Author’s Notes:

Meg & Dia’s music always inspires me to write. I love the expressive language of their songs and the song that inspired me to write this story is as beautiful as it is disturbing. The song is called Monster and it’s one of my favourites by this band. Do give feedback, be it positive or negative constructive criticism :)

Love Me, Angel

Her warmness filters through my being. She’s getting worn out from all her kicking and screaming. I have her gagged and yet she still tries to scream her way out. Her thin frame is fraught with panic and perspiration dots her forehead from the exertion. I have her bound to my bed frame and it looks altogether exciting and delicious. The black of her hair, the red of her lips, the pale of her skin; it makes everything I have done worth my time. She can show me what love is.

That is really all I ever really asked for; love. Nobody has ever loved me before, not the way she has. I vividly remember the first time she spoke to me. I had fallen in the hallway at our preparatory school, just outside the Chemistry lab on the fifth floor. Yes, my memory is impeccable, but only because I recall she slipped her hand through mine and pulled me up, back on my feet. She cared enough to do that. It was all I ever needed.

She asked me to go dancing with her last Tuesday at Don’s bar. It was such an odd request, for I could have sworn she fancied me. Nobody ever fancies me, but I was so sure she did – I don’t know why I ever thought so. She had taken a particular interest to ask me to go out with her, and that was good enough for me.

Our third, fourth, fifth and succeeding meetings consisted of lots of drunk love down by the bay of our city, in her father’s boat; as well as times in the park and at school after hours. They were parties, so there were a lot of other people joining us. It felt foreign the first time, but the subsequent moments with her began to feel more natural and genuine. I fell in deep love with Julie very quickly and it was a feeling I’d never experienced before.

But after those instances, it was like everything fell apart. I rarely saw her and she was hanging out with other boys; promiscuous, brash and senseless. It was painful both figuratively and literally; and I assure you, I slammed my hands into my closet door countless times because of it. I thought she loved me, I thought she accepted me.

There was nobody to kiss the wounds to make them go away, nobody to hold me when I cried at night. My mother despises me – she wouldn’t even know I died if it hit her right in the face. My father doesn’t want anything to do with me – I never see him. I don’t have anybody else around me, only her. Which is why we are where we are now.

Why oh why, did you do what you did, dear?

I know she is sexually active. There were rumours going around that all convent girls were this way, but I refused to believe it until I caught her with a boy by the river. It was not so much that I did not want to believe it happened – it leant more towards my jealousy towards the boy. I wanted him to pay for what he had done. Moreover, I didn’t want her to escape me again.

Julie, dearest, you make me feel the deepest passions, desires and the utmost heat. You’re amazing.

She tries to kick me again, but the force that impacts my chest is not of bigger magnitude than a very weak punch. You’re tired, honey, stop forcing yourself. Stop denying me.

Her wrists are blue and her ankles turn violet to match as I hold them down with my hands, putting weight on them, and she screams out in pain. I’m not doing anything to you. What’s wrong?

Tears stream down her face and the sight is pitiful. Eye makeup of varying shades pour down smooth, insipid plains and I reach out to wipe them away. More and more tears flow as my fingers caress her cheeks, her pleading whines muffled by the cloth between her teeth.

I deftly remove the fabric immediately muffle her beseeches once more with my lips against hers, forcefully shutting her up as I thrust my tongue into the depths of her mouth. She is forced to kiss back, albeit stiffly. She tastes of alcohol and cigarettes, but delectable all the same. I feel tears again. Will you stop crying? I won’t hurt you.

She finally stops trying to fight, but I can feel her heart pounding against her chest as I lean against her, my eyes searching hers for the pleasure I was feeling. Our faces are only an inch apart. Those hazel-green orbs gaze wide into my dark ones as I smirk at her, causing her to quake in trepidation. Will this teach you to love someone wholeheartedly? Will it teach you not to play with my heart ever again?

The gratification of me within her flows completely throughout my being, reaching the depths of my soul. But she still looks at me as though asking – imploring – for me to stop. Why should I stop?

The true fragility of my glass heart is not at all made apparent tonight as I kiss her again with force and she lets out a short cry. My hands wander along the curves of her body as I look at her again. I want to see her reaction, but instead, all I see is her scared optics bearing into mine yet again. Her eyes are like the doors to what is inside her very being. I can see everything in her – her hopes, her desires, her fears. It turns out that I am her biggest fear and her principal odium.

Voices of hate run through my head as I remember my mother. I remember what she has said to me in the past, about how I was a mistake, how I never should have come to be, how I’m forever a burden in her life…

Is it so wrong for me to want your love…anybody’s love?

I’m blinded now. How could I have misunderstood?

I pull her from the bed and she lets out a loud yelp, no doubt alerting dormitory mates, but I do not care anymore. I drag her to my bathroom, where a filled bathtub awaits us. I have prepared myself for anything tonight – I anticipated and I was right.

I pushed her beneath the water, my hand over her mouth. She thrashes, kicks and pushes at me, but I hold my grip tightly. Her dampened shrieks of agony echo off the walls and I hear footsteps outside and loud knocking on my door. I can see her eyes once again reflecting the biggest question, “Why?”

Hot tears stream down my face as I feel her flays becoming significantly weaker and weaker…

Your screams ricochet off the walls of my mind. They run through my veins. You’re gone.

I step away from the bathtub and sit myself in a far corner of the small, cold room, my wet hands and blank expression witness for what I have done.