#ok genuinely i can never recognize myself in the mirror every time i look its someone elses face idek how to explain it i hate it so muchhh

[flintsilvers]

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[cecilspeaks]

175 - The October Monologues

[static] [slightly distorted] The trees are dying again. You know it, I know it. The trees know it. They have known it for decades, centuries in some cases. The shiver of cyclic, symbolic death. A rattle in the cold night air. A rustle in the footsteps of a hungry deer. It is October and something is different. It is October and the trees draw the crackling red and orange curtain in the year’s final act. It is October, and so listeners, dear listeners, Night Vale community radio is proud to introduce The October Monologues.  

Faceless Old Woman: I am lonely. Oh, I see people. I see lots of people every day. I see you right now. I see you, Caleb, sitting in your rolling desk chair, hunched over your computer. I am a faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, watching you download yet another video game, Caleb.

But seeing people and being with people are different things. Different ideas altogether. I miss touch most of all. A father’s hand, a friend’s arms. A lover’s chest. I still touch, am touched, but it is not the same. It is not a mutual touch. My touch is unwelcome, unfriendly, unwanted. Yet I touch because I love.

And I love you, Caleb. I do. I know you don’t believe me after what I did to you tonight, but I do. My love is not romantic nor maternal. It’s not platonic, either. I love you the way a deer loves a cornfield. It is safe, it is nourishing. It is in its DNA to want to be there, to hide, to eat, to play. You’re very much like a cornstalk, Caleb. You are loved and you are benign. Better than benign, you are a contribution to this world. The cornstalk is unaware that a deer loves it so much that it will bend it and stomp it until its edible morsels spill out from its crumpled empty husk. The cornstalks, there are so many cornstalks, do not understand that they are so loved by the deer as to be devoured.

You’ve seen a kitten before, Caleb, I know you have. Sometimes kittens are so cute. So so so so cute that you wanna put them in your mouth. Do you understand that kind of love, Caleb, that kind of touch? You do not, no one does. And this is why I’m lonely. But I think you know that. You’re different. You’re lonely too. That’s not what makes you different, we’re all lonely in our own way.

You’re different, Caleb, because you know I am here. You see me even when I do not want to be seen. No one has been able to do that in at least 200 years. Sometimes you speak to me. Not in terror, not in rage; I’ve heard many of these voices in my life from those who feared and detested my presence. No, you ask me my name. I won’t tell you, not yet. You tell me about your day, I’m sorry your new boss is so mean, I will rectify this. And last night, you prepared a dinner for me. You’re not a good cook, I can smell that much, but it was your gesture of generosity that touched me. You made cashio e pepe, a recipe you learned from TikTok, and you prepared a bowl just for me. You waited to see if I would appear, and when I did not, you told me you understood wanting to eat alone, so you left it for me on the dining room table, as you went to play the new flight simulator.

Few men have ever been this kind to me before being frightened into it first, or without using their kindness as a disguise. I think you genuinely understand your own quiet desperation among the mass of men. And in turn, you understand others too. I don’t trust the kindness of men, Caleb. I don’t trust the kindness of women, either. Or anyone else’s kindness, to be truthful, but I especially don’t trust men’s kindness. There are exceptions. Andre, whose kindness was loyalty and honesty, and Albert, although his was a much different kind of kindness.

But Caleb, 23-year-old, unshaven, video game loving, boss hating aimless Caleb, your kindness frightens me. I’m scared of what you want, what it is you plan to take from me. Kind men have stolen my childhood, my morals, my money, my love, my life, and my family. What will you take from me, Caleb, that I have not already lost? I’m afraid. I’m afraid to respond to your gentle bait of friendship, because I am afraid you will take my loneliness from me. I am lonely, and that is a choice I have made for myself.

One day, Caleb, you will die. I know exactly when. It will not be of my hand, although I will do nothing to stop it. It is my fate, my path, to know such things. And in your death, you will return my loneliness to me, and it will be a horror to behold, bloody and misshapen. My loneliness, not recognizing its former owner, will howl an unholy and unceasing cry, and I will not be able to bear it.

This is what I fear, Caleb, and this is why I took the bowl of cashio e pepe you left for me and hurled it against the wall, just missing your cheek. I’m not sad that you screamed at me, I’m happy that you did so. This is how it has to be. We are not enemies, Caleb, no no. I love you deeply. Deeper than you can know. I am your deer Caleb, and you are my corn.

Cecil: The fiery flash of fall leaves stuns us, captivates us. Fireworks in slow motion. Or the crackling embers of a finishing flame. Upon the leaves are written instructions for how to make oxygen, how to give life, with every exhalation. How  to find flair in fading grace, and how to raise new life by falling to your death. The leaves know they will return again, so much will return again. We return now to the October Monologues.

Michelle Nguyen: There’s this new song I like, but I don’t wanna tell you what it is. I find it kind of embarrassing. Usually I love to talk about my favorite music. There was that summer I was obsessed with the new single by Saint Vincent. The single came in the form of a glazed vase containing three blue flowers. Only one was ever made, and I got the only copy. I found it very catchy, but the flowers eventually died. Or the year I spent listening over and over to that new Janelle Monae album. I forget the name, but the cover was a black and white picture of a well, and if you didn’t share it with someone else in 7 days, you would die. Of course no one ever died, because the album was so good, people just couldn’t stop telling their friends to listen.

My favorite song of all time is a blank cassette tape still in its plastic wrapper. It was owned by a man named Gary Joy. He was a real estate lawyer, reasonably successful, but he always dreamed of being a singer/songwriter. He dreamed all the time of quitting his job and writing songs, but he had never even written one song. Then one day, in a fit of optimism and energy, he bought this cassette, intending to make his first memo. But the day got away from him, and then the week, and then the rest of his life, and he never quit being a lawyer, and he never even wrote one song. This blank cassette tape, still in its wrapper, contains the potential of all the songs he could have written but never did, which is better and more powerful than any song anyone’s actually managed to write. The potential of the thing is always more perfect than the reality of the thing. However, and this is the crucial drawback, the potential is absolutely useless and the reality, however imperfect, can be quite useful. Anyway, I like to hold Gary Joy’s unwritten demo and imagine what it would be like. Hold on, sorry. There’s a customer.

[bell dings] Welcome to Dark Owl Records. What? No, no. No. No! No. OK, bye! [bell dings] Sorry about that. Some people are so unreasonable. I don’t even know what a Taylor Swift is.

But there’s a new song I like, and it’s not cool like my other favorite songs. It’s not a song that fits the kind of image I like to project. When I put on my mirrored leggings, my extra long jorts, and my really big hat, people expect something from me. They expect me to be on the cutting edge. They expect me only to be into bands that aren’t popular yet, or will never be popular, or that frankly don’t know how to play their instruments very well. And the song I like now is not any of those things. It’s… ordinary. It’s… popular. I don’t wanna say what it is. Remember when I only listened to the sound of beez buzzing? That was a good summer. Of course I got stung once or twice or 30 times. [sighs] Hold on, sorry, there’s a customer.

[bell dings] Welcome to Dark Owl Records! Hey. Hey! Hey! Hey! HEEEEY! Thanks, nice to see you again. [bell dings] Sorry about that.

