Cadaverous Love

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"Where have you been?" He stands, face red and hands clenched at his sides, "it's been days- weeks," his blonde hair gleams with grease and falls over his forehead in thick chunks, the air around us is heavy with the smell of cheap whisky and the darkness presses in around me like a thick sheet of metal, smothering me with its presence.

I leave the door open behind me, an easy but mocking escape. The cool night's breath sweeps around my legs and caresses my arms- a mother's gentle touch in mid-catastrophe.

"Answer me, dammit!" He spits, words slurred and thick with too much alcohol.

"I was working," I manage to choke out quietly, moving slowly and carefully towards the hallway like a prey item trying desperately not to capture its predator's attention.

"Working, eh? You're fucking fifteen, who's going to hire a little bitch like you?" My hairs stand on end with each of his harsh words, "you need to stop going out- probably going to leave me. Just like your mom." He slumps closer and familiar thoughts race through my mind. Mama didn't just walk out the door of our house, she walked out the door of life. "You're mom isn't ever coming back for you, Candy, never."

"I know," I turn my head so I don't have to look at the brutish, un-cared for features of his face. My eyes burn with the depression and frustration that make up the seams of my pale skin as he steps close to me, slipping his hand under my jaw, fingers pressed tight against my neck.

"Look at me," he turns my head in a quick movement so I'm forced to look into his shallow blue eyes and breathe in the smell of liquor, "but you-" he breathes out heavily, pushing a wave of stench against my cheek, "you're going to be here forever." He closes his fingers tighter around my neck, not enough to close my airways, but just enough to make the panic arise in the pit of my stomach. Forever.

My fingers wrap around his arm and a pulse of pain presses through my palm and fingertips. His other hand travels gently to my face and swiftly drags a forceful nail down my cheek, leaving a stinging trail of red. I don't budge, in fear I will only make it worse. He repeats the movement again, from the corner of my eye down to the rounded curve of my soft jaw.

"This way," he says, absentmindedly tightening his grip on my throat, "when you look in the mirror, you'll remember who those are from and where you belong- and so you'll never be able to run away with some boy, because no guy will ever love you with red marks across your pretty, porcelain skin."

-

I blink my eyes open and struggle for air, my hands fly up to my throat to peel away his fingers, but they aren't there. My body shakes softly as I wipe the tears from my cheeks, a slight tinge of pain still etched into my skin.

I prop myself up on my elbows on the mattress of Buck's small, extra room, pushing down a sob. A chilled morning breeze blows in through the dirty window, it sweeps in over me and through my hair, rustling softly through the white sheets pulled loosely against me.

I turn to see Dallas sat up against the wall, his eyes closed and long black lashes pressed against his cheekbones. His head leaned back against the wooden wall, his arms and chest bare, long legs bent and arms hung over his knees. A cigarette dangling in between his rough fingers, his faded jeans too short and reveal his unclothed feet. His chest rises and falls gently, serenity draped upon him like fine silk garments, his mind deep in thought. I find it interesting how such a "tough", "cold" person will go out of their way to take care of someone they love, bending them and breaking them in such silence that not a soul suspects a thing.

I look down at my hand curiously to see that it's wrapped messily with a rough cloth, spotted with small splotches of red. My head pounds and fear of myself travels up my spine, I know that I had- in a sense- reached a new level of my insanity; uncovered a sensitive and twisted part of my mind that should have never be revealed. I know that everyday will not only be a battle against others, but against myself. My fingers of my free left hand tuck a gold-ish curl behind my ear, searching for some sort of normalcy. With my sudden movement, the springs of the lopsided bed creak in sorrow. Dallas's eyes flutter open and seem to be surrounded with dark purple rings of exhaustion to match the proud bruise on his cheekbone.