Can't Forget You
Posted: 16 May 2012, 01:57
OOC Note: Please don't read this post if you are faint at heart, as it contains writing of somewhat graphic nature pertaining to abuse.
I didn't scream.
I forced myself not to scream.
I probably should have screamed.
I definitely should have screamed.
He pushed her, and that was when her spine collided with the dresser first. It gave a jolt, which was enough to cause things sitting on top of it to spill onto the floor. Before she could lose her footing, he grabbed onto her again. This time, he threw her onto the bed. The mattress supported her fall with a gentle bounce, and for a split second she was grateful for that. She didn't have time to think about getting up, or running away from him. Moments later, it was his dirty and untrimmed nails that dug their way into her bony wrists like a bite. It was sudden and forceful, just enough so that she bled; but only a little bit. The strength of his grip would leave small, crescent shaped welts and bruises for at least a week to follow. He held her rail thin frame down with his chest, his legs, his forearms - with any part of his body that he could use. And then he shook her. The man shook her like a baby's rattle, enraged and trying to force a noise to scratch its way out of her throat. Only one sound managed to escape her swollen, bleeding mouth... and it was a grunt.
A grunt.
He was not pleased.
As if to give further prove of this, his knuckles came down across her face one more time. She turned her head and spat a mouthful of blood onto their bed. The thought that ran through her mind was, 'I'm going to have to wash these sheets again.'
There was a lapse of time she couldn't seem to remember, even when she tried. The next moment of that memory which existed in her brain wasn't a pensive thought, but a touch. It was the touch of a cold, steel blade against the pretty line of her throat, and the way it found its way so easily into her flesh. There was so much blood that even as a human, she could smell it.
And that was always where the dream would end. Dahlia's hazel eyes rolled open to stare at the ceiling above her. This wasn't her apartment in Detroit, and it wasn't Parker that left the marks on her wrists this time. Her fingers trembled as she loosened them from around her opposite limb, where the shapes of her own fingernails were pressed into her caramel skin. With a sigh that sounded like a mixture of relief and sadness, the vampire lifted those digits to the front of her t-shirt to wipe them clean.
"Let it go, Parker," she murmured, as if the man in her dream had manifested in her room. Well, that wasn't a total long shot. He had before. After twelve months passed, she could still feel his lips on her ear and hear his cold, sadistic voice in her brain as if it were happening all over again. Each and every time it sent chills down her spine and sometimes, only sometimes, it brought tears to her eyes. That didn't keep her from being just as defiant as she always had been with him, however. He still wasn't going to get that scream.
And he was not pleased.
I forced myself not to scream.
I probably should have screamed.
I definitely should have screamed.
He pushed her, and that was when her spine collided with the dresser first. It gave a jolt, which was enough to cause things sitting on top of it to spill onto the floor. Before she could lose her footing, he grabbed onto her again. This time, he threw her onto the bed. The mattress supported her fall with a gentle bounce, and for a split second she was grateful for that. She didn't have time to think about getting up, or running away from him. Moments later, it was his dirty and untrimmed nails that dug their way into her bony wrists like a bite. It was sudden and forceful, just enough so that she bled; but only a little bit. The strength of his grip would leave small, crescent shaped welts and bruises for at least a week to follow. He held her rail thin frame down with his chest, his legs, his forearms - with any part of his body that he could use. And then he shook her. The man shook her like a baby's rattle, enraged and trying to force a noise to scratch its way out of her throat. Only one sound managed to escape her swollen, bleeding mouth... and it was a grunt.
A grunt.
He was not pleased.
As if to give further prove of this, his knuckles came down across her face one more time. She turned her head and spat a mouthful of blood onto their bed. The thought that ran through her mind was, 'I'm going to have to wash these sheets again.'
There was a lapse of time she couldn't seem to remember, even when she tried. The next moment of that memory which existed in her brain wasn't a pensive thought, but a touch. It was the touch of a cold, steel blade against the pretty line of her throat, and the way it found its way so easily into her flesh. There was so much blood that even as a human, she could smell it.
And that was always where the dream would end. Dahlia's hazel eyes rolled open to stare at the ceiling above her. This wasn't her apartment in Detroit, and it wasn't Parker that left the marks on her wrists this time. Her fingers trembled as she loosened them from around her opposite limb, where the shapes of her own fingernails were pressed into her caramel skin. With a sigh that sounded like a mixture of relief and sadness, the vampire lifted those digits to the front of her t-shirt to wipe them clean.
"Let it go, Parker," she murmured, as if the man in her dream had manifested in her room. Well, that wasn't a total long shot. He had before. After twelve months passed, she could still feel his lips on her ear and hear his cold, sadistic voice in her brain as if it were happening all over again. Each and every time it sent chills down her spine and sometimes, only sometimes, it brought tears to her eyes. That didn't keep her from being just as defiant as she always had been with him, however. He still wasn't going to get that scream.
And he was not pleased.