|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 16, 2011 0:52:18 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
As the classical music played on the stereo far off in the corner of the dance studio, she rolled her neck, eyes with slightly pink lids closed. She rolled her wrists and then crack the joints in her feet. She breathed out as she did a split in the middle of the floor, one long leg behind her and the other in front of her. Bending her back, once again while breathing out to remain relaxed, she let her back foot touch her head before she bent her thin body forward so she was flat against her front leg while holding her ankle. She wore her typical, black outfit with the matching ballerina shoes. Light gray leg warmers were around her ankles since it was a bit chilly in there and she had nude colored tights on and overall, she didn't look like her usual highly fashionable self. Her face was makeup free and her long hair was up in a neat bun with only a tad few fly aways framing her face. No jewelry, no anything. She was plain-in her zone. Standing, she did an abresque, standing on the tip of her right foot and bringing her left leg up straight, making sure not to bend her knees, and with both arms in the air. She didn't watch herself in the mirror, too focused on the classical music playing and her body moving with it as one. This was how she got her frustrations out, this was how she kept from losing herself in the world of the wealthy.
She did an attitude en pointe before doing a grande jete, jumping into the air and doing a split, arms up as she did so. She did Fouetté en tournants, hortensias, pas de chats, and numerous other moves. Her heart raced as she moved, all her focus on trying not to think about the bag of heroin sitting in her dressing room at home. She didn't want to lose sight of what she was passionate about. Granted, she'd only just started using it only two or so days ago, but after watching him get up and go without even taking a second glance in her direction, she had refused to touch it. She went surfing, she even hung out with her Mama Bear more than usual. She invited her friends over for a sleep over and to catch up on old times. And right now, she moved and moved and moved, each step as graceful as the next, her body her tool to making everything go away until it stopped working and she'd resort to the heroin as a backup.
She could feel the slight condensation forming on her skin, her muscles gladly enjoy the burst of adrenaline, the way her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest, how her lungs felt ready to burst. But she kept going, kept moving. At this time, normally the university students were off partying or doing whatever it was they did. There was never anyone in the last dance studio and thus, she never had a problem with locking the door or keeping the music down. She came here to dance...and to forget about his face which she added to the list of many others. She had no one to blame but herself, really. She'd let him do it, ahdn't she? She fucked a poor person. God was she stupid? Definitely. God forbid her Mama Bear found out. She might end up back in Russia by her own hand.
But as she did her last set of Fouetté en tournant, looking in the mirror, she stopped sharply, the shock on her face when she saw someone standing in the doorway. It wasn't just a janitor or someone else. No, it was him. Worst part? She really only had a limited amount of time tonight. There was a thunderstorm rolling in and he was taking away from her precious seconds of getting lost before she would lock herself in the closet of her bedroom until the storm was over. Why was he here? Worst of all, how long had he been watching her? Her chest moved up and down heavily as she caught her breathe and she looked at him through the mirror, "You shouldn't be here," she said panting, frustrated he'd seen her and slightly fearful. No one ever watched her dance...the fact he even got a glimpse honestly made her want to cry...for once. This was supposed to be her eyes and her eyes alone. Not his. He didn't have any privilege or right to watch her do something she considered sacred. She grabbed the remote not too far from her and turned off the music, refusing to look at him as she walked over to the stereo, ready to take her things and leave. She couldn't do this-couldn't handle any of it.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 16, 2011 11:49:14 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 1000 The Outfit: this The Notes: I'm naked, I'm numb~ Nolan had a busy few days, parties galore, and he made a profit. He made a killing destroying lives and corrupting damsels. Where Princes snorted cocaine and Princesses, no matter how divine, shot up cocaine. His parents would be so proud with Sapphire Bay’s elites his bitches – they gave him crisp bills and he gave them a hell of a ride. He would never stop this, he would never afford it, but he started to convince himself it was truly a beautiful thing. He started the day off with smoking a bowl, but now that he came down off the high he had business to do. Today was the university run and it the most powerful thing he had on him was a gram of heroin he had to find the princess to get rid of.
He listened upstairs to see if someone was home and moving. With it sounding like the coast was clear, he made his way upstairs with towel, soap, razor, and clothes in hand. His landlord and landlady gave him the opportunity to shower, but only if there were no guests and no one were occupying the downstairs bathroom. No one was, he was free to wash away what little guilt was on his mind. How water hitting his head and tense skin was relaxing and he stood in the shower staring blankly at the space between two tiles.
Princess’s face popped into view, but he snapped his eyes back to not think of her. She was just a one night stand now and a client who bought grams of heroin with crisp thousand dollar bills. The bar soap ran across his skin, cleaning as much a she could. Erasing as many memories of her exploring his skin and telling him he was beautiful. He was sure she would never think that again after what he did to her. He heard wake as he got his clothes, he swore he heard her mention him to stay, but he didn’t turn around. He knew women liked to leave first; he couldn’t wait until morning for her to leave first.
Now he just had memories of her touch, whether they are haunting him during a shower or in his dreams. He shut the shower off and presses a hand against the wall. She was not the woman he would fall in love, he couldn’t get attached to this one. He got attached to every woman he slept with, but he couldn’t let himself love her. Pulling on clothes, he listened to see if anyone was in the kitchens. No? He made his way there to grab something that wouldn’t be so noticeable. An apple, better than nothing.
