no control

• thirty •

elijah

I felt like a kid again. So easily impressed, infatuated and carefree.

There were no strings attached to my awe, no demand of logic or critical thinking. Just existing through my feelings.

Feelings.

The hindrance of the weak. A risk that made one vulnerable and exposed. Uncontrollable objects of emotion capable of overrunning obligation and purpose.

I learned long ago that feelings always led to failure which always resulted in punishment.

My mother loved my father and he abused her in every way possible. She couldn't deny him anything, and he exploited her feelings and weakness every single day of their marriage.

So how then could I look at Gladys with such naive wonder? How did I not quiver from that familiar burn of self-loathing?

I willingly made myself vulnerable to my enemies but continuing to be around her. I spent more time in the city, which was always higher risk. I was working less, which opened me for more internal attacks.

Knowing all of this, understanding the risk, I didn't care.

One glance at my stunning angel and my senses abandoned me. She stripped me of all rational logic, reduced me to a state of pure instinct and desire. Her presence grounded me into a timeless moment of perpetual wonder.

I was simultaneously always aroused, intrigued, and amused by her.

Tonight she was glowing, her fair skin shimmery under the makeup. She looked mature and serious and very fucking sexy.

My hands toyed with the ends of her curled hair, enjoying its softness and it's sweet, floral scent. She subtly leaned closer to me, completely unaware of my lingering stare.

Her dress was eccentric and playful in its geometric design, and modest enough with the high neckline that I didn't feel the urge to cover her from prying eyes. The dress looked natural on her.

Gladys held herself differently now than she had lately. Her shoulders were back, her chin proudly out. She crossed her legs daintily at the ankles. She looked elegant, almost graceful. There was a confidence about her now that made her seem older, sophisticated, impervious.

I was rock fucking hard just watching her exist.

I should've called the whole party off. All I wanted was to be alone with her. My angel.

My greedy hands kept roaming her soft skin. I needed to constantly feel her to placate the insatiable prowling darkness inside me. She was the only thing in the world that had this effect on me.

Rubbing my chin, I imagined stripping the layers of fabric from her curves until she was bare. I wanted her naked and writhing with need for me. I wanted to hear her screams of pleasure as I took the last shreds of her innocence. I wanted to mark her all over, color her freckled skin with my claim.

To think, she wanted to go to a high school party. My pulse throbbed in my temples with rage.

No one could look at her like I do. No one deserved her. No one understood her. Boys her age wanted to fuck, to pleasure themselves. Selfish, greedy boys. They would never treat her the way she needed.

And I'd castrate them all in painful ways should they try.

"Have you heard anything about the case?"