Raptured Sins

chapter 2- Sweet Agony

I fell in love once. It was to a boy that made me relish in sweet agony.

When I met him, he was the epitome of perfectionism, everything I could want in a person. It wasn't love in the way most people thought. No, it was the dire need to hang onto something that would be there tomorrow and never leave. He was like a drug, and I had fallen into the addictive state.

Though I was not a drug to him. I oppressed him to the point he would eventually run at the sight of me. He turned me into a shadow - a follower. Someone who would not exist until someone acknowledged me and spoke my name.

Before I escaped my family's clutches, I was isolated. I can't deny that it was me that caused it, but no one even made the effort to help me. I was often caught bruised on buses and in parks, but everyone would look at me whispering, glaring. Rumours would spread making pass-byers grimace and stare at me not even trying to hide their disgust.

And that is how me and that boy met. He would sit at the bench i always spent my days at and talk, I'm guessing out of pity. I still do not know how I seemed worth speaking to at the time.

At first, I didn't even talk to him, he was just talking to himself. My family had ingrained the mindset into me that I wasn't worth every breath I took and any word I spoke had so little meaning that there was no point thinking it. Even so, he persisted till he broke my trance, making me speak a couple words per day till I could have a couple conversations with only small sentences.

It terrified me at first, I must admit, but he made me forget. I could live for days without thinking of my family.

Eventually, he would take me places, like to the forest on the hill or to the lake on the outskirts of the city. He had this sparkle in his eyes that I couldn't just ignore. He made me feel like a child again, yearning for his every drop of attention and at the time he wanted mine. His hand would touch mine dragging me to some place, making me shiver with a feeling I could not yet describe.

I was attached.

But as time went on, he started to hate my existence. He treated me like the stain on his shirt that couldn't be washed away by bleach.

He hinted that once, the bleach. He joked about me drinking it. I could have. I wanted to. I have a memory of holding a cup of bleach to my lips. The stench overpowering, clouding my brain past the twisted presence of manipulation.

But what fun would a stain be if it didn't cling on forever.

My days started to intertwine into a pattern of aimlessly following him and being pushed around to the point that I could only think not speak. I was slowly drowning in unspoken words that maybe if heard he would want to go back to how we were.

Though as I wanted him more, he wanted me less. Till one day I was walking in the park to the bench like I always do, and I saw it. Not it but them. He was sat there -on that same bench- with a girl smiling, laughing while he gazed into her eyes, that glimmer he had with me was present. 

She weirdly looked quite similar to me, the same dark hair, darker eyes than most. The only main difference was our clothes. Hers hugged her body leaving little for the eye to imagine. I could see every curve on her body and the way she was so skinny that she may have not eaten in days. 

Maybe that's what he wanted. The need to not imagine. He probably wanted her to crawl into his bed without a thought. I realise that's is what he craved. It was not happiness he saw me with but lust. A vulnerable girl he thought he could drag to his bed if he made her think she was wanted.

I on the other hand (opposing his new found prey) dressed in what looked like clothes from lost property- because it was. I couldn't afford all of the new clothes on the high street like she could. I would dig through the bins outback of shops and I would indulge in the lost property in hotels and other establishments. I was often left with the comment of looking "homeless".