He didn’t mean to like her so much and he couldn’t deny he did after a few hours.
No, he didn’t. He had not been painting her likeness against watercolors spread across the page and then using acrylics over them to bring her face, wide open and dazed eyes staring out into your soul. He did not hang it among his prized paintings. Nolan did not have a crush.
Damn this wild young heart.
The university was oddly quiet in this place, but his regulars were all waiting for their drugs. Most of them wanted weed, but he had to find his regular that was a dancer and also a blow addict. This girl was by the far most talented addict he had, she was able to convince everyone she was fine, but when really in order to perform she had to snort cocaine and he liked that. He found hilarious how she was destroying herself for the one thing she loved the most or so she claimed. She waited in her usual spot, the bench in the hallway and he smirked, putting on his empty dealer face.
“I thought you weren’t coming. I was worried that you forgot I had a recital tonight.” Her panicking was evident in her voice, but he only blinked and waited for her to open her fat wallet she clung to in her hands. He even made a point to stare at it, so she would get the point. Her chestnut brown hair was spilling over shoulders in a way that would make a great painting to sell. He stared, to remember it, blinking, to take the photo in his memories. She pulled out two hundred dollar bills and a fifty and he offered her the 8-ball she needed. Her grabby hands took it and threw the money at him before hurrying away. She always threw the money at him, that shit annoyed him.
Stuffing his money in his pockets, he made his way down the hall. Why? Well he could hear the music and he just wanted a peak of what they were doing. At first glance, he didn’t recognize it as Princess, but then he saw just the tiny glimpse of her face and he leaned on the door way, watching. She was oblivious to being there, but he was interested, crossing his arms he just smiled watching her.
Then she noticed he was there and his eyebrows rose in amusement that was not returned by her. She looked pissed to see him again, but he owed her. Why was she so mad that he had found her? That was his job when she paid for two grams but only had one. He followed her to the stereo, running a hand down her spine, then cursing himself internally. “I shouldn’t be, Princess? I recall I owe you and it’s my job to search for you. Are you just frustrated I watched you dance? You were marvelous, if you wanted to know.”
He had more images of her to paint when he got home. His pretty little muse, this princess who would grow to need him, he was sure. Whether she was fully aware of it yet, but once she was addicted to shooting up, surely he would be the bane of her existence.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 16, 2011 12:25:34 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
When he touched her spine, her muscles tensed up and slightly moved away from it. She shot a glare in his direction and focused on packing up her things, unplugging the stereo and her I pod which was connected by the USB cord in the back, “My house. Not here,” she practically considered the dance studio her own church. It was sacred ground and she was doing the sacred ritual of worship. It sounded like some crazy cult thing but it was the truth. Catholics had their priests and bishops, Svetlana had Beethoven and Mozart, Gisele and Shakespeare. Here, she wasn’t a slut, wasn’t an illegal immigrant, wasn’t any of the bad things she knew she was deep down in the pit of her abyss of a black heart. Here she was the dancer, the movement, the wind, the fire, the water, the earth, the stars, the sky. She was the rainbow after the rain and the passion behind the steps. She wasn’t horrible. She was perfect.
“It’s easy to find my house. Ask anyone and they would know,” she’d thrown enough parties there in high school to make the house known for holding some very notorious secrets of hers that weren’t really secrets at all. Plus, the story behind how she even acquired it at the age of sixteen was enough to make people remember the lavishing yet cozy humble abode with the Russian styling typical for the Russian Princess. When he told her she was marvelous, she felt her cheeks burn a bright red but didn’t acknowledge the feeling of butterflies in her stomach, “Don’t ever say that again,” she said it sharply, locking her eyes onto his before tearing them away at the sight of him leaving before her and even worse at actually, quietly, asking him to stay and praying he hadn’t heard her just so she wouldn’t be alone during the stupid thunder storm. She ended up spending an hour locked up in that closet with her hands over her ears. The butterflies were now murdering each other in her stomach at the thought of asking anyone to ever stay in her bed for more than one night.
But she was serious when she said she didn’t want him to comment on her dancing ever again. It wasn’t about taking a compliment or even constructive criticism. It was that no one, absolutely no one had ever seen her dance except her one and only instructor who taught her while she was in high school once a month for two hours and even then, she made sure there were no recordings or that she ever mentioned teaching her such things. Ballet was hers and hers alone. Mama Bear couldn’t have it, the government couldn’t have it, the world couldn’t have it. As selfish and childish as it sounded, it was the simple, awful truth. Putting her I pod in her bag on the floor, she pulled out a towel and wiped off the condensation of sweat that was anywhere on her. When she got home, she was going to take a nice, warm, little bubble bath and then prepare her closet for the onslaught of thunder. She’d camp out and make a whole nice ordeal of it. Might as well, right? Despite the fact every time the thunder would clap, she’d squeal or scream or freak out but in between she could enjoy a nice drink or two since she never had food in her house. Finally having everything in her large ballet bag, she sat on the ground to take off her leg warmers and untie her ballet flats, trading them in for some simple UGGS that she honestly hated but would never admit to it, “I have to get home before the storm,” she said it simply before standing up, “You can give it to me there.”
