Cruel For Loving You

JournalWord: Hunger for a fool.

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There is a pause, and he holds his breath when he hears a rustle and the scraping of her will to stand up. His ears prick up at the slow footsteps of her trek up the slope towards him. She stumbles over loose pebbles and drags her left leg through the dirt, slowly, cautiously, behind her. He can smell her acrid fear from the top of the hill. He feels momentarily sick to his stomach at the spike of dark pleasure and interest; a misplaced sense of rightness at such a morbid situation.

She's getting closer and he barks at her to leave, but inside, in his twisted mind, he taunts her to come closer. The crunching of her soles on the gravel stir up a warmth in his gut when she continues up the hill without hesitation or regard to his growls. He can hear every sharp gasping inhale and deep pant as she struggles to huff in a lungful of air through the biting pain of broken ribs.

She trips on an exposed root and in his feverish mind's eye, he watches her reach out with her uninjured arm to stop her fall. A soft gasp peals from her split lips and his chest flutters at the sound of a prey caught. The gash on her thigh pools blood when she lands and his calves twitch at the silent ripple when she steps in her own puddle when she wavers to get on her scraped knees.

He wants to eat her. Oh, God. Why does she have to be so delectable and sweet? His tongue sweeps the inside of his cheek, searching for any trace of her between his teeth. His stomach reels at his hunger and disgust. All his senses are tipped towards her, even though he struggles to face away from her direction. He's killing himself inside to not launch down the upturned turf and take her between his teeth. She's standing there, having reached the peak, practically in ribbons, looking so delicious.

He can smell her fear from where he stands, and he hates how it's making him delirious. 'She's not food!' he wants to yell, but only a pleased growl hums from between his incisors. He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Everything is so bright. So pure and blinding, yet red and hazy. He just wants to run away and hide from this disturbing hunger.

He forces the image of her standing between the pews into his mind to stave off the lust, remembering the smile that lit up her face under her bride's blush. The beast inside of him laughs at his attempt to smother it, forcing a replay of her surprised expression when he sank his canines into her arm and rattled her until her shoulder popped and her arm snapped. He shudders and beats the image away helplessly.

She motions a twisted foot to take a step closer to him. Her foot dangles at a crooked angle and his mind inquires whether that was a result of batting her against the tree trunk. She leans her weight gently on the toes of her injured foot, ready to take another step, but a howl freezes her on the spot. 

The blood he could have ignored, even a small drop spreads a lot. Wounds don't have to be deep to paint someone vibrant, but he remembers the feel and taste of her flesh in his mouth and the sound of her bones cracking between his teeth, like he might wake to remember someone's voice talking next to him as he sleeps.

He had done this to her. And he wants to do even worse.

There is blood and scratches all over his mate, but she stares with a set determination without regard to her state. She cradles her left arm to her chest as she struggles to stay on her bleeding feet. 

"Are you alright?" she asks in a strangled voice and he chuckles humorlessly at her misplaced concern.

He isn't. God. He really isn't.

::

I am in metaphorical love with this song right now: Fool by Shawn Hook.

"I'm a fool for loving a heart that's cruel, I'm a fool for loving you..."

My, I'm not really one for love (in actuality, I don't believe in it...Although I attempt to write it. Possibly as a method to understand it??) but after listening to this song on repeat countless times, and analyzing what the victim must be thinking.

But then I thought, who really is the fool? (You decide.)

Well, anyways, I hope this got as confusing as it seems >.<

And let me know what you think about Shawn Hook! He's got an amazing set of pipes. 

I'm hoping to write the start writing the second installment of Bless during this long weekend (and before I become swamped in midterms and final exam prep!). So maybe if I'm lucky it'll be up in the next couple of days :)

We shall see, but until then, 
Be awesome.
Mera.