm doing right now, beseeching my messed-up head to come up with every justification possible.
He clears his throat, before he goes on. "Her brother is a bastard. Instead of ending me, he keeps asking for money, and I can't deny him any! Not because I'm scared, but because that's the slightest I can repay for my actions, yet the guilt keeps eating on me." He squeezes his eyes shut. "I see her every fucking where. Blaming me, haunting me." He stands, making his way back to me. The way his blood-red eyes stare at me, makes me want to hug him and tell him how scarred I am, how guilty I am, just like him. "I wish I forgave her. Forgiveness might as well save a life."
I angle my head to the side, meeting his glassy eyes with mine. "And you? Did you forgive yourself?"
He lets out a somber laugh. "No, Candice. You can only save a life that's worth saving, mine is not."
My stomach coils, and something inside me twists and jerks in a way that makes me want to buckle in affliction. It's my heart. It feels like it's being dislocated, like it's being racked with a force that's not supposed to affect me, but it does.
I hurt for him.
"That's absolute jazz. Everyone is worth a second chance." I snap.
He chuckles, reaching out to brush his knuckles against my cheek. "You're delusional."
"Fuck you!" I snarl through gritted teeth, feeling my throat closing up.
He cups my face with his hands, cocking his head sideways. "You know, she was someone who'd never deny me anything, so forgiving and so willing, just what I thought I wanted." He comes closer, and his eyes deepen. "But then you shoved yourself into my life like the gauche you are, and everything I thought I wanted turned out to be nothing but illusions. No one has ever challenged me the way you do. No one has ever defied me, molded me, maddened me, the way you do."
"I'm not a gauche!" I complain, but he continues like he never heard me.
"It's like karma, you driving me mad, yet a part of me enjoys your fiery attitude. I've always had a death grip on everything and everyone in my life. I thought I owned the world. I thought I controlled it. But then you came and loosened that grip, and everything in my life turned to chaos." He looks at me with skepticism, like he finds it hard to believe that I was able to do all of those things, like I'm some naturalized, surreal human being that was suddenly fomented in his life. "Everything I thought I wanted is nothing compared to what I feel toward you. You're the one I want. No, scratch that. You're the one I need. You're the one who has a fucking compact grasp on my life, and I'm not sure whether I want to get free."
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heartbeats aggrandizing with every word that he voices. Everything he says has a crucial effect on me. He said I mold and control him, yet here I am, a weak mess in his hands. He said his life has become chaotic, yet mine has a mélange of knots that was caused by no one but him. He said that he wants and needs me, yet I've never wanted and needed someone so much before.
"I'm scared." I manage to croak out, peeling my eyes open.
He wrenches back immediately, like he was struck by a wire charged with electricity, his eyes turning dull. "Did I scare you?"
"No!" I hasten to say. "Not you-
"It's Chavez." He interrupts. "I will make sure-"
I cut him off with a hand on his mouth. "It's not like that. I'm not scared of you or him. Well, maybe he scared me a little bit, but it's not him that I'm really scared of." I sigh, struggling for words. "I'm scared of what I feel. It's so.. overwhelming. I'm flabbergasted. You confuse me! You pull me in, you shove me away, you make me feel like I'm on top of the world one second, and the next you crumble every beautiful thing I feel, with nothing but mere words. I find it hard to understand you, to understand what you feel toward me." I hold my head in my head, unable to decipher my thoughts.
"I think I care about you." He solely says.
That sparks my interest, and I look up at him. "You think?"
He nods, advancing toward me once more. "I also think I like you." His eyes turn crepuscular, transfixing me where I am.
I can only gulp, watching him as he takes one step closer, listening to his words as an abrupt ebullition of fireworks erupts in my head.
"But I believe that you should leave before I lose control, because all I can think about right now, is how I want my hands on every inch of you."
My breath stills, and so does my whole posture, and with every moment that flies with me lodged in my place, he takes a step closer. A few steps dissever our bodies. A few seconds before we clash together, yet they feel like ages. Like it's an abysmal labyrinth that's separating us from our reunion.
I nod, hesitant. "Yeah, I should probably leave."
Yet I don't move.
I don't even show any intention of me doing so.
"But you won't." He states, pretty implicit.
A thousand reason why I should weasel out of this spot. A million reason why I should hate him. A billion reason why I should flee, and never come back.
Except that I don't want to do any of those things.
He stops directly in front of me, leaving barely any space between us. We both stare at each other with wide, heedful eyes. Sinful intents, and overexerted hearts. Rugged breaths and cluttered thoughts. Everything sounds fogged.
Except for one thing.
Us. Here, and alone, with one thing in mind.
Sex
As if we both realize the selfsame thing at the same time, we both seem to freeze one moment, before we both lunge at the same time, and our mouths collide with an inferno that's capable of deflagrating the Pacific ocean. One desperate hand moves to free my hair, while the other waltzes like feathers on my cheek, a contrast against his searing kisses, before he moves it to cup the back of my neck, and he leaves it there, firm and controlling. My blood bumps under my skin, and my hands become just as demanding, grabbling the hem of his white shirt, neglecting his mouth for a second, just to pull it over his head.
He doesn't waste time. The moment his shirt is flopped somewhere in the pulverized room, he grabs my face and kisses me again, his teeth biting and pulling my bottom lip, his tongue caressing mine with long, languid strokes. He fumbles with my shirt at first, before he gives up, and in one tug, he rips it open, and I hear the buttons landing aimlessly on the porcelain floor. In a frenzy, he grips my bra, urgently unclasping it, before he pushes it off my shoulder along with my shirt. His hands grip my breasts with purpose, applying just the right pressure to shoot delicious sprinkles of pleasure straight to my core.
