(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

Seven pm. Past time to have something to eat, really. She'd been distracted.

No, that's a lie. She just hadn't wanted to go back downstairs. But if she desn't eat, she'll get ill, and they're already suspicious at work, and if they send her home, she has to spend more time here. No, no. She has to remain in control. Then she has a chance, if-

I-

Don't-

That's if anything goes wrong. That's it.

So she slips down the stairs, a chilly glance flickering towards the dark head visible on the couch before she heads into the kitchen. Something easy.

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[shelley_winters]

"You gave me scars."

Mental, physical. Some are invisible.

She puts her fork down again, swallowing against nausea. Why should she punish herself just to amuse him? This is her world, hers, and he deserves nothing good, and certainly not to live. But she can't not keep him.

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

His father once told him to be careful with women for they were so very fragile, a bubble no more, and also that they are children and understand so little and yet their words slice deeply.

"In anger, and you have reciprocated admirably in your own."

[shelley_winters]

She laughs quietly, painfully.

"Don't be stupid. You hardly wake up screaming, or-or worse, stay asleep remembering me breaking your bones or burning you or- or..."

She feels sick, and places a careful hand on the table to steady herself.

"I can't even begin to pay back what you've done, so don't you talk to me about cruelty."

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

His eyes seem to light up as he intimated in a low voice. None could plumb the depths of both pain and pleasure that he has.

"Have you ever heard the voice of God, Lady Shelley? A voice that crushes you inside your own skull and though the flesh on your knees is burning from the hot rock that you are kneeling on, the feeling is so intense that you can feel neither your knees, nor the blood you are sweating. Until you have stood there, you cannot discuss pain with me."

[shelley_winters]

Shelley shoves the table hard, bruising her hands and hardly feeling it.

"You did that to yourself!" she shouts. "You chose to serve something like that, and then you thought you had the right to hurt everyone else, and laugh, and I hope you burn in hell, you bastard!"

Her chair is knocked to the ground as she stumbles from the room, shuddering with sobs of rage, scrambling up the stairs as her stomach starts to heave.

No, no. What is she doing? What has she brought here? Please, God, help.

It burns.