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“And I said, Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone, I’ll be waiting, all that’s left to do is run.”

Dimitri took a shuddery breath. “Now all I’ve been doing is running.”

Gianna looked up from her feet, grabbing her friends hand, their cold, soft palms against each other.

“Tridi, I don’t need a recap— I need to know how to get home. How to get away from him. Ro pulled me in too, but now we need to figure how to get out of this… place.” She said, motioning at the steel walls and concrete floor.

Dimitri shook their head, blinking slowly. “You think I know? I’ve been searching for two weeks. Two weeks! You can’t get out.”

Gianna bit her lip. “Don’t say that.”

“The truth? Well I just—“

Keys jingled in the keyhole and the two ran to their beds and sat down. He was coming in, and they couldn’t escape.

—————————

• Sorry if not the best, first writing!! <3 •

But you'll never be alone, I'll be with you from dust till dawn. And I made sure of that. I remember when you came home from the bar, bleeding out. I slapped my hand over my mouth as I saw the crimson staining your white graphic tee. Your usual fluffy hair was drenched in alcohol, I could smell it from across the room as your curls stuck to the back of your neck and forehead. As I approached, I could see the shards of glass lodged into you. I rushed to get the first aid kit, before I heard a thud. You had used up all your strength just to get back home. Something snapped inside of me. YOU PROMISED. YOU PROMISED WE WOULD ALWAYS BE TOGETHER. YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD GIVE ME THE BIGGEST HUG ONCE I GRADUATED FROM MEDICAL SCHOOL. All this work for nothing. I let out a small fit of laughter before digging through the silverware. Whatever I could find to substitute for a scalpel. I didn't even bother to snap on a pair of gloves before grabbing your beautiful head. What could I retrieve to take with me? I had considered an eardrum, but that would rot more quickly... Maybe the lens of your eye? Yes! That should do it. The work was very messy, but after ten minutes, I found it. The knife was of no more use, and I tossed it carelessly. The bloodstains on my hands stained the little thing, but it didn't matter. Now we could truly be together, forever. After I had scrubbed off any trace of scarlet from my body and the carpet, along with buried you in the woods, I headed to town. At an arts and crafts store, I found a small bottle necklace, where I could put the lens in, and carry around with me everywhere effortlessly. I jumped for joy as I kissed the lens before dropping it into the bottle. Together, forever.

“Take me to church” she begged. I saw fear in her eyes. In a restroom with a warm orange light chained to the sink, i kept her like a dog. Every drop of blood around her had met with one another like a pool and every drop was a sin of her’s.

“I CAN REPENT…I CAN REPENT” like a broken record. It was annoying to listen to. The chains were finally weighing her down. She was about to witness what she always denied.

“God would not want this”, i laughed at that. “Look at you, in a pool of blood, knowing you are about lose your life, yet you deny” i said to her with a smirk. She kept crying for some reason. I was going to free her, send her soul to where it came from, I WAS DOING HER A FAVOR.

She had it coming. IT WAS HER FAULT. The wounds i had given her on her arm were healing, Her shaved head was growing hair again,…I HAD TO! WE HAD TO LET GO, WE HAD TO BREAK THE CURSE, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, SHE HAD TO GO, SHE DESERVED IT!

So i did. Her “I CAN REPENT….PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE” Was making my ears ring. I could not feel…anything? The surroundings went cold…It felt as if i can see myself in third person. Out of my body. Like ecstatic.

I got closer with the sledgehammer, “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE”

i could not hear anything over the ringing ears.

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE”

i keep moving, losing my vision, it all seemed hazy.

“I CANT REPENT, FORGIVE ME FORGIVE ME FORGIVE ME”, She kept crying.

enraged, annoyed i told her to stop, “SHUT THE FUCK UP” i screamed.

she did not listen - “PLEASE I REPENT PLEASE FORGIVE ME PLEASE”

i lift the hammer “I WILL REPENT PLEASE” she says. I felt a tear rolling down my face, and It came back to me “NO AMOUNT OF REPENTANCE IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR HOW YOU RAISED ME MA” i whisper, sadly.

Through her redundant “PLEASE” and “FORGIVE ME” I swung the hammer. It all went silent. I lost my vision the moment her blood hit my face.