I’m tired of being cool. I was going to say trying to be cool, but trying implies the possibility of failure, and there has never been a moment when I’ve failed to be cool. But here’s the hard truth I’ve come up against: being cool is a young person’s game. And that’s not because young people are better or more interesting than older people. God no. God no. God no! It’s that coolness itself is a concept tied to youth. Coolness is a reactionary manifestation of insecurity. The more insecure you are, the cooler you need to be. It’s colorful plumage. But as I’ve gotten older, I no londer need flashy plumage. I just wanna sit in the comfort of who I am, and not worry about what that looks like from the outside.

Anyway, I can’t stop listening to “Karma Police” by Radiohead. It’s just… a good song, you know? Hold on, sorry, there’s a customer.

[bell dings] You! You’ll never catch me alive! [sound of running] [bell dings]

Cecil: An abundance of words, words falling, fluttering to the earth. Words crunching beneath our feet. They were beautiful once, the words. Now they are beginning to rot, to wilt, to compost, to ferment new growth. To fertilize new words growing upon great trunks of paragraphs and chapters, but not now. Those will come later. Now the words sputter and drop in spiraling arcs to the ground. Here, then, are the final few brightly painted words falling upon you now. The October Monologues.

Steve Carlsberg: What does it mean to be believed? I’ve always known that Night Vale isn’t like other places. As long as I can remember, I could see that. I could also see that no one else could see it. I was alone in my knowledge. Knowledge may be power, but power is often lonely. My grandfather knew. He could see that I was like him. “Steve,” he would say, “us Carlsbergs have always been the town pariahs, but just because they hate you, doesn’t mean they’re right.” I would sit at night as a kid and listen to Cecil on the radio. He was the same age as he is now, and at the time he seemed so wise. But I would hear him dismiss what I knew shouldn’t be dismissed. I would hear him cover up what should be uncovered, and I would know with a child’s certainty that it was wrong. I loved him still. Everyone in town loves Cecil. It is possible to love someone who you know is doing wrong. It’s terribly easy, in fact.

What does it mean to be believed? As a teenager, I started trying to express what I saw about the world. I gave a presentation in my social studies class called “Night Vale – there��s literally nowhere like it”, and I thought it was informative. The class all plugged their ears in unison. The teacher stopped me a minute in, glancing nervously at the 8 surveillance cameras monitoring the classroom. “Are you trying to get us all killed?” the teacher hissed at me. I remember that her breath smelled like Strawberry Jolly Ranchers, and there was a lose crumb of mascara in the sweat of her temples. “No,” I said. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not the kind of question that demands a sincere answer. The report earned me a trip to the principal’s office, and then the re-education pit, which honestly is not as bad as its name. I mean, almost not as bad. It’s pretty bad. It’s a pit, for re-education. So, certainly learned something from that re-education. I learned that you’re equally likely to be punished for being right as you are for being wrong.

What does it mean to be believed? I was a young man entering the workforce, and I had long ago learned to hide away what I knew about my city. I had learned the handshake and the smile, the nod and the necktie, all the signifiers that hid what I truly signified. All of life is a code, and I had been thought the key against my will.

I got a job as a bank teller at the Last Bank of Night Vale. I studied with great interest the townsfolk who came and went there. I learned about their lives and their secrets, and what kind of money they made for the whispered deals out back of quiet parking lots just before the sun went down, pulled up next to a black Sedan that contained their handler who they only knew by a false first name. but I couldn’t forget what I knew, even if I learned to playact that I had. What I know shapes who I am. I can’t close my eyes, not to this town I love. This weird and secret town I love.

What does it mean to be believed? Then I married into the family of Cecil Palmer, host of Night Vale community radio! And he hated me, because he could see that I knew. And after all these years, my mask had slipped a little. I’d lost my interest in hiding. I wanted to speak the truth as I knew it, nothing could be more threatening to Cecil. His life and livelihood depended on speaking the truth as the City Council wanted it. Or as the Vague yet Menacing government agencies crafted it. And here I was, pointing out to him the sky. There are glowing arrows in the sky, there are dotted lines and arrows and circles. The sky is a chart that explains the entire world! I tried to tell him, and this only made him hate me more. I tried to share who I was with him, and this only made him recoil. 

Abby listened to my stories, but she never shared my enthusiasm for the truth. “Let it lie,” she would say, “let it lie.” But that’s he point, I can’t let it lie and I can’t lie! We’ve done that for too long! We’ve let our town sit heavy under the weight of euphemism and half truth, and unless someone just said what they saw for once, we would be crushed eventually by that weight!

And then it all changed. I wasn’t alone. The others saw that we lived in a weird place. And you know what? We kept existing. Our world didn’t end merely because we dared acknowledge it. Cecil and I are friends now. I haven’t forgotten how he treated me, but I understand it and I forgive it. Forgiveness and understanding are not the same as forgotten.

What does it mean to be believed? It means everything. It means all.

Cecil: And as the leaves are done, so are the October Monologues. All that can be said has been said. And all that can be said will be said again.

Today’s proverb: Listen, it might seem like everything’s bad right now.

[gamermoment]

WAHOO :D!!!!!

OK SO I've really liked Rachel from the beginning (as in from when I first started watching Gumball when I was like 7 and only the first few episodes were out on) and honestly, coming back to series after getting older and finding that she NEVER appeared in any episode post season 1 (or just post "The Party") kinda did shock me a lot. I feel like they'd at least keep her in the background every now and then :(

OKAY SO POST VOID AU THEORY:

Tobias probably didn't lie; Rachel might have supposedly gone to college like he stated in that one "Darwin's Yearbook" clip. Seeing that she supposedly went there, it's weird. She was attending Elmore Junior High and I'd assume she's in the same class as Clare, Hot Dog Guy, Wilson, etc., since she was the older sibling. Did she get to graduate early? And as far as I'm aware they all haven't physically grown over the course of the show. Rachel specifically was taken out by the show directors because they didn't like her personality; as though none of the other characters were just as annoying (that's what gives the show a sense of genuinity. teens are cruel and really blunt and annoying (speaking as a teen myself ofc.)) (And even then- the characters did subtly-or-straight-up develop over time)

Rachel has vanished, and something I noticed when comparing Rachel and Rob was they both are stated to have supposedly gone to college. Rob claimed to have a degree in canadian history; and Tobias stated that Rachel went. So these two already have a lot in common, on top of the "both being background characters who suddenly vanished before Season 3" but with Rob's case, he comes back and takes on a new style change in his design. Rachel isn't seen again.

There's a strong correlation between "college/uni" and the Void. So did Rachel go to college? Allegedly, but my theory is she ended up the same as Rob- in the Void.

ok now for the actual AU:

im still working on a little synopsis for a fic! but so far I've got

• She's stuck in the Void and with a strong drive to leave and spite the world, she forcibly makes her way out even if it means tearing apart the materialized border between the Void and Elmore.

• She steps out of the void and

(just like Rob, she's disfigured- which I actually drew some concept art of her that I'll post later! it's not done but i will share the WIP on my art acc :3) She looks around and sees almost no one except for a couple of people right outside their houses.

• Shes not angry, just annoyed she got sent away from where she lived; so she looks and tries to reunite with her brother and family.

• but before that, it becomes night time and she finds a bench to sleep on, she's cold; she wakes up and woah!!! someone covered her in newspapers

• Rachels unaware of what she looks like so as shes making her way to the school and encounters Felicity, Rachel is really confused as to why the woman is screaming and covering Billy's eyes before running off.

• Offended and taken aback, she realizes something- if it isnt the fact that her arm is slightly glitching and both arms are covered in faint gray and pink; its that she hasnt had a makeover in an eternity.

• she goes over to a puddle on the side of the road to see her reflection, but it's too muddy and unclear so she makes her way to the school again.

