Sweet Pea Imagines

Four | Not Your Fault

Sorry for the wait lovelies!

Just the air blowing across your back is enough to make you hiss in pain. You feel your legs give out and the hardwood floor beneath your knees. It's cold against your heated palms, soothing your burning skin. You're completely exposed, the entirety of your back, or at least most of it, stained purple and yellow. You feel diseased; like you have some sort of contactable illness. It should repell others. Nobody wants the plague you've found yourself wrapped in. You're disgusting, that's all there is to it.

"Well," you sob pathetically into the empty space around you, "do you want to see my legs too? Will you care then, too? How about when I show up to school come Monday with my arm messed up? Or some other part of me! How about then? You can't make it stop! No one can."

"You want to bet?" Sweet Pea spits out his words but you can hear the waver in his voice.

There's something to be said about a gang member crying in the presence of a broken girl. Maybe it's the familiarity they both share but don't realize. The hum in the air is that of two strangely similar souls. It's like an electric current running from his energy to yours. One that makes it so you aren't the least bit surprised at the warm fingertips running up your back, nor at the sparks shooting up your spine. You just wonder if he can feel them too.

"You can but you'll lose, baby, because I'll be damned if another bruise," he slides you onto his lap again, leaving just enough room between your back and his chest to see what he's dealing with, "ever makes it's way onto your body again."

You shiver at his words. You want to believe them. For once in your life you want to be able to trust in the fact that you'll go home to a normal house. Not one with a monster lurking behind a closed door. Regular princesses live in a tower. They aren't tortured on a daily basis, all they have to do is be silent and still. Their only job is to wait. You, on the other hand, have to leave your tower and pretend it's a palace. You have to pretend that you've already been rescued while trying to save yourself. But everyday you fall in deeper into the moat and daddy never taught you how to swim. He didn't teach you anything but how to exist as invisibly as possible.

"Can't you just forget this whole hero thing? No knight in shining armour ever saves the peasant so just let me survive and go find a princess who actually deserves to be saved."

"I already did." You dissolve into tears when his lips touch your shoulder blade, the one that recieved the brunt force of the wall.

His hands never leave your hips as his mouth paints molten patterns over your damaged skin. You can feel his desperation seeping into your back as he relentlessly kisses you. He's trying to prove something that nobody- not you nor anyone else -has ever been able to convince you of. Maybe that's your ability to be saved; your potential to walk around as a less broken version of yourself. However, admitting that you're broken also means giving way to the notion that there is a possibility of being repaired, which there isn't. You can't be fixed, you aren't a clock. You'll forever be broken. So maybe he's trying to convince you that, despite being damaged, you aren't beyond being loved.

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice drips with reckless abandon.

You don't know if you want the answer to that question but it's in the air now, demanding the spotlight. His lips mumble his response into your skin between heated kisses.

"Because you," he nips at the top of your spine, surging waves of pleasure down your back and you melt into his soft touch.