In that moment, i felt my mother’s love for the first time. We laid unconscious, no worries in our heads, no head left for her to have. That moment was my heaven. I sent her to church.

“I hope that I stain through your memory.”

Tears stream down her face, coated in sweat as she pants and holds the gun, fighting to keep it steady as she aims it at his chest. In his eyes, an expression that seems a cross between disdain, torture, and longing. He breathes rapidly, deeply as he stares her down, refusing to look anywhere else but directly into her eyes. Refusing to even blink.

She lets out a cry of anguish, faltering for a moment as she loses aim. But as he goes to move towards her again, she pulls the gun back into position as she blindly holds him at bay. Tears begin to bead his eyes, “You would rather me die than fix what we’ve done.”

“We??” A chuckle of disbelief escapes her sobs, “I didn’t put us in this position. I didn’t do ANY of this, it was all you!” He attempts to step forward, and she begins to thrash the gun violently in her hands, “DON’T FUCKING COME CLOSER!”

His hands are up beside his shaking head, “You’re not going to do it.”

She chokes on her own spit, her nose clogged and her eyes blurry as she manages, “Don’t come near me again. I won’t let you do this to me again. I WON’T LET YOU HURT ME AGAIN!”

Fury rushes to his face through his tears as he balls his hands into shaking fists, “I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU! I DON’T EVEN REMBER DOING THAT TO YOU, I WAS DRUNK!”

“YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT,” she keeps over and takes a moment to hold herself, overridden with pain, anxiety, and betrayal, “IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME, IT NEVER GETS BETTER. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He takes the chance to take a few cautious steps forward, “You know I can’t do that.”

A wail of defeat leaves her throat, her hands to both sides of her head as a splitting migraine makes residency, the gun still tight in her right hand. She contemplates turning it into herself for a moment. The fastest way to ensure she’s never in this position again. This never-ending cycle of adultery, violence, substances, and false promises. Those delightful little false promises, the very same ones broken and left with her begging to be set free. To not be plagued in her mind by the thought of him and where he was, whether they were together or not. Whether she was the only one. Whether he would come home drunk and heavy-handed tonight or not.

“Listen…,” he moves closer, keeping eye contact with her as he lowers himself onto the ground nearby herself, “I know we’ve had our ups and downs. We both need to accept where we’ve both done wrong and do better. We can make this work. We can do better. And I know I’ve done wrong, but this isn’t just me.”

“We’re both just as guilty.”

She sits on the floor, her knees folded up to her chest as she clings to the gun. Her last lifeline. Its now or never, and the longer she tries to fight for herself, the longer and narrower the hallway leading to escape seems to be.

Could she really be as guilty? Could it be that, with every return she makes, she buries herself alive in his presence? Was she allowing him to mistreat her?

“…&%@$!%^?”

She looks from the hallways up to his eyes. She’s right where he wants her. She knows it.

The longer she stays with him, the more she wants to bash her head into the bedside table, over and over again. The way he manipulates and gaslights her, makes her question her reality, pushes her boundaries and limits daily as easily as he breathes air. He may as well be the one bashing her head into the bedside table. And if it were not figuratively already, it would be literal in time with the way he had just tried breaking her arm that night.

“….Please just hand me the gun.”

She shakes her head, her heart quickens in pace, and she knows she must make a decision. The pressure had been building, warning signs flashing that she was about to fall off the cliff. To exit the ride as quickly as she could.

And yet, when he looked at her that way, she could see him. The humanity in him. The part of him she had fallen for and loved so adamantly. He had come to the surface again, who knows for how long this time, but he was here.

The cliff was approaching rapidly. He reached his hands out for the gun. She could easily point it back at him, run out, leave, never return. But he would never allow that. She knew it. They both knew it.

She was branded by his touch, her ring finger scarred and disfigured from the abuse he called love. And in every way in her life, no matter where she may hide, she would forever be haunted by him. The feeling was… addictive.

He pried the gun from her hands slowly, placing it onto the floor within his reach yet outside of hers, and forced his way into her arms in an embrace.

The doors slammed shut, a free fall from the cliff as she missed her que to press the ejection button before the crash.

Is there anything more horrific than to allow yourself to be eaten alive just to feel the rush of being loved by another?

You complete me.

Every inch of your skin fits me.

I pull the needle through your skin, draping it over me.