• Rachel walks in and the halls are empty; everyones in class so Rachel takes this opportunity to go to the bathroom and see what changed.

• She sees herself in the mirror, freaks out which alarms the two other girls in the bathroom (sarah and jamie, who neither of them recognize her) The latter of the two grabs a broken pipe and attempts to attack Rachel with it.

• ThE GiRls ArE FiGhtInG and Clare walks in just in time, slamming the door behind her which caught all 3 girls' attention.

• Rachel took the chance to kick Jamie off of her and bolted towards the door; Clare immediately gets out of the way.

• After leaving the bathroom, she goes around the school seeing if she can find her brother and eventually stumbles into Brown's office (who did not take Rachel's sudden uncanny appearance lightly) He doesn't recognize her at all and threatens to call authorities if she doesn't leave school property.

• Rachel is now running through the hall, the bell rings and she bumps into Mr. Small (note: she saw him and the wattersons come into the void when they rescued Molly) She passes by Gumball and Darwin too but doesn't pay much attention.

aaaaand thats all that I have of the base/rough draft for now; im really excited to finalize this into a full fic!

Another note: the main plot of this AU is she unites with Rob and the two get to know each other better while planning revenge and discussing the void (they even live together at the dump where Rob resides)- there's also a little romance between her and Clare as they see each other more frequently outside of the school, Clare trying to suppress her feelings for Rachel but the latter prompts they hang out each time they see each other.

this AU is still a wip but its really fun thinkin about it!

[fairycosmos]

TRIGGER WARNING : I know you're not a psychiatrist tbh I just need to vent and I really like you so yea, I've come to the conclusion that I am what everyone thought I was which is a lazy little bitch using depression and suicidal thoughts as an excuse to be lazy I use to feel guilty but idc anymore it just shows there's no hope for me at all the only problem is I don't have the guts to shoot myself in the head and it's the last option I have Im sorry I just don't know who to turn to

hey dude. i’m sorry to hear you’re hurting so much right now. i know it’s a complex and personal issue that words alone can’t solve, but i still hope you’re open to some comfort, some alternative narratives to center your thoughts around. and idk just a few words from someone who can understand to an extent....i think first and foremost it’s a good idea to ask yourself, when you’re in the right state of mind to, where all of this self loathing is actually coming from. whether it’s grounded in anything substantial. it’s important to remember that a massive part of depression is feeling like you’re faking, over-exaggerating, using it as an excuse etc. i’ve heard a lot of people with mental illness echo the same sentiment. and the fact that you feel this way, so violently negatively towards yourself, indicates that you ARE struggling with a much deeper problem. but we’re taught to overlook it and to blame ourselves, partially due to society’s attitude regarding mental illness. in short we’re conditioned to feel like we’re lazy and worthless if we can’t produce labor and profit, or if something prevents us from doing so, but that’s merely a capitalist myth. those around you have internalized its message and are now projecting it onto you. but now that you recognize that fact, you can begin dismantling that belief system in your own head. cause in actuality, it’s got nothing to do with you or your value as a person. it’s the system that’s the issue, and the way it sees human life as nothing more than a means to an end, when people are so much more than that. you are so much more than that. you’re not here to constantly please everyone or to be some emotionless machine. so anyone who was judging you by that standard is fkn deluded and their opinion doesn’t hold much weight to begin with. then there’s also the stigma surrounding depression itself. people who’ve never experienced it don’t get how debilitating it is to live with. how it doesn’t just prevent people from working, how it prevents people from progressing in all areas of their lives when it’s left unacknowledged. which is why the answer isn’t to hurt yourself, it’s to admit to what hurts. this isn’t a matter of personal failure, or of laziness. it’s an illness, something that needs to be confronted head on with time, treatment, and self help in order to move beyond it. it’s just as serious as any physical ailment, but you don’t have to beg anyone to understand that.  you’re going through so much just by getting through the day and the fact that you’re still here counts for so much. i promise, you are not your negative thoughts. your mind is just trying to get you to stay in the cycle of self hatred > self destruction > self hatred so that you feel more discouraged and less likely to seek the support you need, even though that could be the one thing that would break the repetitive pattern. idk who made you believe that you are this bad and unforgivable person but i hope you know that it is genuinely, truly possible to grow beyond that way of thinking. it may take time, and it may feel unreachable right now, but change is honestly constant especially if you seek it out. the way you see yourself in five years will not mirror the way you see yourself now, you know? this is all a process and as long as you’re getting through it, you’re doing so much better than you realize. 

it’s ok to recognize all of that and to still feel like shit, to still feel like giving up sometimes. sadness, anger, pain - they’re exhausting and terrifying, but you don’t have to push those emotions away. though they don’t have to control all of your actions either. because they’re never as permanent as they feel. part of being suicidal is thinking in a black and white fashion, where everything has to be all or nothing. but it doesn’t. there’s a lot of nuance and a lot of different choices you can make, if you just breathe and keep yourself in a safe environment above all else. like i said, you’re living with an illness and bad days are a natural part of that. but having the tools to be able to cope with them in a healthy way could make all the difference. and that IS an option for you, even if you can’t see it right now. are you currently seeing a mental health professional? if not, i’d really really suggest looking into that before you make any permanent and heavy handed decisions about whether or not it’s worth it to stay alive. seriously, even if you’re unable to see a therapist at the moment - there are depression/suicide hotlines you can call who can help you with the next step, there may be support groups in your area, your doctor may be able to refer you to a counselor. you are capable of reaching out, as proven with this message, which is a really good sign. and building routines around personal self help and finding what works for you would be a step in the right direction, too. there is so much that can be done in terms of identifying what you feel the way you feel, relearning how to treat yourself, developing a support network over a period of time, opening up to make room to heal - it’s possible. i promise it is. it’s possible to live a full, stable life that you’re proud of despite having depression. if you have any trusted loved ones, now may also be a good time to talk to them about whats going on. i’m sure they want to have the chance to be there for you, and it’s alright to lean on them when you need it. you’re clearly in a very emotional state right now so i don’t blame you if you can’t bring yourself to believe me, but i hope it’s an idea you can keep revisiting. because really what my main point is, is that you deserve to stay alive regardless the fact that you’re dealing with a mental illness. i don’t want to sound cliche but it’s true that nothing would be the same without you, that you’re here for a reason (which you fulfill every day, just by being who you are) and that your presence is far more precious than you know. i’m sorry you were made to feel any different. you get this one life and i would really hate to see you do something you could regret over situations and feelings that can be helped. you are not beyond hope, you are not a lost cause. especially if you live your life as if you’re not. you still exist and that means there are a million different ways things could turn out, the future is ever changing. the present is all you need to worry about. it’s just another symptom of depression to catastrophize and picture everything ending in the worst case scenario, which is something that can also be helped with therapy/practicing mindfulness. anyway, i’m aware that this is getting super long and i’m going to leave some links that may be of some use to you in terms of follow up support, but i’m really begging you. no matter how awful you feel tonight, just allow yourself to breathe through it. cry through it. call someone if it all feels like too much. keep yourself away from anything you could use to harm yourself with. and then wake up tomorrow knowing you have the chance to try again, knowing that that is a good thing, knowing that this moment is not what your whole existence is going to look like. please, please call someone if you think you’re a danger to yourself. even if you have to pick up the phone on autopilot. you mean so much. im sending you a lot of love and hoping you find the self appreciation you deserve. if you ever need a friend please feel free to message me. you’re not on this alone.

https://faq.whatsapp.com/general/security-and-privacy/global-suicide-hotline-resources/

https://www.helpguide.org/articles/depression/coping-with-depression.htm

https://www.mentalhealth.org.nz/get-help/a-z/resource/50/suicide-coping-with-suicidal-thoughts

https://medium.com/@sameoldzen/finding-intrinsic-self-worth-in-a-capitalist-system-7069be072b5b

https://serenitymentalhealthcenters.com/31-coping-skills-for-depression/

[thejustknowing]

"I never said that"

The Truth You can't See.