That was simple enough, right? She obviously was very picky with this entire thing. It had to happen indoors and at her house, specifically tonight just because of the storm. That and, as mentioned before, the dance hall was her sacred church and nothing could taint it. Right now, though, his presence was enough to leave a large stain wherever he walked, “Are you walking or am I giving you a ride,” it was rhetorical. She didn’t think he had a car-most who sold on his level didn’t that she knew of. Putting on a simple black cardigan, she threw the large gym bag over one thin shoulder and carried the stereo under one thin arm, the one with the gym bag having her keys with the Russian flag keychain dangling from her fingertips. Despite being the twig she was, she was obviously stronger than she appeared and she obviously didn’t want any of his help. She liked doing things on her own, being independent. Having other people on her case didn’t help matters at all. Turning off the lights with her elbow, she heading toward her beautiful 2011 candy red chevy Camaro convertible. It practically sparkled and she knew the perfect touch was the little Russian flag dangling on the rear view mirror. She had some serious Russian pride. Popping open the trunk, she put everything in before closing it shut and unlocking the doors. The interior was a creamy leather and screamed expense and excess. It cost more than her house and she saved up, surprisingly, a ridiculous amount to buy her dream car. Though all her motions were graceful, she was rushing, her eyes darting a couple times to the darkening sky and its ominous sign of a heavy storm approaching. She had to have him out of the house before it started so she wouldn’t have to worry about him seeing her vulnerable.
“Hurry up,” she barked out at him but was a bit nervous, her hands slightly trembling as she started up the car, tapping on the steering wheel and the second he was in, she planned on speeding off as fast as her car would let her to the shelter of her little Russian home. Just being outside made her feel like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 16, 2011 14:37:18 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 500 The Outfit: this The Notes: I need a shower Her moving away from his touch only told him what he assumed was so. She didn’t want anything to do with him, but he was curious of the reasons. If it was for leaving her high and dry, then he wanted to know exactly what she was expecting he would do. Stay with her until she left? He could only pamper a princess so much being just the jester of her court. He gave her what she wanted, the entire night and her reasons for being so cold toward him escaped him. He sold her the gram of skag, taught her how to shoot up even despite his intuition telling him not to, he touched her like she wanted, and then he had sex with her – all things she wanted. Any internal debate or monologue she had through the entire thing was not his fault.
She told him to go to her house and as easy of the thought was to go to her house he didn’t see the point unless she wanted him to come around more often. Unless she was intending to keep their business going, but she had a fair decent amount of skag to last her so he didn’t see what the point what is in making him find her house. He didn’t have much time to protest as when he complimented she snapped at him, telling him never to say it again. She was the one who told him so happily, the other night that they were both artists. Maybe they weren’t similar in that aspect as he had thought.
She told she had to get home before the storm and Nolan shrugged. It was just a storm; he spent many days walking back to his pathetic little basement called home drenched from the rain. What was the big deal about a little thunderstorm? He didn’t ask her, but he followed after her, watching her from behind. He kept his pace, not having a desire to go any faster. Now he wanted to know more about her, but he felt himself slowing down, his intuition telling him not to go there again. He just told himself this morning he didn’t want to get attached to her. She wasn’t going to make the same twice or having sex again. She really was just a client to him now. What a bummer that was, he found this princess amusing.
What he had an issue with was getting into her car that he didn’t feel comfortable riding in. He hated cars, because he couldn’t afford one – they were just too expensive and a bicycle worked just as well. He sat down in it, tensing up. He just wanted to get to her house and get out of this damn thing. He didn’t like the feel of it or the radio or her Russian flag. Well, maybe he Russian flag, she had a little ego about her home, didn’t she? But this car he wanted fucking out of soon.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 16, 2011 15:14:48 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
Once he was in the car, she was speeding. Her place wasn’t that far from the university but walking feels horrible after an intense work out with dancing. That and she loved Candy and used her every chance she got. This was her pride and joy because she bought it with her money. Not her mother’s. With ease she pulled into her small circular driveway made of white washed limestone. The house wasn’t big an lavishing like all the others on the block. If anything, hers was the smallest with only two floors. She didn’t have a pool but she had a small back porch and a man-made koi fish pond. The outside looked like a mixture of old colonial with, of course, luxurious Russian architectural hints. The house wasn’t something grand but there was obvious love for it. Getting out of the car, she started taking the stuff out of the trunk. She threw the heavy gym bag over a thin shoulder and then passed him the stereo before closing the trunk, “It goes upstairs, first door on the right exactly under the raised platform with the lavender curtains,” she said it over her thin shoulder as she opened the double white doors with the frosted glass. Once he was in, she closed it behind him and then put in the security code. Her house had no pictures in it. There was one, in the lavender dressing room, of her when she was five with Mama Bear. The only picture of the two of them smiling together and they wore ratty looking clothing and were sitting in front of what looked like a shack with bread in their fingerless glove hands. It was snowing heavily and it looked crowded but overall, despite hating Russia as much as she did, Mama Bear treated her the best when they lived there. She wouldn’t give up certain memories for the world and that little picture, faded and black and white, was just a reminder to keep her grounded.
