𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. no body, no crime

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CHAPTER EIGHT

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CHAPTER EIGHT.

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"NO BODY, NO CRIME"


AMY NEVER HAD ANYONE WHO COULD STORM HER HEART, IT HAD ALWAYS BEEN ALONE, AND SHE WAS USED TO IT

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AMY NEVER HAD ANYONE WHO COULD STORM HER HEART, IT HAD ALWAYS BEEN ALONE, AND SHE WAS USED TO IT. After a while, loneliness that covered her little cold heart like a blanket had become the most loyal company she had. She was so scared to get it hurt by someone else that she learnt how to do it herself.

Her biggest enemy was herself. (But it happened to best of us, right?)

Teresa Love used to tell her daughter about this feeling; pleasant, warm, safe feeling. (The feeling she once had, but was taken away from her by a boy who had an ax on his hands.) And, Amy would listen to her with a shine on her caramel eyes -shiner than the moonlight- and dream if she could ever had that in her own life.

She looked for that feeling, in anyone she met, in every boyfriend she had, in every kiss, every touch... She never found it. Hence, a witchy thought sat in the middle of her mind before she realized it. Perhaps, Amy Love-Winters came to world without a soulmate, maybe she wasn't made for love. Maybe she was bound to be alone forever.

Therefore, she weaved cold ice walls around her heart, they were so cold that nothing could have melt them. Inside, her heart was in flames, yet nobody was able to reach there.

Because she was too scared to get hurt.

And, if she had found it, what if she would lose it just like her mother? Seeing her suffering for years that didn't seem to decrease her pain, Amy couldn't risk having it and then losing it. Teresa Love had been suffering for 16 years, and Amy knew she would keep suffering. They said time would heal every wound, but it seemed like Teresa's wound hadn't even stopped bleeding.

Something was dancing- no, not dancing, something was stumping and kicking in her chest, making her hands shaky. Her face was burning as if she was standing in the hell fire, yet its pale look didn't betray her and didn't allow any other color reached to her face. She seemed as still as grave, and as calm as millpond, but on the inside she was going nuts. There was a waging war, rough hands hitting the ice wall that surrounded her heart.

AFTERLIFE,  simon kalivoda ✓Where stories live. Discover now