This is my story and you are the first to see it.

"I Never Said that”

The Truth You can’t see Yet

He keeps telling you you’re being irrational and need to get help. He yells “Why are you trying to start a fight with me?” and slams the door. Your daughter is barely 2, and you find a hint of comfort knowing that she probably won’t remember this. He tells you he's moving out and taking your little girl because he needs so badly to start a manipulative argument. He says you take everything the wrong way. He calls you a victim and tells you it's all your fault. He makes false references about your own childhood to try to break you apart. He thinks he can still convince you of things about yourself that aren’t true, he wants to so bad. You can tell he truly misses those days. When he could gaslight you and play confusing mind games disguised as a conversation you 'think' you are having with your husband; about something real.

It's something wrong in your relationship that you actually want to fix, so you tirelessly try and try because you want things to be OK again. Over time though, this constant cycle sucks all of your energy and everything that is good out of you, but you don't know that yet. You feel broken hopeless and destroyed and you don’t understand why, but you eventually start to realize that something is very wrong. You must have missed something somewhere, this no longer even resembles an argument you would have in healthy relationship, probably not even in most unhealthy ones. It's irrational, it's confusing, it skips around from one thing to another, its fact twisting, it's blaming, it's accusing, it's getting another person's pain and problems thrown at you and piled up until you can’t breathe at all. At it's the worst, it's doubting your own perception of anything because of someone telling you that you're crazy over and over and over. He is starting to convince you that you remember things wrong, and saying that you make stuff up in your head. It's someone denying what they have said so many times that you can't be 100% sure of anything. Your trust in yourself is dwindling. You start to ask yourself "Who is this person in the mirror? It's being told that 'you' said what 'they' are denying having said, even though they said it to your face two minutes ago. It's being locked out of your house in the middle of January with shorts and a tank top on. It's being told you are a horrible person and nobody likes you. It's being told you can’t be trusted to do anything right and then getting guilt tripped because they have to do everything and you do nothing. It's having your baby used against you, it's being threatened to have your baby taken to a hotel by someone who is drunk because, "What you deserve is to be in a dark house with the power out, alone." It's being told that the cops are coming and it's because YOU are the actually the abuser and you are scaring them. It's real FEAR. It's slamming doors, sighs, silent treatments, and dirty looks. Its lies aimed to control how other people view you. It's an argument about money, laundry, what time the kids should be in bed, work, who left the lights on, a dropped dish, spilled milk, the way you said something, a choice you made. It's everything you do is wrong, and it's not Real. It's dealing with it, and on some level knowing, and saying nothing because you know it will make things worse. It's walking on eggshells every single day. It's downplaying your successes, it's really jealousy and deep resentment of your accomplishments, but you don't know that yet. You just aren't good enough, and that even what you thought was good about yourself isn't. Your strengths, talents and most admirable traits were the first thing he targeted, but you don't know that yet. The constant and unending ridicule and forever reminders of even the insignificant mistakes. You are careful never to make a real error in judgment or a bad decision because he will never stop reminding you. He will say "The truth hurts, doesn't it" He will exploit and expose any weakness or vulnerability you show him, he does not have the capacity to genuinely love, he has no regard for the feelings of other's. He is a victim when presented with any information suggesting he is at fault. He is a victim to control you and suck out your compassion even after he breaks you down for hours. He has a huge RED Flag, it's one of many you don't realize you missed yet. He is 100% incapable of admitting he did or said anything wrong. He cannot take responsibility, he only knows how to blame, twist and project. He is not capable of a genuine apology because 'You' are the problem and he is the victim. His personality makes him capable of one of the worst and most dangerous forms of abuse. You don't know it yet but you never did anything wrong, you were never the problem. You didn't deserve this.

It's slow and intentional and you can't understand it yet. You think this person loves you and would never try to hurt you. You are so wrong though, and if you don't figure it out soon you might never recover. How will you be a mom to this beautiful baby if you don't figure out what has changed in you? How do you get up for work and do your job that "the old you" used to excel and thrive at? How will you and be able to function much longer if you can't find your confidence and strength, 'your edge'. You don't know how to survive without the one thing about you you've always counted on when everything else was gone. But it's no use, it's not inside you anymore. It's gone. You ask yourself how could this happen? How could you have let this happen and not see it coming so you could stop it? You start researching and searching for something, anything to fix this. You'll one day be an expert on this type of personality disorder and the pattern of behavior that goes with it, but not yet. You've always been able to fix anything, but you can't fix this. You hit bottom, and you do the only thing left to do when you are truly helpless. You beg and pray to God and angels to help you. You can't get through this on your own, you beg for help and look up at the sky while tears roll down your face, and you cling to hope.

To your complete surprise the help does come, and it comes quickly, within days. The help sent to you is unfamiliar and strange, it's almost spiritual. It's an untraveled path of self-realization of how you ended up where you are. But this is no quick fix. You don't understand for a long time that there is no quick fix for this, and why. Help is sent in all different forms you couldn't see before, you start a sort of awakening. You start to see signs, coincidences, information, people appear in your life that seem to have been strategically placed there at just the right time. It’s truly amazing. But the dark realizations keep coming. As you put all the pieces together and start to truly understand what happened, you really hit the bottom. You'll see later that this is the only way to come back to life, but not yet. This is the lowest and darkest place there is. You could easily stay in that place forever. Getting yourself back to where you were, and who you used to be seems more and more impossible the more you come to terms with the reality of it all. There is nothing of what was. You can't even muster up the courage to ask for help because you are so ashamed of yourself and you are constantly blaming yourself for being so blind and so naive.

The worst is over now, but you don't know it yet. You are still just trying to survive. One thing you come to realize at rock bottom is that you have two choices, and that one of them is giving up and believe me it will be the obvious choice. It seems like the only way out, but it means giving up on your chance to be the Mommy your baby was meant to have, before all this. It means giving up on the "YOU" that you remember being your whole life. I know for an absolute fact that God, the Universe (undoubtabley both) showed me the ONE tiny glimmer of "the old me" that was left, and for good reason. They knew that giving up is something 'She' would NEVER choose. She would FIGHT and SEARCH and never stop until she found a way, just like she always had; with or without her edge.

So that's what I did, with no idea if it was even possible at all or if it would ever work. I spent two long and painful years of exploring, awakening and trusting in a plan I couldn’t even see yet. Then one day I started feel like me again; the NEW me. I’ll never forget the way I felt, it was like I had completely let go of control over anything and just let myself be guided by a higher power. It felt like freedom, it felt like light, it felt like love, for myself. The old ‘me’ was gone, and there was a period of mourning ‘her’ but eventually I came to accept it, and let her go. I hid this journey from every other person on the planet even those closest to me. I faked a smile, worked as hard as I could and hid the ugly, shameful truth. Out of the darkest place I began to emerge a new better version of myself, one I didn't know was inside of me. It turned out this whole experience was the start of a new phase of my soul's journey. I had a new purpose, and I understood the "Old Me" wasn't meant to travel with "Me" this far. So I left her behind and kept going. I understood the laws of attraction and the power to manifest strength where there is none. I now have faith, I realized my gifts, and amazingly I came back!

