3A/N: This story is pretty dark. I'm putting up a TRIGGER WARNING for: Mentions of rape, suicide, and incest.
I'd also like to make it clear here that I'm definitely not glorifying suicide or cutting or anything of the such. I'm trying to convey the helplessness this character feels in the situation, not romanticize it.
The night spelled intimacy on the scene that drew empowerment from the shadows. Pink walls were a backdrop to a sad story made faint through the utter blackness, perfect for the ending act.
Her ending act.
That girl, sitting on the floor bent over her wrist. Silver light filtered through trees outside her window, cutting a dancing image of grasping hands across the hardwood floor. And it was cold. Her legs felt numb, whether it be from the aching cold or from sheer anxiety she didn't know.
She had to do it.
She could not... would not stand it anymore. This would be it for her, this was her claiming control, this was her taking the reigns, this was her saying 'fuck you' and ending it all on her terms. Falling out of reach forever so she wouldn't have to sit in bed, rocking back and forth eyes pinched tight until everything bled from existence. So he could no longer claim-
So he could no longer claim her.
It was the nameless girl she'd become, the husk of her former self whipping off the mask and claiming her identity one last time. The only time that mattered.
Gemma.
The razor was painfully real as she held it against her skin. It was a startling juxtaposition, warm skin against cold metal. A bead of sanguine red against metallic silver, welling up then falling across the blade, a single tear streaking down a translucent paper cheek. It was a repetitious tune, a sad song, a lonely existence. A damaged girl.
A creak the floor below her's left her heart racing. Dread bubbled up like a thick stew, she brewed the most poignant of recipes. Her ingredients left her sole customer positively satisfied: fear, dread, disdain, hate... eventually they congealed into a nice, thick nothing and she was a dish finally finished. A pliable goo. A perfect doll locked away in four walled cage with bubble gum pink walls, free for the taking.
He always partook as if he was a man starved, and she the only thing in a mile's radius that could quench his thirst.
Of course it was because of porcelain skin, big doleful eyes, a thick black mass of ringlets that roiled down her back in rhyme less waves. Because in twenty years she'd look just like the woman who gave birth to her, because better yet she looked like her mother before she became a mother.
"Gemma..." Warm breath ghosted across her neck.
She was somehow numb to shock, numb to fear of this silent stranger. It wasn't him.
"Do it." Calloused hands took control.
She shook her head, silent tears dripping down her face. "I don't want to... I don't know how."
The only way to escape, it was the only way. They'd just keep sending her back. Nobody believed her. They just kept sending her back. So she had to opt out. She had to.
"I'm so sorry sweet girl..." Hands brushed away the tangled curls, lips brushed against her neck and she felt calm.
She felt calm and instantaneously curious as she watched, almost as if she were light years away and un-anchored, as a tanned hand helped her keep steady. "Who are you?"
She felt no pain.
"I've been waiting for a very long time for this moment..." A great sigh, another fan of warm breath across her neck.
"I suppose..." He, because it was an obviously male voice, took a great pause before carrying on. She felt the weight of time in the gap of silence, almost as if time was curiously nonexistent and something she could reach through like mercury at room temperature. A reflective puddle that she could dip into, send out ripples across a vast space. Gemma felt infinity at the touch of her fingertips. "Yes, I suppose though..."
She was snapped back into 'reality', even though she'd never left. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed and she felt... weightless. She really did feel weightless. Hands beneath her knees, behind her back, the sensation of being lifted.
A ceiling decorated by stick on stars, their faded yellow glow no help in the pitch of night. Soft pillows beneath her head. Looking up into nothing, but seeing... seeing...
"I've waited so long for you, I feel it would be almost worth it to continue to do so. Rest, little destroyer."
A pair of garnet eyes, gone.
Flash.
Moonlight reflected on pools of crimson turned darker than ebony.
Flash.
A distant bang, a startled yell.
Flash.
A stomach-curdling scream and a disturbing splatter.
Flash...
Gemma's eyes didn't flutter open again.
A/N: So that was chapter one! What'dya think? I know it's kind of quick and short but I did that for a reason and it really ties into the overall story fairly nicely. Originally, this wasn't meant to be a story. I wrote this about five years ago and then a few reviews (3) on this got me thinking about it.
Then Gemma started haunting my thoughts, and her story is kind of just tumbling out. So I rewrote it, and now- I'm rambling. I don't know. I hope it's piquing your interest though!
Review what you thought, give me some feedback lovelies! I'll be updating soon!
(Constructive criticism completely welcome!)