devour me, devour you
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It started simple enough, basic coincidences that you could attribute to everyday, ordinary things. Things like your keys conveniently being placed on your bedside table when you had been looking for them, or the jeans you swore you kicked off and threw on the floor in a rush somehow being in your laundry basket. You just assumed you must have put things in their place, and forgotten about it. It was nothing to necessarily worry about.
When you started waking up with minuscule bruises and scratches on your calves and upper arms, you brushed it off. You were just a rough sleeper, tossing and turning at night. When you'd awoken to your socks - that you swore you had been wearing when you fell asleep - placed neatly atop your laundry basket, you convinced yourself that you just took them off before you fell asleep. That was the only explanation, right?
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- Part 1 of devour me, devour you
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Your gaze flickered back to the needle and vial, your face paling. So he was finally asking you for something. You weren't sure which emotion to feel - disgust, anger, fear - it all raced through you at once, your stomach turning with unease. The hairs on the back of your neck and on your arms were standing straight up, goosebumps covering every inch of your skin. You were almost positive he was watching you in that moment. You wondered what he meant when he said he'd given practically all of himself to you. After all, you were the one being worn thin from the endless torment he put you through. It all felt like a cruel joke; you'd laugh if you weren't so afraid.
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- Part 2 of devour me, devour you
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He loved you more than anything, in his twisted, fucked up head. He wouldn't hurt you maliciously. He loved you. You'd read how much he did every morning in every note, phrased in a hundred different ways.
This didn't feel like love.
You felt caged.
Series
- Part 3 of devour me, devour you