Opening the hall closet, she put the gym bag and cardigan in there before rolling her shoulders to get the feeling back in them, “I’d offer you a drink but all I have is vodka,” she said it casually. Unless he wanted alcohol, she didn’t have anything else. No food. No condiments, nothing. She had cups and silverware and dishware but no food to use them. Since she moved in there she had yet to use the dishwasher. She could practically still smell the plastic from when it was installed. Whether he wanted some or not, though, she was getting out a glass and pouring some for herself. It was the expensive crap imported from Russia just because it felt better than buying it at the store in town. Downing the glass with ease, she pulled the hair tie out of her hair to let it spill down her back and shoulders. She shook it out a bit with her hair, planning on taking a shower once he gave her what she paid for.
But just as she was about to pour herself some more to take the edge off, a loud clap of thunder caused her to drop the glass and she jumped up a thousand feet in the air before suddenly being under the table in a flash, hands over her ears and her eyes closed tightly as another clap soon followed and she covered her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She didn’t know why thunder scared her to the point of feeling paralyzed. She used to skip school whenever she knew there was a thunderstorm and it bothered her when the meteorologists predicted weather patterns wrong, like now. The thunder wasn’t supposed to come for another hour! Instead, she had officially camped out under her kitchen table like there was a murderer in the house. She had her knees tightly drawn up to her chest and she was terrified out of her mind. Maybe it was because she spent the majority of her life alone, despite Mama Bear never abandoning her. Truth was, she was always out. She was always doing some benefit or contributing to a charity or trying to come up with new ways to keep them afloat after a divorce that she was never home and even back in Russia she was always out working so Svetlana was left to fend for herself-always. Maybe that was why, the first time she heard thunder, she’d been absolutely terrified. No one was ever there to calm her nerves and tell her everything would be okay. Even though she knew no one was going to hurt her-the thunder couldn’t do any damage to her in anyway-it still scared her. Hell, she couldn’t even handle fireworks or gunshots. They scared her to the point where she became a deer in headlights.
She heard his footsteps get drowned out by another clap of thunder and this time a muffled scream came out since her hand was tightly over her mouth. She buried her face so it was hidden and put her hands over her head as if to take cover. God she looked pathetic. It didn’t even enter her mind that he was in her house anymore-she was too focused on wanting the thunder to go away.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 16, 2011 16:18:16 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 441 The Outfit: this The Notes: I need a shower STILL He hated cars and the speed at which they were travelling did not make him like them any better. His right hand gripped the side of the car and the other the ledge of the coffee holder in the center console between them. He just wanted out, for many reason, but it was because he couldn’t handle going this fast in something this expensive with a girl he was beginning to wonder if was completely crazy already without heroin. Before he knew she had slowed down and parked in her driveway and he stumbled out, almost crawling out of that shiny red metal death trap.
He followed behind her as he was told and navigated the house, but he was slowed down and mesmerized by its beauty. His human worth wasn’t as much as her house or her car. She did an excellent job of making her feel like scum even when she didn’t imply it with her voice. He set her stereo down where she told him and left the room, careful not to touch anything as he came back down to her. She was telling him that there was no food in her house, only alcohol and a smile curved up on lips that weren’t surprised to hear it. She intrigued him, entranced him, with or without marijuana to help he admit it.
When the clap of thunder sounded, what startled him wasn’t it or the sudden onslaught of rain, but Svetlana dropping her glass, shattering it on the floor and running to hide under the table. He watched her, a little unsure of what to do, but then he understood. Crouching down he picked up a larger piece of glass and stared at it. She had a fear of thunderstorms. He left her the other night in the middle of a thunderstorm and now there was one. He understood, there was something about them that she couldn’t handle. He set the glass back down, not knowing where her trash can is. He slid underneath her table besides her ands reached out, stroking her hair. “Hey, Princess, it’s okay. I’ll protect you from the storm – it’ll be over soon.”
He pulled her into his lap, his arm wrapping around her tightly. His hand didn’t stop running through her hair and kissed her hair. He hummed to her, “you’re beautiful” it was the only thing he could think of to calm her down. He kept murmuring lyrics and he could hear the storm calming down. He bared himself to be hated, but he didn’t hate her. He wanted more and he wanted to touch and feel again, sober or not.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 16, 2011 16:58:34 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
With every clap of thunder, she tried to make herself as little as possible as if that would somehow make the noise outside stop. As he pulled her onto his lap, she immediately clung to his shirt, burying herself in his chest in hopes of gaining something from it. Every clap of thunder made her jump a bit and tremble but she kept a hand firmly over her own mouth to keep herself from making any noise. As the storm itself seemed to let up a bit, her muscles slowly eased but as she realized she was holding onto him and he was humming to her and stroking her hair, she jerked away from him for a bit, eyes widened at what she'd just caught herself doing. She didn't say anything, though, as she sat there now with her arms behind her to keep her propped up. Then all she could say was, "I need a drink," and she crawled out from under the table, a bit hesitantly at first and trembling a bit, grabbed the bottle, not bothering to get another glass and downed as much as she could. Once she was done, she proceeded to cleaning up the glass mess on the floor and opening a cabinet door under the sink, there was a small trash can and she dumped it in there.