I feel incredible want.
I feel starved for him. Starved for everything he's willing to give me, and more.
Breaking the kiss, he walks me backwards, leading me with a hand on my waist, until we reach the kitchen counter. "Grip the edge of the counter, facing me." He orders, his voice thick with desire.
I comply, and he stands there, his dark eyes leisurely inspecting every single part of my body, lingering on my bare breasts, before he extends one hand to touch my nipple, gently brushing it, trailing his hand downward, and the yearning for him spirals, the appetency for him to touch me becomes urgent. I feel him fingering the button of my jeans, and instinctively, one hand leaves the counter and grabs his arm.
His eyes become beastly, and he grasps both of my hands and plants them firmly on the countertop, crouching in front of me, so that his face is level with my crotch. "Keep them there. Don't you dare move them again." He growls, and his warning tone demands no comeback.
He undoes the button of my jeans, and I close my eyes, the anticipation so my much for me to handle, the wetness between my legs demanding quick action. I hear the sound of the zipper being pulled down, before he grips the waistbands of my jeans and panties and pulls them down together, not bothering to go slow. He helps me pull my feet out of the encumbering materials, before I'm left stark naked in front of him, struggling to keep my fingers on the counter.
He looks up at me, his eyes pitch-dark with nefarious lust, before he moves them to inspect every single inch of my bare body, his gaze so dark and intense, that I almost feel it touching me. My labored breathing intensifies as his gaze goes down, before it lances on my the part between my legs, causing me to close them in embarrassment. The way his hands shoots out to hold me open bespeaks his disapproval, and he knocks the breath out of my lungs the moment he hooks one leg over his shoulder, holding me open, and leaving me to fight to remain confident and not to slump forward in disconcertment.
He licks his lips, causing me to inhale sharply, and pulls my closer to his face, his fingertips digging into my thighs, before I feel his mouth on me. My eyes roll back in shock and pleasure, my knuckles turning bloodless around the edge of the counter. I try to close my legs, but he holds me open, continuously lapping me up in long, intense strokes, cascading sparks of pleasure through my entire body. I feel a finger prodding my entrance, gently entering me, and with every stroke of his tongue, I feel myself being pushed closer to the edge, continuously gasping and gulping for air. He teases me and then pushes me, one moment moving with an achingly slow rhythm, and the next he's vicious and persistent, having no mercy, until I find myself screaming his name, my orgasm taking over my defenseless body and spreading outward like a volcano.
He holds me as I recover, before I find myself swept up by him again, and then positioned on the countertop, my backside on the edge. I hear a tearing sound, before I feel his erection nudging at my opening, at the brink of penetration. "Open your eyes, Candice." He commands, his raspy voice animalistic, and I feel his hand wrapping around the nape of my neck as a warning, pulling me closer.
I oblige, opening my heavy-lidded eyes to look into his foxy eyes. They're wild with indescribable lust, carnal with improper thoughts and intentions. I keep my eyes trained on his, moving my hips to invite him in, and I feel a smile tugging at his luscious lips. He can see how fast I change when I want him, how daring and shameless I become, how much control he has over my helpless body, and I can tell that he's enjoying every single moment of it.
He grips my legs, wrapping them around his hips, and without warning, I feel the tip of him at my entrance one moment, before he rams inside me the next, causing me to cry out sharply, suddenly thrown into a place filled with palatable pleasure, laced with sensual, tortuous agony. I move to wrap my arms around his neck, but he halts me, grasping my hands in one hand, before he fixes them against the countertop, leaving me to solicit, my brain a slave to my unabashed, wanting body, and my entire being becomes swamped and controlled by him.
He pulls back, so slowly, allowing me to adjust to him, before he thrusts in again, his coarse groans encouraging my moans to surface. Leaning in, he licks a sweet line down my chest, taking one nipple into his hot mouth, giving it a bite, and it sends flashes of lecherous pleasure through me. "So wet and tight around me, aren't you?" He growls against my breast, his hips moving in and out, filling me to the brim, and then leaving me empty. "You want me, despite what you know about me, huh? You want me."
"Yes." I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut.
He goes on, sucking on those delicious spots on my neck so hard that I think his lips will be branded into my skin for life. His hips move in and out with rapid-fire thrusts, verging me closer to the point where there's no retreat. A point that I start begging for, a point that he drives us toward with every push. Suddenly, I feel myself clenching so hard around him, invoking a groan to emit from his open mouth, and without warning, I come apart around him, my eyes falling fluttering closed, before I feel him emptying inside of me with guttural grunts.
Our heavy breathing subsides as he carries me to his bedroom, before he lays me down on his bed, snuggling up against my flaccid body, and silence becomes the loudest thing in the room.
The last thought that occupies my mind, is how I'm going to save someone who doesn't want to be saved.
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Pressure in my abdomen and throbbing in my head wake me up from deep, commodious sleep, but I still sigh in content, listening to the beautiful, decompressing melodies that come from outside. He must be drawing.
Dragging myself out of bed, I look at the clock positioned on the nightstand, only to find out that it's barely five in the morning, and even though I'm dying to go back to sleep, I still need to use the restroom.
After finishing my business, I decide that I'm wide awake, splashing my drowsy face with water, before my eyes seek the place where the toothpaste is positioned. I'm presented with a mint-flavored type, and the other one that's supposed to taste like peach. I pick up the mint-flavored one, before I change my mind, and go for the other one.
I attempt to open the tube, but the lid is impossibly lodged, begetting me to try to twist it harder, using my whole hand, and all of a sudden, the lid opens, and from the force of my grip, the tube's contents disperse around, but not in clots of toothpaste like I expected.
But in masses of some white substance that causes my heart to plummet to my feet.
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