Page 21 of Fragmented Illusions

One silent, yet domineering. The other just plain fucking creepy…

But together, now I’m safe in my bed, they make me feel things I hate.

My core pulses the longer I think of them. The way their movements were cohesive without any seemingly conscious effort from them.

Biting my lip, I push away the immediate guilt and trail my fingers over my torso, working a path to my center. When my fingers brush over the small patch of hair on my pubic bone, I shiver.

With shaking hands, I run my middle finger through my folds, finding myself hot and wet. Small, heavy breaths puff out through my lips, and I bite my tongue as I push my finger into myself.

Wet heat envelopes my finger and I shudder as the bolts of pleasure travel up my spine. Pressing my thumb to my clit and rubbing it in small, slow circles, I slowly thrust my finger in and out myself simultaneously.

White masks and the blackest clothes flash through my mind as I imagine his deep voice whispering they are going to play with me in my ear. The creepy one’s hands touching me all over, pinching my nipples so hard all of the blood leaves them as a hand wraps around my throat, stealing my breath and my life.

It doesn’t take long for pleasure to make my toes curl as it consumes me. A flash of euphoria pulses in my core before traveling through my body, forcing my limbs to tense and shake as it works its way through me.

I circle my clit slowly as I work myself down. My thighs stick together as I roll to my side, completely exhausted. But of course, now that the peak of my orgasm has passed, the guilt and the fear come creeping back in, eating at me.

I can’t believe I came to the thought of two murderers. And that’s what they are. They fucking murdered someone. I saw it. I saw the body and the creepy one holding a knife.

Are you sure they are real?

Your mother and father didn’t seem to think so…

This only further proves how fucking sick in the head I am, no matter how hard I try to prove myself wrong. The medication may take the voices—and much more—away, but they don’t change who I truly am as a person.

I’m just sick.

I’ll never be perfect.

Maybe they’ll come and kill me before I fucking do it myself.

Remember when you tried that last time, Fallon?

It didn’t work out too well for you, did it?

You can’t get rid of me no matter how hard you try.

We’re in it, together.

Always together.

I squeeze my eyes shut and curl into a ball as I pull my blanket above my head, blocking out the light from my nightlight in the corner of the room.

I lie in the same position for hours upon hours, begging for sleep to pull me under for at least a few hours of reprieve from my torturous inner thoughts, but luck has never been on my side.

Part III

“I know—for Death, who comes for me”

—Edgar Allen Poe,Tamerlane

Chapter Seven

Fallon

You look nowhere near perfect today, Fallon. Why did you even leave the house looking like this?

I instinctually run my fingers through my hair before pushing it behind my ears. I’m a mess today, even after caking my face in makeup to try and hide the blatant evidence of my exhaustion. But it was no use. The stark contrast between the darkness under my eyes and my pale skin was too much for even the foundation and concealer to cover.