Running her fingers through her hair, her eyes wavered as she looked at him, "Don't tell anyone," she said it very bluntly, again like a harsh bite that she didn't intend. She was embarrassed and it was apparent. She leaned against the counter and crossed her skinny arms across her chest, "So...do you have it or no?" it was rhetorical and she was trying to change the subject. She didn't want to talk about her fear of thunderstorms or her infatuation with luxury vodka and Candy. She just wanted what she paid for. She wouldn't kick him out-it was raining and even though she was a bitch, she wasn't that heartless. So she focused on the drug fix that she hadn't gotten since she last saw him and seeing him made her suddenly crave it even more. Hadn't she acted nicer? Sweeter? More like what he wanted? She figured that much if he had sex with her when she was high instead of when she was sober.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 16, 2011 20:47:43 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 436 The Outfit: this The Notes: Cabinet door under the sink, the left door – he should have none. A lot of people hid their trashcans out of site under there, but it didn’t occur to him. He sat there for a moment looking at his arms that once held her, but now that storm had passed, so did her need for him. He crawled himself out of his spot and realized that she didn’t want him here. He stood there while she finished cleaning up and look at her kitchen. He could never live in a place like this, too grand for his tastes. He liked his basement apartment – he only disliked it when it leaked during bad storms.
He pulled out the skag and tossed it on her counter. That was it; he was done here and done with her. Now his heart was telling him to stay, try to convince her that you were a good guy and she needed him. His mind was telling him to go, go stand on her porch, smoke a joint and then walk home in the pouring rain. What did she need him for? Why was he wasting his time? He wasn’t going to stand here anymore. She was now just a past buyer; he wouldn’t sell to her again.
Could he really stick to that? He was interested in this Russian princess – he liked her. He didn’t want to admit it, but she kept and held his interest. He wanted to get to know her. She was soft and even when curled up underneath the kitchen table, he still found her beautiful. However, she was growing to loathe him, she had to be. He was the one who sold her heroin, taught her how, had sex with her, left her in the middle of the storm, watched her dance, and held her during a storm. He got it clearly, now. She wasn’t interest in him beyond the drugs.
“I’ll go now, goodbye Princess.” He lit up his joint before he left the house, might not as well waste it and he could leave his mark in the house by just a little. Fuck her, he wished he didn’t paint her. He wished she wasn’t in his dreams or what he thought about in the shower. She was just snobby bitch like the rest; he just let himself fuck her because he was horny. Now that he wasn’t he didn’t need the attachment. He just needed art and cannabis, nothing more. He opened the door to the judge the rain; it was a massive downpour, so he waited, just for the slightest let up.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 16, 2011 21:19:42 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
She watched him toss it but she didn't reach for it; her nails digging into the crooks of her arms to keep from grabbing it and disappearing upstairs. As he said goodbye and turned away, she hesitated. It was pouring outside really bad...She didn't want to give him a ride. He looked like he was having a heart attack on the drive here, "Wait," she moved, picking up the bag as she headed toward him, "It's raining like crazy out there. Might as well stay here until it's at least a little safe to be outside," this stemmed more from her odd fear of thunder. She moved around him with ease, closing the door quickly before moving away from him. She waved her hand a bit to get the smoke away from her face. Thought she indulged, or at least used to, in a fat blunt every now and again, she hated the smell with a passion-specifically in her house. Maybe she was just being all obsessive compulsive over it but she pointed toward the fire place, "Get that going to get the smell out of here and I'll be right back. Everything you need is in the drawer under it."
She turned away from him to head upstairs. Going into her dressing room, she stashed it where she put the other but then, having gone to an old friend who owed her a favor or two at the hospital, she managed to get a hefty amount of syringes...just in case. She did the entire process faster than she anticipated. It took her about fifteen minutes to do it just because she didn't feel like going to find a belt. Instead she just grabbed a rubber band and it worked just as well and was less of a hassle. Feeling the liquid fire starting through her veins, she slipped off the rubber band and put everything away so it wouldn't be out in the open. That took another five minutes from the hazy way she saw everything and moved. Then she was slipping off her clothing and tossing it in the laundry shoot that lead to the basement. Walking as naked as the day she was born in that way she did the other night, she went into the bathroom and turned on the water for the large tub. Add some bubbles and bath salts and she slipped in and then right under. The tub was big enough to fit a good five people. Why she needed a tub that big she would never know but one end had jets so it doubled as a Jacuzzi. Leaning her head back on the padded end, her damp hair clinging to her back and shoulders, she let her eyelids go over her dark eyes a bit. The relaxing numbness settled in and she felt her muscles turn into jell o. Reaching a bubbly hand out, she grabbed the remote and flipped on the bathroom i pod doc off in the corner by the sink.
