GRIM REAPER¹, bellamy blake

093 ━━ fresh ideas

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"YOU'RE SO pretty, you know that?" Bellamy murmured, his voice sending tingles straight down Iona's spine. She glanced over at him, admiring his face just as he was hers, before reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

He leaned into the feeling, a small, yet somehow giddy smile on his lips. Bellamy stared at her for a short moment, causing her heartrate to accelerate, her cheeks- unbeknownst to her- becoming a light shade of pink.

Then, he captured her lips.

It was a soft kiss, one that this Bellamy seemed to be quite fond of. It was slow- excruciatingly so- and he appeared to take his time with her, devouring her lips as if it was his only remaining lifeline to the world.

A fake world, Iona reminded herself, frowning into the kiss as she did so. She also reminded herself that this was not her Bellamy. Her Bellamy loves hungry kisses- something insatiable, animalistic, like a man starved.

This Bellamy was far too gentle to be her own, and the thought made her furious.

This isn't him, she huffed internally, scolding herself for even considering this man to be her own. He was an imposter, a man among many- but he was not her man, and she was growing far more frustrated every time she remembered.

Abruptly pulling away from his kiss, Iona shook her head. Wordlessly- despite Bellamy's hurt expression- Iona stood.

She pulled her robe closer to her body and walked- where, she didn't know.

Somehow, though, her feet maneuvered her into the kitchen, where she stood, confused, before her body moved as if by its own accord. Pouring herself a heavy- very, very heavy; almost overflowing- glass of alcohol, Iona sighed.

Wouldn't hurt.

Downing the glass in one go, Iona sighed. The taste was mild- by mild she means she completely and utterly hated it- but the burn was a nice distraction from the inner workings of her own uncontrollable mind.

Iona eyed the bottle. Should she have another? It couldn't hurt, right? All of it was fake, merely an illusion within her own head that wouldn't have any effect on her whatsoever.

With that thought, Iona was curious as to just how much she could get away with within this imaginative world of hers. If she made herself sick, would she vomit in real life? If she got drunk, would the real her sway and sway until she passed out?

Iona's eyes flashed as a thought overcame her.

If she died, would she merely wake up unscathed, or would it perhaps force her out of whatever this place was, and back into the real world beyond her vision? Was that the key to escaping the hell hole she found herself locked in?

Iona had been suicidal before, but she'd never considered it with such joy and absolute fervor as she did now.

The past time, it had been because she was hurting, and was lacking freedom. She wanted to escape- similar to now- and death seemed like the perfect doorway. A perfect escape from the cruel world lit aflame.

Now, she was struggling because, in some wicked sense, Iona had both too much freedom and not enough. Here she was, able to live out her- albeit fake- life with the man she loved, a child to call her own, and her fallen family.

Yet, at the same time, she wanted to return to the real world.

She wanted Eyvana to be dead again. She wanted Lexa to be dead, too. At that point, she wasn't sure what that made her. All she knew was that whatever's dead should stay dead because that's the only way Iona knows if it's all real.

No wonder she'd hated her life here thus far- she felt no pain. Despite hating- and being eager to get away from- the amount of pain she felt in the real world, she had to admit it was real.

The pain she felt was raw and unfiltered. Iona knew it was her. She knew it wasn't an illusion because she could feel. She felt remorse, revenge, heartbreak; yet, somehow, the lack of feeling was still worse.

Iona knew what she had to do.

Or, at least try to do.

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