Selene (dealing_death) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-08-25 16:22:00 |
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Current music: | Tear You Apart: She Wants Revenge |
Who: Selene (Open, maybe Logan)
When: Late night
Where: Leaving home, walking down the street, looking for something big and bad to hurt.
Why: Frustration. And there was mention of going hunting....
Status: Complete
Rating: R
In the darkness of the room an insipid hand reaches to chase the shadows away with a flick of the light switch. Another reaches out in a rush to stop the illumination from revealing too much. Her voice is crisp, sharp, as she snaps. “No.” There was a pause, her breath catching in her throat. “Lights off.”
Through the pane of colored glass the moon dared to try and shed its light on the impending situation. As if to force her eyes to see what sin she was about to commit. That too was shut out as she snapped the heavy velvet curtains shut.
Wandering hands found their way around her slender waist that was still held firmly in the confines of the body hugging leather. Swallowed by shadows she could almost believe the lie. Fingers flowed through the hair that barely brushed the shoulders of the man belonging to the pair of groping hands. When he brought her closer she held her breath, the smell clinging to his athletic body was not natural, it was forced. Cologne. Another crack in the illusion.
Soft breaths and teasing words were interrupted by the long drawn out release of the zipper running down her chest. The touch of his cold fingers sent a shiver down her spine. His touch filled her with warmth. Not once had she felt cold when in his presence. Now she trembled with a chill that scratched at the bone.
No matter who was in her arms her only wish when she looked up was for his golden eyes to be staring back. What she finds in the dark is heartbreaking. Her lithe, undressed form was held tightly in the arms of a stranger. If she closed her eyes tightly perhaps she could almost pretend. With the world closed off from her painfully dark eyes it was as if it were true. In that brief flicker of time she forgot that his hair was not right, nor his legs, that he stunk of spice brought from a department store counter not the scent that came from hard work and the passing of time that had aged his skin to perfection.
No matter how she tried to force the details from her mind they came screaming into the light as she was gently shoved into the folds of fabric covering the bed. There was no passion in his touch. It lacked the seductive ease that radiated from every pore of the one she truly desired.. He touched her with the urgency and grace of an eighteen year old boy. Selene only wished to feel again. To have passion. If only for a moment she wanted to hold that fire, let it burn her fingers and sting her eyes with smoke. Living in this shell was unbearable. The nothingness devoured everything.
It was his lips. His hard, rough lips, they almost brought a scream of agony from her. In her chest her heart beat like a war drum against the cage holding the remains of her heart. With a fierce shove the stranger was forced back and his eager lips only tasted the sharp sting of her hand. The old wooden floorboards shook as his weight bounced against them.
“Get out!” She yelled with such fury it shook the walls.
”Fucking bitch!” His voice, that was several octaves higher then she would have liked, cried out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Scrambling to his feet the stranger adjusted the twisted clothing that still kept him covered. He went for the door muttering irritated words of distaste for the woman on the divan.
This was not what she needed. It was not what she wanted. Anger coursed through her over her own actions. Not that she had never ventured down this same road many times in the past. When she had an itch Selene had never hesitated to scratch it before. Somehow now, it just felt, wrong. She was certainly not the picture for mental health to be certain.
Wasting no more time she got up and got dressed. The crumpled wad of latex was left on the ground, replaced by a pair of black leather pants and a harmonizing bolero jacket. There was always another way to vent her frustrations. She could kill something. Several somethings, hopefully. Without her usual, large arsenal she left the church behind with nothing more then a blackened sword at her back, covered by a curtain of black hair that whipped in the wind created by her quick pace. A text message had been sent to Logan, he had suggested hunting, if tonight was not a good night then she would gladly go it alone.