This is a story with a happy ending but there are remnants of it all that I carry with me. So much of 4 years of my life is still gone, my daughter is now five. There are huge parts of these years l still can't remember. I’ve found pictures of my daughter’s birthday parties and I don’t recognize the cake or the decorations or the event. When I try to remember, memories of the abuse like him taunting me because I asked for help while putting up streamers are what come back. I remember stepping down off a kitchen chair and just kneeling on the floor with my head in my hands crying on my daughter’s birthday, and hating myself for it. I remember sitting in my car crying on multiple Christmas Eve’s because he knew it was my favorite holiday and loved to make it miserable. I will continue to write In hopes of bringing back the precious memories of my little baby girl, memories still covered and buried by the painful ones that I unknowingly blocked. I am a survivor of a long encounter with a monster I could have never seen coming. They don't teach you about these kind of monsters growing up, even though ARE the REAL ones. They don't live under your bed, or in your dark scary attic at night. They don't wear scary masks, or have horns and sharp teeth. They look like whatever you want them to, they are the greatest of imposters. They look like love, infatuation and friendship. Sometimes they look like your parent. They are all the same, they have the same cruel games and tricks up their sleeve to break you. And trust me, if you think you are unbreakable or immune to this, think again. I was one of strongest, most confident, and intelligent woman I knew on my 30th birthday. I was successful, healthy and happy with where I was at in my life. I felt the best I ever had, my mom surprised me and flew out from NY to help me pick out my wedding dress that day. This nightmare started before I turned 32. I hope to someday be able to educate as many people as I can about narcissistic and emotional abuse. Woman and men both need to be able to recognize the hundreds of subtle little tactics that these people use to slowly destroy you. There ARE so many red flags and you can protect yourself, but only with knowledge and awareness of what this type of abuse is and how it happens. If this sounds anything like your life, know you are not alone and know that THIS IS YOUR SIGN. If this sounds like something you have never experienced, you were meant to see this so you never have to.

[yourescapetofiction]

The Tides Have Turned-Part 6

A/N: This is my old work, The Tides Have Turned. It is a complete story that I am reposting on this blog so the work isn’t lost and can be found for those interested :)

Six

I laid on my bed for another five minutes, contemplating my newly recognized feelings. I started to panic. I can’t have feelings for ANY of my best friends, it would completely ruin everything we have. That’s one of the downsides to being best friends with all guys I suppose, and attractive ones at that. I began to breathe heavily, a million scenarios running through my mind-each ending badly.

“Ok, y/n, breathe” I say aloud trying to calm myself down. “It will be ok, maybe you’re just confused” I sat up trying to convince myself. Maybe I was overreacting, this was lust not love. That’s gotta be it. We all drank a lot, the relaxed vibe that the beach was sending. I just attribute it to hormones. I stand now, feeling slightly better, but still uneasy. The guys were expecting me back at the bonfire so I really should get going before someone comes looking for me.

I make my way towards the door when I caught sight of myself in the floor-length mirror by the closet.

“Shit!” I say a little too loudly. I walk closer to the mirror and move my hair back over my shoulder. There in all its glory, was a bright purple hickey. Jack must have been putting in work, it still looked fresh. I moved my hair in front of my shoulders, but it was too big to go unnoticed.

“Jesus, Jack” I grumble to myself. I quickly fish my makeup bag out of my purse and scramble to find my concealer. I skillfully dabbed it over the purple mark, blending carefully. It covered most of it, and I would just have to play the rest off as a bruise.

“Ugh, good enough” I say before throwing the concealer back in the bag. I head downstairs and pick the blanket up off of the floor, remembering the reason why I entered the house in the first place. I step outside and instantly the singed smell of firewood hit my nose. The night air was cool, but the bonfire was burning steady giving off heat. I assume my position around the fire and nervously glance at Jack, hoping he didn’t mention anything of our little tryst. Nobody was acting any different than before, and Jack himself seemed unfazed. Typical, I think.

“Hey you” Nate says kindly, sidling up next to me.

“Hey Skate” I grin, using his beloved nickname. He always told me that he loved when I used pet names for him.

“Cold?” he asks wrapping an arm around me. Damn, he was in a good mood. In fact, this was the most relaxed I’ve seen him the whole vacation.

“A little” I say shivering. He pulls me into the spot in front of him so that I was leaning back into his chest. One of my favorite things about Nate was his familiarity. His arms felt like home. A judgmental-free zone, just good vibes at all time. I eagerly snuggle into him, and he mindlessly plays with the ring on my right hand.

We all continued our conversations and stories, genuinely having a good time. Tensions seemed to be lifted from our group. We remained outside for another half hour or so, before we decided to put out the fire and head inside for the night. Cam and Nash grabbed two huge buckets of water to put out the flames while the rest of us started back towards the house. Before we walked up the steps to the back deck, we noticed two figures walking towards us. Nate instantly tensed and stepped in front of me.

As the figures came closer I recognized them as two of the college guys that threw the party at the cabana the other night. What did they want?

“Hey can we help you guys?” Nate barked out, setting the premise that we didn’t want to be bothered.

“Hey man we just wanted to come warn you guys that there’s a severe weather watch right now. They’re thinking a hurricane is gonna sweep through here tonight” the guy said throwing his hands up in defense.

“Wait, tonight?!” I say stepping out from behind Nate. I hated bad storms, they made me uneasy. Besides this was supposed to be paradise, no one expects a damn hurricane.

One of the guys steps closer to me, changing his demeanor completely. He assumed a large smile, he reminded me of a car salesman.

“Yeah, tonight. But don’t worry about it lil lady. We live right up the beach in that house right there” he points in the distance to a house a mile up the beach. “If you’re scared, you’re more than welcome to come hang with us up in the house” he says in a tone that makes me uncomfortable. This wasn’t a neighborly offer, it was creepy.

“Nah, she’ll be fine right here with us. With me” Nate interjects taking a step towards the guy. He clearly wasn’t about to play these games.

“Yeah, alright man. Just wanted to give you guys the heads up” the other guy said. They started to walk back in the direction they came, but lingered as they passed me.

“My name’s Eric, by the way. If you want a break from your boyfriend, you know where to find me” he says nodding condescendingly at Nate. I cringe, and Nate moved to take a step closer, but I grabbed his arm.

“Nate, don’t. It’s not worth it” I say, my voice laced with warning. Eric and his friend shot us one last smile before finally walking away. They sent shivers up my spine.

“Come on, let’s get you in the house” Nate said, careening me towards the back door.

2 hours later

Nate’s POV

It was midnight by the time most of us decided to part ways and head up to bed. After the run in with those assholes on the beach, we lingered in the living room for a while. Johnson, Dillon, Swazz, and Kenny opted to stay downstairs and watch a movie. The rest of us were too tired for that so we said our goodnights. The guys were oblivious to the situation, but I got a bad feeling from those two. Something deep down told me they didn’t just come over to “warn” us about the weather. Although I didn’t like them, they were telling the truth about the storm alert. I looked over at Swazz’s empty bed as lightning brightly lit up the room. He must have fallen asleep downstairs.