"She tastes like midnight, she tastes like wine," she mouthed the words as Hugo sang them through the speakers loudly and then she let the remote drop to the ground. She didn't realize almost forty minutes had passed since she'd left the dealer in her living room starting up the fire in her fireplace. She hadn't realized she'd been moving that slow and carefully to keep her balance. The music was like a calling to him and if he left, his loss. She'd gotten her hit and she'd been nice enough to tell him to stay. It was still pouring outside but the thunder and lightning had finally stopped. Maybe he'd come up or he'd camp out in her living room until further notice. As she opened her eyes a bit and looked over at the open doorway, she smiled in that trance like way again, "Get naked and get in the tub," she said it with a chuckle, expecting him to comply and if he didn't then he didn't. She was too much in her zone to fight him...yet.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 16, 2011 22:37:17 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 739 The Outfit: this The Notes: A smirk spread across his lips, he was relieved. He hated to admit it to himself and he would never admit it aloud, but he was relieved she was offering him to stay. He could clearly see that the rain was pouring and looked damn painful, but with her telling him and shutting the door to make him stay in was all he needed to confirm it. She acted like a cat even when she wasn’t high as she slid around him trying to avoid being touched. He found it humorous that she was going to the length, but he let it slide. He would let her Russian pride motivate her to be better than him. That was what she wanted, probably, to keep her standard of better than his practically homeless ass. He couldn’t help it, when parents didn’t want you anymore they just didn’t want to be bothered raising you anymore. They gave up when Alex died, because she was the light in their eyes. Everything she did had always been better than anything Nolan could do and he was convinced, no matter how biased it was, that it was because she was a girl and she was terminally ill and that they knew every moment with her was a “blessing.”
He started the fire like he was told, but it was a damn obstacle for him. He had only watched his father do this to their own when he was younger, but not on his own. It didn’t take him long, stacking wood with some paper in there because paper lit quick, didn’t it. Then he found some lighter fluid and probably put more than necessary on the wood. Finally he looked at his faithful lighter and brought flame from her tiny mouth. Her lit a piece of paper and dropped it on to his creation with ease and stood back to watch it burn. He shut the little wire gates to the fire and sat back in a chair. He didn’t belong here, in her home, the luxury of it all go to him like a plume of smoke thick in his lungs. His parents threw him out of this world and he would never be able to get back into it, not even with anyone’s help. He was stuck living in basements or alleyways for the rest of his life, using his passion to scrape by. Ransacking clothing collection bins because there just wasn’t enough money. Because if he wasn’t high or giving money to house what little things he owned, he was foolish and sold it to art on his body. He could have been out of this mess if he would just save sliver of what he made, but he never did. He threw it all away and for what? Just to be miserable and a low life forever. That was what he was.
The music from the upstairs lured him on up. Abandoning his handy work, he had to see what she was doing. He knew it, he could sense it, that she went upstairs somewhere and did skag without him seeing. A king gesture in his own head, to keep him from seeing it again. It would bring back his thoughts of corrupting her, but he could tell, that someone else in her life already corrupted her somehow and that he was just pushing her further down the pipe. Leaning on the threshold of the door, he watched her mouth the words. She was high and so was he; he wasn’t surprised that once again the both of them were not even sober. Sober, they couldn’t get along. He wasn’t good enough and she couldn’t stand the thought of him unless she was high. It would have bothered him, if he wasn’t naked. The invitation to take his clothes off and join ran through his head many times, but he finally gave up and pulled it all off, sinking in across from her. It was relaxing and nice, but he wouldn’t let he touch him. If they touched again, they would keep touching, keep wanting to feel and he couldn’t do this to her twice. His joint wasn’t that powerful of shit and he was more in his right mind. Their eyes met and he could see her, inching her way over, giggling at their toes touching. He couldn’t deny the princess what she wanted – he was her faithful subject.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 16, 2011 23:04:03 GMT -5
[ | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
She watched him get undressed, glad that, despite the low lighting of the bathroom that she'd settled on, she could see him so much better than the other night. Her eyes could fully appreciate what was underneath the clothing. She put as much to memory as she could before he got into the tub. She giggled as their feet touched, considering how she was always stupid ticklish down there and then she was slinking under the water and coming back up so she was on her hands and knees in front of him, only her thin shoulders and a slight bit off her cheeks poking out from the bubble filled water, "You weren't supposed to see me dance, you know," she mentioned quietly in the same tone of voice she'd used before when they'd done the deed that was now strictly labeled 'The Incident', "No one's ever seen me dance other than my old instructor," she sat down fully next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder and tracing circles and triangles into his rib cage, "That's why I got mad. It's the only thing that's really mine."
It sounded strange, all of this coming from her mouth. But she felt like, whenever she had the skag floating around in her system, it brought out the real her; the one that, to quote The Beatles, just wanted to hold someone's hand. It was such a simple song with one of the greatest meanings. I want to hold your hand. It was genius was what it was because it was the significance of holding someone else's hand not just the words. And with that thought in mind, she slipped her fingers down his arm and laced their fingers together. She wanted to hold his hand...
