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Sure, I want to own her, but not through fear, through something far more primal.

If love is bringing her pain, demanding her tears, then I don’t fucking love her.

TWENTY

Elara

Ithink I'd thrive in it.

But I've never found it.

My mind is in a constant state of war, it’s always about what I did and what I should’ve done.

I’m always imagining different scenarios that could’ve taken place. I wonder what my life would be like if I had a normal family, a normal childhood.

What would it be like to live without the constant need of purging these emotions. What would I be doing if I wasn’t so fucking depressed all the time?

And now, beneath all of that noise, the main highlight of my thoughts is a certain tall brooding Russian with a heartwarming smile.

My thoughts drift to the memory of his touch—his hands, his lips—and linger on the unspoken promise of what more he could do.

Though the very notion of sex once repelled me, I find myself unable to resist revisiting last night.

It only happened once, but I might’ve played it in my head countless times.

Can you blame me?

A brooding man on his knees for me, worshipping me?

Sign me the fuck up.

I thought I always knew what sex was, however, Sergei is reshaping it entirely.

The urge to recoil from imagined hands on my skin, has faded, so long as those hands belong to him.

I might like to think I’m healing, that he gives me some sense of normalcy, but I’m not delusional.

I know happiness comes with an expiry date; pain is the only constant.

So, God forbid a girl is trying to cling to whatever fragile illusion of happiness she’s been granted.

And it’s true, Sergei makes me happy.

I’ve only worried about the wounds and never thought of cutting myself again ever since I rode him like a horse. It could be because I don’t want him to see the scars the next time something happens between us.

Yes, I’m manifesting.

Picked up the word from a podcast. Thank you very much, but they don’t help, tried and tested by yours truly.

The last time I was listening to a meditation podcast, I fell asleep, missed my stop, and woke up to place unknown to mankind.

It took me three hours to find my way back home. So, fuck that shit.

I only listen to them to keep my brain occupied. Their bullshit is so much better than whatever I can come up with on a good day.

Speaking of a good day, my phone chimes with a text from an unknown number—Sergei.

UNKNOWN: I'll pick you tonight, try not to block me before then.