I turned over again to stare out of the windows in my room and past the balcony. The ocean was choppy, the water looked black and churned violently. The palm trees were swaying so heavily it looked like they were going to snap. The storm was furious and loud, there was no way I was going to get a decent night’s sleep tonight. I closed my eyes and tried my best to drift off to sleep, when I heard my door creak open.

“Nate….?” I heard a voice whisper, and their shadow crouch in the doorway. I would recognize that silhouette anywhere, it was y/n. My eyes remained closed, but a smile played on my lips.

“Come here baby” I say not even moving. I knew why she was in here, she hated storms and this was a nasty one. I was secretly thrilled that she chose to come to me and not G or anyone else. She walked deeper into the room and her walk turned into a full on sprint as a huge clap of thunder rung out. I laughed as she pounced onto the bed next to me.

“It’s not funny Nate” she says smacking my chest playfully.

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry, here get under the blankets” I say making room for her. She slid under the sheets and I could feel the cool, smooth skin of her legs. She wrapped them over mine and settled right on my chest. I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her vanilla shampoo.

“Thanks Nate. If I get to be a bed hog, just kick me out and I’ll leave” she chuckles glancing up at me.

“Even though you totally are a hog, I would never kick you out” I say poking her side causing her to squirm a little. This was heaven, having her in my arms. Every time a bolt of lightning would cause the room to glow, I would see her eyes looking out at the ocean deep in thought. I wanted so badly to tell her how I felt, how I’ve been in love with her for a while. But I wasn’t ready, I couldn’t bring myself to say it just yet. We finally just got back on good terms, and I wasn’t about to have this ripped away from me just yet. So instead I settled on telling her something else.

“You know when I said that I would sleep with a hookup rather than you, I wasn’t saying that you were unattractive” I state honestly, and deeply. She lifted her head to look at me.

“You-you mean you don’t find me unattractive?” she asks hopeful. I wanted to scoff at the simple notion of her being “unattractive.” She was beautiful, and everybody knew it but her.

“Of course not. You’re stunning, you have all the guys drooling for you” I answer honestly with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. Her eyes glazed over with multiple emotions. First shock, then a look of appreciation, and then one I couldn’t pin.

Another deafening clap of thunder sounded, but this time y/n didn’t jump. She sat up and swung her leg over me, now straddling me. My breath sharpened at the contact of her groin on mine. She leaned closer and grabbed both sides of my face before placing her pink lips on mine. My hands rested on her thighs as she deepened the kiss, causing me to let out a slight moan. She moved her hips slightly on my crotch as she sucked on my bottom lip. It dawned on me that the look in her eyes said lust, but she kissed like it was love.

“Fuck it” she groans taking her shirt off, before moving to kiss my neck. Before I knew what was happening, our clothes were being torn off.

Y/n’s POV

“Fuck it” I said before removing my clothes. This isn’t exactly how I planned on spending my night. Although, who can really anticipate a thing like this. I tried to settle into my own bed and get some sleep, but the storm was too severe. The guys were all passed out, but there was one person’s comfort I wanted the most. I snuck over to Nate’s room and was relieved when he invited me to stay.

I had fully intended to behave myself and just sleep there for the comfort. Then Nate went and opened his mouth, uttering the words I have been longing to hear.

“You’re stunning.” The words rang in my ears, for what feels like forever. I hadn’t realized it, but this was what I needed to hear. The sincerity in his voice riled me up in more ways than one. If this was lust, then I needed to succumb to it to get it out of my system.

I sucked on his neck feverishly, hearing his moans of encouragement. My hands worked his dark locks, tugging and twisting. His eyes were screwed shut as his hands stroked up my sides. He gripped my ass tightly, and his erection prodded my leg. I moaned aloud at the feeling. Nate was hot, and the sensation of him being hard because of me sent me into hyper sensitivity. Nate rolled over on top kissing down my exposed chest. His breathing was labored and he uttered various words of excitement.

“Shit y/n, yes” he dragged out as I rolled my hips underneath him. The door opened suddenly, and I ducked underneath Nate’s large chest.

“Shit Nate, sorry man. I didn’t know you had a girl in here” a sleep Swazz apologizes rubbing his eyes. He quickly shut the door. It was evident he didn’t know it was me. Nate and I stared into each other’s eyes, which were wide, a mixture of embarrassment and secrecy between us.

“Our little secret…” he whispered before sucking on my neck.

[theconceptoftheriverflowing]

El Espejo [The Mirror].

There’s faint music playing in the background. We know about nostalgia/ Enough to keep in its place. You try to decipher what it is. Is it Destruction Unit?, you wonder. Or perhaps some Rabelais?  But how can you hear both Destruction Unit and Rebelais, one thing is not like the other. Hmm, Black Marble would be so nice right now though, or perhaps some Drab Majesty. Simultaneous thoughts keep popping into your head as you struggle to remain sober, well no not sober, you’re way past that now but at least pull yourself together so the next second you’re not climbing walls, but who are you kidding? You’re fucking shitfaced, inside the bathroom at the Hammer’s residence no less. “Don’t make a fucking scene, Y/N. And please, easy on the liquor, remember what happened last time.” Timo had said to you before heading out. Last time you got drunk it was at his grandma’s house. She had made dinner and had invited the both of you. That old lady could fucking drink! First it was the whisky, then some bourbon, follow by some gin. At the end you were so out of it, Timo had to carried you all the way home, fucking heated, cursing all the way. “ What the fuck is wrong with you?! If you can’t handle your liquor why the fuck you kept drinking in the first place? Now look at you.” You had apologize profusely and he had told you to remain silent. Today, was different. It was his night, and he didn’t want any fuck ups. And you wanted to make him happy, so what could possibly go wrong?

Armie and Elizabeth had decided to throw an Oscar’s after party, at their home, regardless of who would’ve won or lose. It was a small crowd really, apart from the Hammers, Luca was here, as well as James, Nicole, Pauline, André, Marc, Timothée and myself. So it was a very intimate gathering, and honestly so full of love. We were all celebrating the movie, how wonderful it was for them to have found each other and being able to produce something so beautiful as CMBYN.  The win for Ivory, and all the other nominations for all of them. Tim’s win at the Spirit Awards, the shirtless face timing with Armie, his speech and that goddamn shirt. Things you’ve heard a million times before, but still were able to strike a chord in you, in a beautiful way. And you got along splendidly with the Chalamets. Nicole and Marc were extremely sweet and polite, telling you stories on how Tim, one time as a toddler, started running naked down the streets of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon back in France and how Pauline had follow suit and it ended up being a mess. Ultimately a beautiful memory of their summers spent there.  At some point of the night, Pauline had pull you aside and had told you, almost in a whisper: “We love you so much and you make my brother so happy. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in-law.” Then she pulled you into a hug, knocking the air out of you a bit, but you had welcomed it and it was genuine.

Right now though, you were hiding.  You had seen the look on his face when you laughed out loud, perhaps too loud, about a joke his dad had said, regarding that one time he had been an obnoxious little shit when he didn’t get that A+ he expected when making that infamous “Statistics” video. You knew he died of embarrassment each time it was mentioned, so for him to see you laughing about it, and therefore AT him, it was a problem. Everybody had laughed , him included, but he was looking at you now, madden. Eyes scolding you, in judgement. “Because is you.”, he had said once. “ Don’t you dare judge me, I won’t allow it.”. The words  resonating like an echo in your head, so you had excused yourself, and had left to go the bathroom, or anywhere for that matter. Away from him. You were wasted, in a good mood, really,  slightly lightheaded and definitely not looking for a fight, but you knew better. He would always come a knocking. Always.