She didn't understand why she was attached to him when she was under the spell. She didn't understand why he flashed through her mind at such odd hours of the day like he meant something. He meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. He left, just as she always left all the others, "and I wish you didn't leave that morning," she was getting soft on him. Well, hadn't she been soft before? She'd told him he was beautiful just as how countless others had told her to get into her pants. She told him they were both artists in their own ways and though there was some truth to that, she wasn't even sure if she'd meant it when she initially said it. He said he painted but he could have just been making it up. Anyone could make anything up nowadays and yet still...all she wanted to do was hold his hand. What a silly little girl. She wasn't a princess and he wasn't her loyal subject. She could already see it happening. The skag would become the queen that governed her existence and she'd be the prisoner to her every whim. He'd just be the one who handed her over. She didn't mind, though. Not right now-not when she finally got their fingers laced together.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 17, 2011 0:18:35 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 457 The Outfit: this The Notes: He knew that she would come over, even if he told himself not to touch her, he knew that by the end of the night he would have already betrayed himself. The skin of her tiny shoulders glistened and tempted him to touch her, the way he had the night they first met. She was soft and just the feel of her skin made him feel so alive unlike any other girl he had met. It was bizarre how she could make him feel this way when no other girl before her had made him feel. There had been other girls; many that he didn’t remember fucking, but they would find him or his best friend would tell him what he did. He stopped doing them six months ago and Svet was his first time since then. Maybe she was so special because she was the first one since he told himself to wait for a girl. He was beginning to doubt himself, this girl, if he was choosing him, would never take him for what he was worth. He would never be more than her drug dealer and he had to keep telling himself that until it clicked completely.
She sat beside him and explained why she was angry with him earlier. He should have understood, because painting was the same with him. He didn’t enjoy being watched while he made the picture because most time the person had questions or they wanted to talk. His hand was doing the talking on the canvas for his mind, voices and questions would confuse them and something would go wrong. He understood her. “I’m sorry, I won’t watch you again. Dancing for you is like painting for me.” He felt her trace circles and triangles and he felt himself looking up, at the ceiling, relaxing, letting it go. He felt her hand run down his arm and lace their fingers together. He squeezed her hand slightly, just for a moment before zoning out. When she said that she wished he didn’t leave, he realized he had hurt her. He was only doing what he though was best, but he didn’t realize it wasn’t. It was what came naturally, to be the one to leave before the other one woke up, but it was important to her. She had to be the one to leave first or kick him out of here.
He let silence fall between them, but the iPod playing music filled the room. She would have to lead him into the dark. He couldn’t be the one to start anything between them. He resisted all sexual urges for her. He wanted to hold her hand, too. He wanted to just be. Holding hands, bubble bath, together.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 17, 2011 0:48:29 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
Feeling the reassuring squeeze of his fingers intertwined with hers, she looked up at him before she straddled him again, their bare forms pressed against one another as she wrapped her thin arms around his neck loosely. Her fingers ran through the hair on the back of his head, dampening it from her fingers being wet, and she brushed her lips gently across his neck. But she just hugged him, a gesture as simple as holding his hand. She wondered, briefly, if she would be doing this had he been another dealer. "Oh yeah, I'll tell you somethin'," she sang is very quietly, barely audible since, well, she wasn't a singer, "I think you'll understand," the I pod was playing other music but she didn't care, her mind no longer on it-too focused on this guy who;s name she didn't even know. She nuzzled her nose a bit with his, "When I say that somethin'," a slight smile pulled at the corner of her lips, "I wanna hold your hand," and she brushed her lips against his but didn't kiss him. Her movements weren't sexy or sultry. She wasn't trying to be at least.
Svetlana ran her fingers down his arms, her head resting officially in the nook between his broad shoulder and neck, comfortable in the position she was in. She traced the tattoos with her fingertips and let her mind wander off in the clouds for a bit. She refused to think of anything horrible. She focused on good things like the first time she tried vanilla bean ice cream with lucky charms and Bailey's. She focused on the way her mother would comb her short hair while they huddled around a dying fire and how relaxing such a move was. She focused on this drug dealer she was somewhat cuddling with and how he'd provided this wonderful feeling, this wonderful service, and how she was beyond satisfied. She realized, then, that she didn't like being sober where everything was so painfully clear and brutal. While high, everything had a faint glow and she felt so perfectly content within herself; for the first time ever she could live with all the deeds she'd done that ruined the lives of others and possibly even her own.
And then with ease, she moved her head so her forehead touched his and then locked her lips onto his. It wasn't rough or eager. It wasn't carnal or angry. It was slow, filled with unsatisfied desires in the form of teasing and flighty passion. Her hands gently ran up and down his abdomen, trying her hardest to remember every little detail of it by touch. She wanted to commit him to memory in case she woke up and he was gone with a puff of smoke. She just met him and already she didn't want him to go anywhere. Normally, being alone was her thing. No commitment, no strings attached, no needing to buy her useless things that died like flowers or things that she wouldn't eat like coconut chocolates. Svetlana was Svetlana in all her glory and all she wanted was to touch and be touched. They didn't need sex-just kissing, just holding hands, just hugging, cuddling, touching was fine with her. It only intensified the trip.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
|
|
Post by hkblood on Nov 17, 2011 11:52:16 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]SHE COULD SEE BY MY FACE THAT I WAS FLYING HIGH The Words: 800 The Outfit: this The Notes: Good morning He didn’t hear the music from the iPod, he heard violins, a symphony of woodwinds in an orchestra. He closed his eyes with her head rest against his shoulder. His mind was empty, no sexual urges and no wants. He was just living in the moment, with silence he created in his own mind and he was living next to her. His chest rising and falling, creating ripples and the ripples created little waves. Little waves that no surfer could ride. He stopped breathing, to just still the water. Svetlana moved to straddled him and he watched her, amusement in his eyes but his face was blank. If he had been focusing on it, he might have had a hard time not letting the natural reaction buzz through him and make it evident he was horny. Oddly, there was no sexual drive passing through his body.
