Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts

24 || VIGINTI QUATTOR

i am gonna be honest with yall, school just started this august 16 and i just survived my first week and it's honestly fun, my dumbass got nominated as the president for our strand (which is like your major in 11th grade) like, i was the kid who got the lowest math score in her math in 3rd grade and now i'm president??

it just feels very weird. and like i feel that I'm disassociating with reality too much, i'm there but not presently there, like i'm alive and that feels weird.

if anyone feels the same pls tell me so i'm not alone in this 😩 maybe im crazy and need therapy tbh, i just feel so out of touch with the world i hate covid

now enough uv that, i will open the curtains tooo:

VIGINTI QUATTOR

(and i feel like i made this up bc google translate said XXVI so i just put two words together)

♕

It felt like ice washed over every inch of me. Dripping, stripping me bare. No, no. It was too dark. The blues change to yellow above me but still it wasn't enough. The blackness of it lurked around me. I can't see.

I need to see.

Peter Haskovsky set his drink down on the table. The table, his hands-

I feel the way it gripped me, stone-hard. I couldn't move. I remember the way the words that are too hard for me to speak of fall off my drunk lips,

the way it was reduced to a single, pathetic sentence. Not the wrist.

"I..."

Speak, Aiko.

Speak.

"Yes," Only one word. Come on, do better. Do better.

I clawed my fingers, nails, so deep I might've thought I'd scratched myself into ribbons. Each glide of nail on skin out of ancient desperation to get out something I know I can't get out of. No matter how much I crawl, beg, run.

Desperation that so deep and penetrating, the type to claw at the cold walls for days until the nails ached and filed to their root. 

"Would you like to..." He trailed, stopped because he knew I would look into his eyes. And I did.

I saw the hunger in those eyes, the wanting. Of me.

No, not me, an object.

"...continue what was going to happen?" He held my gaze. And I couldn't take my eyes away, like when I couldn't escape, like when I was stuck.

The light, slowly, so slow, they start to come back again, brighten again.

Peter's hand gripped my thigh before I could back away. And he went higher, and higher. He slid his fingers in my thigh, between them.

I can't hear anyone but the thrum of my own thunderous heart, beating and beating like a desperate bird with a broken wing. Bile rose in my throat.

And as if everything melted away into the lurking tendrils of dark, Gone. Everything I had worked hard for for my head to never roam in that retched place again disintegrated.