Ebony
The vision brands a new kind of pain onto my skin. A new scar. One that I rather go without. In my daze the phone drops from my loosened hand and it shatters. Nothing but unparalleled rage hums through my body as I crush the remnants of the phone under my foot. Too little destroyed. My vision is red as I grab a glass from the wood table in the room and chuck it at the wall. An explosive sound rings in my ears before I realize it was the glass shattering.
My past kept digging it's nails deep into my skin. It wouldn't let go, would it?
Never, that voice that I remember as him hisses, you are mine.
When my knees buckle and my hands skid and crunch on to jagged glass I don't feel anything. Is this the shade of red that he sees? A red so scarlet it turned black? So overwhelming he corrupted my baby brother? Because of rejection? The fury has me sitting there, letting my hands bleed out and glass dig into my haunches. Minutes pass until finally that little voice of mine pipes up. Move. Think. Robotically I get up and ignore the crimson dripping on my hands. Still numb, I feel nothing as my hands rummage through the kitchen drawer.
A piece of paper bites into my flesh and I pull it out, before slamming my fingers into the numbers of the last phone in the house. There. Instead of relaxing the grip it has on me, the red tightens on my vision and bleeds into my throat.
Static erupts on the other line and a cool calculating voice rumbles. "Hello?" A voice I promised I would never call. Yet here I was, letting crimson ooze into the remaining phone I had.
"Les Nomades. Fifteen. Consider never getting what you want if you don't show up." My tone is conclusive and I hang up. I don't even clean my bloody hands before grabbing the bike keys and stalking outside.
The familiar purr doesn't excite me, just tells my barely functioning mind to jam my foot- kick starting the acceleration. I go flying past speed limits and push even harder. No one gave a damn anyways. Worse happened in this city. Me stepping over the small laws like dirt lines doesn't even count as scowl worthy. Maybe small frown worthy.
I dare someone to frown. Then let's see who's blood is on my palms. A steady thrum beats through my body and I'm at the restaurant within ten minutes. Damn fifteen. No one argues as I move inside and sit at a table. As a waitress asks if I want drinks I shake her off. The blood on my hands makes her eager to go anyways. My foot taps erratically on the tacky marble of the floor, and I don't notice the five minutes pass by.
A cough has me twisting in my spot to see Damian. "Sit." For once there is no snarky comment as he sits across from me in a booth.
"Ms. Venois," he states simply, arrogance coating the words that fall off of his tongue. He exudes arrogance.
He oozes pain.
It's the reason I stay away from him. Even when in a ditch of desperation. But now I was in an abyss. I had locked his number so deep in my mind it was only pushed to the surface now. Two wrongs never make right. And I was so wrong. Demented. Broken. Used. Damaged goods.
I don't even want to think about what Damian hides behind those long lashes and cobalt eyes.
And he would want payment. Return. With interest. He was a business man after all. Trafficking women and all. Making money off of drugs and anything higher on the illegal list.
"What has deferred your resolve to crumble? To come to me with... might I say- bloodied and marred hands," (NOTE: LIKE KHIRAD. HE SPEAKS BIG WORDS TO SEEM SUPERIOR)he says languidly. Leaning back. Black starts to coat my vision again. He was relaxing in front of my crazed lunatic, insane, bitchy-
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Embers (Burn #1)
العاطفية{On Hiatus for Rewrite} "What did he do to you?" "Everything he did to you and worse," I hiss, nails digging into my skin. The words are thrown out in desperation, a hook to dig into his skin like he drove into me. He erased Cole. I had wanted that...