Of all the rooms in the house, you chose the one on the second floor,  located on the far left, down the hall. It was, to say the least, one of the most interesting rooms in the house.  Once you enter you see that it’s a bathroom and when you look at it you’ve realized where you ended up. This bathroom had a name: Le Mirage, they have called it. Only they would name a fucking bathroom. Elizabeth had said that Armie pretty much made it to his own liking. A huge window overlooking the backyard, and holy fucking shit a bunch of mirrors. EVERYWHERE. On the walls, on the ceiling, even inside the shower. You’ve never actually seen it, and honestly, in your drunken stupor you hadn’t realize where you were heading. You just happen to stumble into it. “What can I say, I like to look.”, Armie had said once at dinner, winking at Elizabeth. She had laughed…now you get it. Seeing yourself in ten different mirrors at the same time, from different angles, made you feel in the middle of a fucking Fun House. Suddenly, you stop and really look at yourself. You’re wearing a short black dress. Strappy, not flashy but tight. It accentuates every curve of your body nicely. Paired with black stockings and your black Doc Martens’. Tim knows you’re not a big fan of heels, and he’s ok with that. You turn around, and look at your back, which is exposed right now thanks to the dress, you look at your legs,  your shoulders, your arms, really looking at yourself and you’re just…happy. Really happy to be here, and having this moment with yourself, being in this room, in this place. Intoxication taking a hold of you, making you shameless and content. The music plays in the background and is something you recognize immediately; Bad Love by White Lies. You smile. Did Timo put this? So you start to sway and dance to the music while looking at yourself in the mirror. Bet it was Armie. You’re so into the moment you don’t even realize the sound of footsteps down the hall, growing closer each passing minute.

You start singing:

I was waiting in the back-seat of the car When I knew I’d given up Down one of the back-streets by the park So sick of the taste of blood

…

If I’m guilty of anything It’s loving you too much Honey, sometimes love Means getting a little rough This is not bad love

You don’t hear when the door clicks open nor when it closes or the person who enters through it. With eyes closed you keep singing and swaying to the music. The room is dark, illuminated only by a dim blueish light that changes color every three seconds, located somewhere in the room, you don’t even know where, don’t care either. Your dancing figure looks like a shadowed spectrum around the room; a vision, really.

The song continues:

And I won’t ask your God for mercy My spirit is low, my soul is dirty

If I’m guilty of anything It’s loving you too much Honey, sometimes love Means getting a little rough This is not bad love This is not bad love

When you open your eyes, you notice a figure standing behind you and as you open your mouth to scream, unable to make out who or what it is a hand goes flying towards your mouth covering it completely, blocking any sound coming out of it and another one on your waist,  pushing you against them and towards the sink, holding you steady and in place. “Shhh, quiet, is me.”  Timmy. Your eyes open in surprise, then a calmness washes over you, follow by a slight panic wondering how long he’s been standing there watching you. His hand uncovers your mouth, but he doesn’t move from you, if anything he pushes himself forward, more into you, putting both his hands on either side of you, like a trap. You look at each other in mirror. He seems…amused. Is he? Is he angry? The truth is, the second you left he had excused himself 5 minutes later and had followed you. Luca had stop him for a brief second along the way, making a joke about that time in Crema he fell off his bike and Armie had recorded the entire thing. They laughed and he had said to Luca. “ I’m so sorry Luca, but I really need to go the bathroom. Would you excuse me, for a minute?’-“Si! Si! I’ll see you in a few.” So when he went back to look for you, you were nowhere to be found. And this was a big fucking house, where the fuck could you’ve gone? Bad Love had came up, a request for you he had made at the very beginning of the party, a surprise. He did saw you going upstairs, so up he went. Suddenly a faint singing is heard from one of the rooms. A smirk. Found you.

He was not expecting you to be in this room, he was not expecting you to be singing and dancing and looking the way you were the moment he laid eyes on you. You were swaying, slowly, very slowly, to the rhythm of the music. He had managed to take a spot on the wall behind you, unnoticed. Watching your every move. You were emphasizing each word being said, by a sudden movement of your hands, or your hips, your hair. At one point you had put your hands on your breasts, trailing them down slowly over your stomach, almost between your legs. “Fuck”, he had mumbled under his breath. His eyes fixated on you.  In the middle of your dancing your skirt had rode up a bit, giving him a view. You hadn’t even noticed. He was hard as a rock, and he wanted you. He wanted you now.

Now he was behind you, pushing your ass impossibly closer to him. He was so hard, oh god. Both hands on either side of you. Each movement, making your skirt ride up just a tiny bit more. Your breathing changes and a small moan threatens to escape your lips, but you hold back. He puts his mouth next to your ear and says , “You know, watching you earlier, dancing like that, made me wonder of who were you thinking about the whole time. Because I know what I was thinking about.” He tells you in the mirror. You start blushing. He manages to make you blush, why why? Goddamn him.  And he notices, even in this poorly lit room. “Are we blushing?” You shake your head: No.  “No?” His eyes are dark pools right about now. There’s a slight change in his voice,  thicker, lower. You know what’s gonna happen next. You crave it. Like a drug.

You’re so wet, too. And his dick grinding against your ass behind you is not helping one bit. Suddenly he pulls the bottom of your dress up, finally exposing your ass through the stockings.  He starts caressing it as if its the most delicate thing in this world, only to be followed by a loud and hard slap on your right cheek. Even with the fabric from the stockings in between, it stings like hell. You let out a loud gasp and your hands grab his in an attempt to stop him or to not stop him? You don’t even know what you’re doing. He pushes them away, pulling down your stockings in one swift move, ripping them in the process.  You cry in frustration. “ Timothée! They were expensive!”

“J'en ai rien à cirer" [I don’t give a fuck], he says. He slaps your ass again. “Fuck!” you cry out. You look at him, his eyes focused on what he’s doing and your reactions in the mirror. Smirking and biting his lips while doing so. What a bastard. Each time you get hit, your breasts threaten to slip out your dress, so he pulls down your dress, entirely, leaving it to rest rest comically in a corner of the room. Now your breasts are exposed and he immediately takes one in his mouth. Sucking and licking hard, while slapping your ass at the same time. You’re so fucking wet and you’re overwhelmed, but you can’t move, and it hurts and Oh God.

Everytime you complain about the pain, it makes him harder.  He gives the same attention to your other breast.  You arch your back, granting him more access to them.  He lifts up, finding your mouth and kisses you. Hungry, desperately. His tongue inside you, possessive. He slaps your ass again, and again, and again. And you moan in pain, (a smack) and you moan in pleasure, (again) in frustration, (again) and you’re teary eyed. Bruises are starting to form. You try again to move his hands away, but he pulls both your arms behind your back with anger,  keeping them there in some sort of lock, preventing you from moving. He positions himself behind you, grabbing you by the waist and pressing you against him hard. It fucking hurts, your ass bruised from the previous assault. He stops the punishment for moment, his hand warm and red from the smacking,  finding your core. You couldn’t be more wet, you’re dripping, is almost embarrassing. “Putain.” [Fuck] he says. He starts rubbing your clit, immediately setting a pace. His hot breath on your ear, his hair a tangled mess, his sweat and yours combined. “Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now?” he tells you, voice heavy with arousal. You’re about ready to cum, but he stops and turns you around roughly. Leaving you out of breath. “No, you don’t get to cum. Not yet.” He takes a step a back, orders you to move forwards, and when you do, he looks at you with such pride. Smiling the entire time. No doubt proud about the marks he has left on your body.  “Mine. All Mine.” He says to himself, more than anything. You feel very exposed, and for some reason bring your hands up to your breasts to cover them. He realizes what you’re doing and pushes them away. Then steps right in front of you, bringing his face close to yours. He sticks his tongue out and licks your lips, and then grabs you by the neck. “ Let’s see what you’re good for. Get on your fucking knees.” He literally shoves you on to the floor. You grab hold of the sink to keep you from falling. He stands right in front of you, tall as ever. Quite intimidating, really. You feel so small next to him, but you live for this.