I hug the decaying material,

We always have shared such sweet embraces.

The string hugs your beautiful color, pinching it every time the needle pulls through.

I’m a thorough surgeon.

If you had bothered to learn about me, you’d know I was quite a romantic one.

I grab your wilting and flimsy hands,

Let’s dance dear.

Every inch of your skin fits me.

We are together, we are one.

So thank me,

When I finish sewing your beauty up,

For we can hug forever more.

_Speak your mind even when your voice shakes _

Don’t be afraid to say I love you even if you’re terrified of rejection Because that I love you might just save their life

Don’t let fear stop you from standing up for yourself You deserve respect even if you feel as if you’re dying

Don’t allow people to take away your own peace I know you’re drowning in their poison but please You deserve a life full of love

Speak your mind even when your voice shakes Because soon Soon you’ll find confidence in that voice Soon you’ll be able to say I love you Even if it’s to yourself

• • • I know this isn’t completely the prompt but I still used a quote, even if I didn’t turn it into horror. Thank you for reading 🫶🏻

Love harder than any pain you’ve felt.

That’s what the famous people said, so it must be true, right?

I hope so…

I’m so scared, when he comes back at night, to check on me in my iron cage, his face is nothing but melted flesh, beady eyes. It scares me, but I love him. I loved him before all our problems started and after.

Even when he pokes and prods me.

Even when he takes my blood.

Even when he injects strange liquids into the inside of my mouth.

I love him, but does he love me?

I think so. I really hope so. Or all this pain would be for nothing.

He kisses me when I cry.

He whispers beautiful poems when he stabs me with needles.

He strokes my shaggy, hair as I lay in chains.

So he must love me, right?

He must.

(Honestly, I was going to make it longer, but ehhh. Thanks for reading and have a good day.)

"To love is to burn," he whispers, "To be on fire." Burning, I defenitely am. My stomach is churning, boiling, protesting. The glass that slipped out of my hand lays on the ground. His hand is softly caressing my cheek. Once, the touch comforted me, made me feel safe. Now, the touch leaves a cold trail of shivers behind. Not of pleasure, but of fear. He leans in, his breath hot on my neck. He continues stroking my cheek, supposedly lovingly. But I know he doesn't love me. He's obsessed with me. My lips tremble, but I can't move. My heart is beating slower with the second. I know I don't have much time. "Oh, Selene. If you just could've seen what I was doing for you.", his fingers graze my neck. "Do you feel it? Do you feel your insides burning? That's what it felt like loving you, Selene. It felt like being on fire." I feel a hand snaking its way up my skirt. He squeezes my hip, not gently, not affectionately, but way too hard, and he is hurting me. Hot tears continue flowing out of my eyes. I try not to look at him, look at the ceiling, the lamp, the cupboard I once thought was so innocent. "All I have done," his hand rakes up and down my leg. Goosebumps follow in its wake. "Just so you could see. See that the right person was right in front of you from the very start. Me, Selene. You should have chosen me." No, it's your fault!, I want to say, You were the one who made all the wrong choices!, but the only thing coming out of my throat is gurgling. I can't move, can't speak, can't breathe. His face is the only thing I can see now, floating in front of me, I barely even hear his voice, can't feel his fingers on my leg, I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. "Your eyes say it all, darling. You blame me, because he's gone now, don't you?" He scoffs. "It's not my fault. It's yours." I feel the last warm tear rolling down my cheek as I close my eyes. My fault. He's right. I deserve this, I deserve to die alone with him, because it's all my fault. "Remember, love. Even after, even when your soul leaves, that it's your fault."

My Fault.

I saw the deer on the side of the highway, unmoving. Its eyes were open, filled with terror but also acceptance. Like it knew this day was bound to come, where it would end up as a limp corpse on the side of the road. I thought about its life, maybe it had children. I wonder what they would think once they found their mother on the side of the road. Dumped and discarded like it meant nothing like she didn't once have a life. I made eye contact with my father, his hands were bloody. I turned to the car, the front was dented and bloody. I realized what happened. My father was looking down at his hands, in horror, he couldn't fathom what he had done, even if it was accidental. I turned back to the deer, I wanted to reach down and close her eyes, give her the rest and sleep she so desperately sought after. Even after death. I looked up at the sky and prayed. I was never religious, nor have any beliefs of any kind. I prayed to whoever was listening, that this deer and every other deer before and after her would go to some kind of heaven. One with sweet tall grass, and sweet reunion where the mothers could finally see their mothers again. I prayed that they never have to be scared, run, and live in the constant fear of the fast lights on the rocky roads we called highways. I prayed that if they were killed for simply living, let Death be kinder than Man. We got into the car, and drove off.

