Cruel Intentions | ✓

05 | KING MIDAS

05
KING
MIDAS

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       HIS TOUCH FELT like gold – crude, rough, and cold.

       When they fucked in bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchen counters, his fingernails dug deep into her skin, as if he wanted to suffuse golden poison into her veins. He hit her here, he hit her there, he grabbed her harshly, vulgar and crass words escaping his curled lips.

       He was King Midas, always greedy for more.

       But kings had fears too, and for him, it was his own touch used against himself.

       He had been hurt before, she knew.

       In his dreams, he whispered about ghosts and monsters, coming for him, coming for her. His eyebrows furrowed. His arms twitched. His body shook.

       As she laid beside him, she admired how vulnerable he looked in his sleep. Admired how easily she could hurt him if she wanted to.

       No, he would mumble, his eyebrows furrowed in fear. Please...

       When he woke, his hands searched for her body. Devilish hands reached for her body, for her bruised skin that belonged to him like artwork.

       He liked to look at it in the mornings, his hands trailing up and down the map he had created. Sometimes she wished he would look into her eyes instead.

       Bad dream? she asked.

       His hand paused for a second and his jaw clenched. He pulled away and turned to lay on his back, eyes staring up blankly at the ceiling.

       His mind was running a million miles a minute, trying to outrun the vicious phantoms that seemed to haunt him.

       There are monsters in this world, he said. So many monsters.

       He reached for her hand and held it up, thumb lightly stroking the purple bruise.

       You know why I do this, right? he said. To protect you. I'm just protecting you.

       She didn't understand.

       This way, nobody else can hurt you, he said, holding her hand tighter. Like they hurt me.

       She still didn't understand.

       You look beautiful like this, you know? he said, eyes on her dark bruise. I like it. You like it too, right?

       Of course, she replied automatically.

       The blood in her veins was rushing like there was a race inside her. Her soul ached for more than what he was giving her.

       Why was he telling her this?

       Seconds passed as she stared into his obsidian eyes while he stared at nothingness.

       What's my name? she asked him.

       He went still for a moment. His eyes burned holes into the ceiling.

       His movements were fast as he rolled on top of her, arms around her like a cage, body pressed against her like a trap.

       Does it matter? he said, leaning down to plant his lips on her neck. His hands came down to dig into her skin, his touch rich and golden – crude, rough, and cold.

       Like always, she didn't complain as he roughly handled her. His lips were harsh against hers. His teeth carved out blood.

       Maybe in his twisted mind, gold looked more like blue and purple.

       So she arched her back for him and let his Midas touch make her golden.