He then starts to rub his crotch all over your face, demanding your eyes on him. Grabbing your face with both hands, forcing you too look up. When you do, you see the reflection in the mirror above , of him having you cornered, on your knees and him rubbing himself all over you. You get even wetter. “ You want it?” he asks you. Signaling with his eyes the growing bulge in his pants. No doubt in pain, for all this time without the proper friction it deserves. You nod, frantically. “Use your words.” he says, as he starts to unbuckle his pants. The sound of his belt triggers something in you, something primal and you really can’t wait any longer. “ Yes, yes, I want it, please let me have it.” He grins. “Such a good girl. Open your mouth. Tongue out.” He finally takes off his pants, freeing his throbbing cock in the process and you can’t help but moan and the mere sight. The first time you laid eyes on it, you were more that surprised. You knew it would be big, but the thickness had surprised you. It was big and thick and it hurt a lot at times, but fuck, it felt amazing. He starts teasing you, slipping the head of his cock in your mouth a bit, not giving you a chance to close your mouth on it, and then taking it out. You bring your hands up but he pushes them away. “No. Keep your fucking hands where they are. I just want your mouth right now and you will give it to me.” You nod. Without warning, he pushes his entire length inside your mouth, making you gag.

He lets out a loud moan. He thrusts into you again, and this time you’re a bit more ready. He grabs your face with both hands, one palm on either side of you and then he’s face fucking you. Spit dripping everywhere, eyes tearing up, makeup and hair a mess. The sounds of you sucking and gagging on his dick are loud and messy. “Merde! Don’t fucking move.That’s it, That’s it. Oh fuck.” he moans, his breath coming in gasps. He looks at you and himself in the mirror. Fucking beautiful.  He says. His movements are so rough that with each thrust into your mouth your knees are scraping the floor, only increasing your arousal, dying to have him inside you. Suddenly, he stops, pulls himself from your mouth, grabs you by your neck, pulling you up and turning you around. Your eyes meet in the mirror. His chest going up and down, out of breath, you’re exactly the same way. He then tells you, in the softest tone, “ Open your legs, let me see you.” So, you do. He positions himself behind you, stroking himself a few times, bringing his face to yours. Kissing you. Your hand moves backwards, grabbing his hair, in a tight grip. You feel the tip of his cock, rubbing your clit, playing with your entrance.  You close your eyes, the sensation being too much to handle at the moment. Just when you feel the pressure of him entering you, he pulls out. You grunt in frustration. Pushing yourself against him, looking for that desperate friction, but he’s taking his sweet time with you. He even grabs his dick and starts slapping it obscenely against your clit, creating wet sounds while biting your neck, hard. You moan and you beg. “ Oh my god, please please.”- “Please what, Y/N, tell me. Please what?” You look at him in the mirror and tell him in a plead,  “Please fuck me.” And then he’s in you. 

As soon as he enters you, you both moan simultaneously, almost synchronized. There had been times where he would had started slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to his size, but not tonight, not now. Soon he’s pounding into you, and you can’t help but scream like a blithering idiot with each thrust. Filling you up completely. One of his hands is on your neck, chocking you, cutting the air a bit, the other one around your waist, in a kind of embrace, keeping you in place while cupping one of your breasts. He’s pumping into you so hard and fast that you breasts are bouncing up and down, almost painfully. The sound of his hips meeting you halfway, flesh to flesh, every time he enters you is like music to your ears. Not to mention how much it hurts, all over, but you rather die than not have him at all. He’s so fucking hard, and you’re so fucking wet. Suddenly he takes the hand around your neck and puts it in your forehead, forcing you to look up, in the mirror above. “Look at yourself. Fucking look.” You watch as he pounds into you restlessly, setting up an impossible pace, entering you over and over again. Everywhere you look, there you are, getting fucked. You pussy grips him like a vice, and you know you’re close. His hand goes down your stomach, and right on to your clit, rubbing it frantically. Oh God. Omg. You get tighter. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He slows down, almost pulling out, putting his head down, watching himself move in and out of you. So slow. Is torture. “If you want something, you know what to do.” And then he’s fucking you hard again. Flesh on flesh, wet sounds, you’re moaning pretty loud, shamelessly, and so is he. “Fuck, I’m close” he says. 

There’s music playing in the background, faint noises of people laughing,  talking, many things happening  at once, but the only thing that matters is this moment right here. “Please let me cum, please let me cum, please can I cu—.” but before you finish your sentence, you’re coming undone. You cum hard, his hands all over you, on your breasts, ass, pussy, touching you, kissing you, licking and sucking, leaving marks. Wave after wave, you even lose your balance, but he’s keeping you in place. Not slowing down his pace, he announces that he’s cummin as well. Without warning he pulls out of you, pushes you down to your knees and puts his cock in your mouth. This time he lets you use your hands, and you lick, suck, and stroke desperately for him to get the release he deserves. “You want my cum?” he asks. “Yes.” He pulls his dick out of your mouth, stroking himself, harder and faster with each second. He’s close. “Such a good girl.”

Your hair is a tangled fucking mess. Your breasts are swollen, with marks everywhere, as well as your neck. Your ass is covered in purple bruises. Lips puffy and red, just as down below. Your mascara a mess everywhere. “You’re so beautiful like this.” He says fascinated. “Now. Open.” You open your mouth, followed by his cock. You take it in your mouth and you feel it pulsating, he’s close.  You look up as he closes his eyes and throws his head back, breathing in gasps. You deep throat his entire length, and almost immediately, he cums. His eyes closed, mouth partly open, body trembling, after load and load of cum shoots into the back of your throat. You swallow every single drop. Drinking him, all of him. Your hands travel up to his stomach, touching, caressing…appreciating. After he finishes, he looks at you. His cock still in your mouth, still half hard. You keep sucking it, gently, eyes locked on his the entire time. His mouth suddenly in a straight line. “Get the fuck up.” He tells you. You get up. Here we fucking go. All fun and games, over. He bends down to pick up your dress and throws it at you. “Get fucking dressed. Also, no more drinking, I think you’ve had more than enough and I don’t want to deal with your drunk ass later. I actually want to have a good time. D’accord?” You stand there naked, with the dress in your hands, the lamp throwing different shades of color around the room, almost comical. You looking like a small feeble creature, the way he always manages to make you feel, useless and insignificant. Suddenly you feel embarrassed. “Y-yes.” You manage to let out. “Good. Also, your fucking neck looks like shit right now, please cover it with whatever makeup you can find, my parents are here for christ sake!” So he leaves you bruises all over your body and now is YOUR FAULT?! You don’t even have the energy, so you ignore him. “Yes, Timmy.” He dresses up quickly, turning on the faucet, splashing some water in his face, and combing his hair a bit before heading out. No trace on him of having been fucking you for the past hour. You on the other hand…

When he leaves, you text Elizabeth:

Umm, 

I need help.

.