Their skins touching together, the thin coating of water separated them and joined them together. She was so soft against his skin, his chest, and her small arms around his neck. Every moment she made against him seemed so slow and he was keeping up with her, slowly, his eyes focusing on the white ceiling, but his body followed every move. Her hands ran up the back of his neck, dampening his hair, and he smiled at her. The brush of her soft, beautiful, plum lips against his own skin left a trail of goose bumps that shook him in the wake of her touch. A ripple through his body, like he was the water of her tub, the goose bumps spread through his body as if her breath was so hot that his entire body felt chilly as the air brushed against it.
Her voice was quiet, but just as soft as her skin. She sang to him and he could hear her. He lifted his hands; the sound of water sliding off his hands back to the tub accented her song. His fingertips followed up her side, they felt on fire, but he would never move them away from her. He giggled, a masculine sort of giggle, but a giggle nonetheless, when she nuzzled their noses together. No one had ever nuzzled his nose before, showed him that sign of affection. It made his heart ache with the want to hold her, and he did hold her as she rested her head in the nook of his shoulder and neck. His arms wrapped around her body and he held her. He felt connected, their heartbeats synced into the same line, beating together. He could fall in love with her, if he wasn’t careful. He just liked her, he could admit he cared, sober or not.
She only wanted him on the high – he had to accept it for what it was worth.
Their foreheads pressed together, he listened to her breathing. The music from the iPod exploded into his ears, it was soft, acoustic and a quiet rhythm. It was slow, but when their lips finally connected, it was powerful, and he lips matched the slow kiss. All desire to just be with her, no matter how slow or fast, high or not. Nolan just wanted to be by her side, in private, in public. She made him feel so alive and flushed. The sound of their lips parting, he had not realize he had closed his eyes. He didn’t want to open them completely, he didn’t want to stop the slow kisses.
One hand that held her, traveled up her spine, on the back of her neck, and his fingers combed through her hair. He kissed her, differently than her kiss, his own. His lips told her that he was here, that he wanted just as much touching as she did. He would be fine without sex, he didn’t need it. His lips just wanted to kiss hers right now, he didn’t need more.
He kissed the tip of her nose, the sides of her lips, her chin. She was lovely to him, heaven sent by an angel that wanted to torture him and treat him to this woman. He opened eyes to look into her eyes, just staring into eyes that showed her soul to him. He smiled a large, genuine smile as he kissed her lips quickly as a peck. He giggled, shifted his weight, and put his arm back to rest against the sides of the tub. What was the Princess’ next move? Every move she made captivated him and kept him interested in her. She was his person of interest, even if in the morning he would try telling himself over and over she was a client, she wasn’t. He was interested, he liked her, and he wanted to keep in touch with her. No cellphone, though.
|
[/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by steph2 on Nov 17, 2011 12:16:42 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i54.tinypic.com/2vafwqd.jpg), border: solid #ffffff 5px; width: 400px; height: 500px;]
Svetlana couldn't help but let small grins and smiles fall onto her face. Was this why her mother had so many husbands? They showered and peppered her with all this affection, she couldn't imagine why she'd want to divorce them. Men were strange creatures, practically another species. Mama bear always told her never to give a man her heart because the second she did, her life would be over and it would forever revolve around him even after her shatters it. Sometimes she wondered if that was what her father had done to her. He'd been one of Mama Bear's clients when she was a prostitute in Russia. She never told her what his name was or what he looked like but when she was little and her neighbor asked her mother about him, she could see the pain, clear as day in her mother's eyes. She could see the sadness and deep aching that seemed to stumble right into her heart and she simply answered with, "on mertv." He's dead. But could he be? She heard a rumor once that he had been American. Was that why she wanted to come to America so badly? But the words repeated themselves in her mind in her mother's harsh,sultry, and condescending voice, "nikogda ne davatʹ yemu svoe serdtse." Never give him your heart.
But for the night-she'd make an exception and she'd give him her body, like she'd given all the others. She wouldn't put her whole heart into it - only a piece. She didn't want it shattered into a million pieces like her mother's.
Unplugging the tub so the water started to drain, she stood and stepped out, grabbing a fluffy robe and slipping it on. It had been abrupt, mostly because of the tangled mess in her brain jumping from subject to subject but she didn't care. She still moved slowly, still felt the numbness deeply rooted in her veins. She didn't want the feeling to go away. Not now or ever. She liked it and obviously, she was more likable while on heroin. She glanced over her shoulder for a fleeting second before heading down the stairs and to the glow of the fire-the only light on in the house other than the bathroom one. She went into the kitchen and started hunting for some left over sweets Reese had left there the other night. Finding marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers, she grabbed two long twigs and then sat in front of the fire on the floor, opening the gate a bit as she stuck a marshmallow onto the end of the stick and then into the fire. Her legs were Indian style as her other hand grabbed another marshmallow and plopped it into her mouth. She hadn't really eaten anything all day other than a lattee so she figured she might as well eat now. It was still raining but at least there was no thunder...Though now that she was high, she probably wouldn't freak out to him seeing her go ape shit over it again.
|
[/td][/tr][/table] [/center] |
|