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Lila Montgomery was a writer. Liam Anderson was her muse.

Rainy, gray days were spent together, in proximity at least. Lila would ponder in their bedroom, her bony fingers hovering over the typewriter, waiting for the perfect inspiration to manifest itself; Liam would often be in the kitchen, preparing a warm meal for the two of them.

Lovers. That’s what they were.

The damn word sometimes felt foreign to Lila, and everyday she felt like her heart was slipping further away from it.

One particular rainy day, where the rain was coming so hard it pooled into the roads, rising up to the sidewalks, Lila sat in front of her desk for the fourteenth time that day.

Rain pounded on the roof, with each loud thud, she could feel her irritation exponentially reaching.

Lila’s scarlet-red stained lips pursed in frustration, her shaking hands lingered carefully above the typewriter. To her, writing came easily; a secondhand nature to her— but only when she had inspiration.

Writing was supposed to have been her hobby, her passion, her pastime. Now it became a chore, and the bottled up burn out was manifesting itself physically.

Reddish purple marks came from digging her nails too deep into her palms. It was hard not to rupture into a million screams, especially when her publisher was relying upon her.

Today, her words were flowing like tar, and to that, her words were not flowing. Her mind blanked, she had no clue how to start her novel, it was stumping her.

In her progressing work, there were two main characters. At least that’s what her publisher told her. “I need a story about more than just one main character, your stories are too lonely.”

But the thing was, she liked being alone. Which she would’ve retorted had it not been for her boyfriend, Liam, who was in the room with her when she had took the business call.

She loved him, of course, but Lila tended to do her best work when she was on her own.

Here she sat blankly at her typewriter. She had an outline, but what would the characters be like? What was their relationship? How did they meet?

The smallest glimpse of sunlight from the window peaked inside, the rain was beginning to subside. It annoyed her. Her apartment was always too bright. That’s why her room was plastered with the most edgy, dark accents and pieces from vintage thrift stores.

She grunted as she pounced on the window drapes, shutting them completely to allow the darkness consume her. This was when she worked best: alone and left in the shadows.

Okay. She brought elbows back and onto the front of her desk, tainted palms stroking her shoulders soothingly. The room was silent, save for the distant stove sound from Liam in the kitchen across from their bedroom.

Her dark brown brows furrowed in concentration, her bottom scarlet lip bruised from her bite, yet the more she tried to summon her thoughts, the more elusive they became. A fog was certainly settling in her mind.

Lila’s pale fingers began tapping the wooden desk impatiently. She could feel that same anger bubbling up.

Oh wait! What if the two ended up—

Knock, knock, KNOCK!

The sudden loud pounding yanked her out of the trance, as she jolted out of her chair.

“Liam!” Lila cheered gleefully. ”I’m so glad you’re here.” She stepped forward and give him a big hug and embrace, trying to avoid the tray of dinner he held with his right arm.

Annoyed she was at the grand interruption, however, seeing Liam had thrusted the inspiration she had been needing this whole time! Her nebula eyes glittered with a devilish mischievousness.

“You’re just the thing I’ve been missing! I’m writing a LOVE story and I need your help.”

His smile is warm and he places the tray carefully on their bed. “How can I help, Writer Lila?” His question earnest and gentle.

“Just stand still a second, and don’t look until I tell you to. I’ll be right back!”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Neighbors that night would have heard odd noises thrown around, heinous profanities, and even some distorted screams. Good thing Lila didn’t have any.

The blood washed off her knife with ease. She never truly cared for him. He was too kind, too eager to please, and again, Lila wasn’t one for companionship.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_“You will be my greatest inspiration. My Liam, my muse,” _she hummed sweetly.

Her words had been addressed to a life-sized black bag that was rotting right under her desk, a retched thing that had began smelling odd. Then, as quickly as her smile faded, her head snapped away from her Lover, ready to write the novel of a lifetime.

And so she began to write, “immortalizing” Liam in the process.