Winifred clenched her fists and bit her lip to keep anything inappropriate from leaving her lips. She was act as a lady should. She would beat him at his own game. "If you will not come along quietly…" she muttered as she unconsciously fisted the skirts of her dress. "I will drag you along, screaming all the way… " A quote from Killing Me Softly, by Lauren Dean. Winifred thought. She was happy she had brought a few of her books along.
She'd leave him be. For now. She would say nothing as she plotted against him. She turned and headed back to her room. This mouse was smart, but she'd been playing kitty for such a long time, it became second nature.
Winnie sighed, All this for some confessions and conversation..
She thought it funny that in order to find common ground with an animal, you had to join the zoo yourself.
(Damn)
When Marcus finally arrived in his room, slamming the door behind him, he let the indifferent expression melt completely off his face, replaced with an enraged look of hot fury. His eyes burned as he stalked to the far side of his room, where his bed was, and rummaged in a drawer for something before coming up with a dangerously elegant pearl-handled dagger. He went to his bathroom and violently flung the door closed, hands bunched up into fists. He needed to relax, to breathe, to escape.
And the only way to do that was with a knife.
(Sorry my writing isn’t up to scratch, I got back from a big party and trick or treating and I’m exhausted)
((Its still good though! Hope you had a good time!))
Winifred had just got to her room when she heard the doors slam with great force. She didn't know whether she wanted to frown or to smirk? Unlocked her door, she decided on neither. She crossed the room towards her chest and opened it. Rummaging about, she looked for her books. She should've taken them out when she unpacked the night before, yet, she had.
I was rather distracted last night… she scoffed as she found the books. A stack tied together, she ran her hand down their blood red cover. That was her favorite color I believe… she thought with a smile. Lauren had brought Winnie some peace in her years, oddly enough.
Winnie, stressed beyond measure, curled up on her bed, a sought out that peace one more, reading One Bullet For Me, a romance novel.
(Thanks! Good morning, how’re you?)
(HUGE TRIGGER WARNJNG)
Blood. Dripping to the floor. Welling up from beneath his skin. Trickling down the underside of his arm, wiped away with a cloth before he reached his white sleeve, rolled up to the elbow.
Marcus sighed in relief, closing his eyes and letting the pain wash over him. He raised the knife again, pressing it against his forearm and dragging it across slowly until the skin split and red blossomed up. He almost, almost raised the arm to his mouth to suck the blood from it, but whatever was left of his sanity pulled him back.
((I'm doing good. How are you?))
Winnie sat silently on her bed, the bottom of her lip tuck in as she read.
I'd never believed that pleasure so immense could exist. The blade ran along my skin again and again, but his murmurings of sweet nothings, his deep whispers of dark desire, it made it worth the time, worth the pain. I couldn't stop him, nor did I want to. Death had me in his warm embrace as he made love to my body. My screams and moans were my own, no one else could hear them but him, no one else could save me.
Yet, did I want to be saved? Did I want to escape him grasp, to be left in the world of sanity? No, sanity was weak, and I needed strength. He was the only one that could tame the beast inside of me. The one that called for pain. The one that called for blood. The one that called for Death…
Winnie closed the book once the more sensual events started to take place. The artistic power of this story both awed and vexed her. It compelled and disgusted her. She loathed a relationship of such, but found that in the back of her mind, some of it, she desired. A man that wasn't afraid to love her even if hurt, that was appealing.
(Whoah)
(Did you write that??? It’s impressive Whoah)
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He just kept slashing at his arm until it was completely drenched red, in blood.
It still wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger. He slipped off his doublet and undershirt and began slicing up his chesr, an insane light in his eyes.
He forgot to lock the door.
((Thank you so much))
He's been awfully quiet… Winnie thought as she placed the book down. She slipped off the bed and stalked towards the door that connected their rooms. She unlocked it and opened the door. Empty…. Winnie continued, creeping forward. She was sure he was in the bathroom…. alone….quiet…
Panic arose in her as her mind filled with all the possibilities. Did he fall and hit his head? Was he bleeding out now? Why was I reading that stupid book when I have a job to do? She wrenched the door open and gasped.
Blood….
Everywhere…
The door flew open, causing Marcus to fall backwards. The back of his head hit something soft, cushy, his knife caught in the corner of a half-finished cut in his stomach and jerked upwards, tearing a deep gash all the way from his belly button to halfway up his chest. He strangled a scream of pain, head whipping up, eyes falling on… Winnifred. Staring at him. Horrified.
Marcus jerked up, scrambling to his feet and backing up so that he was as far from her as possible in the confines of the bathroom. He almost slipped on blood, his own blood, which now coated the floors.
Winnie did everything in her power to stay upright. She fought the dizziness that fought to overtake her. "Marcus…" her croaked, fighting the tears that wanted to escape. She took a step towards him, stepping in the pool of his blood. Isn't this what you want? isn't it? A mocking voice whispered in her mind. She shook her head. This was not about what she wanted, it's about what she got. What she got was a half-dying patient on her hands with cuts all over his body.
His beautiful tanned body…
Now covered in blood and horrendous gashes. Her breath was shaky as she reached a hand out for him. "Marcus, this is not the time to fight me. If I don't patch you up right now… You. Will. Die."
(h o w a r e y o u s u c h a g o o d w r i t e r)
Terror. Pulsing inside of him, dominating every inch of his body and mind, flooding through his veins and spilling out onto the floor with his blood. Blood. So much blood. Too much blood. Too much. It was everywhere. The smell of it seeped into him, dizzying, intoxicating, too rich, too much, too good. He wanted more. So much more.
But now there was Winnifred. Standing there with her hand reaching out to him, fear glazing over her eyes. She’d seen him. She’d seen him like this. It was only the second day since they’d met, and she knew his secrets. No. “No.”, he croaked out. “Maybe I don’t care.” The words tumbled from his lips, he couldn’t stop them, only breathe in the metallic, sweet smell of blood, taste it on his tongue. Too good. Too much. “You hate me. So leave me be. Get out. Please.” Marcus’s voice broke on the last word. Get out get out get out get out.
"No, n-no, no.." she stuttered. "No I don't hate you. How could I possibly hate you!" she noticed her outstretched hand began to shake. A lump began to grow in her throat, making so very hard to take a breath. "You do care… you care a lot. And right now, you're afraid- Look at me Marcus!" She demanded, taking his chin into her hands. She almost chewed out the last time she did this, but she wasn't afraid. She was spent.
They both were.
"Marcus… I don't care if you don't like me. But I refuse to let you die.." she gripped his bloodied hand in hers, trying not to flinch against the feeling of warm blood between their palms "Let me help you." she begged, pleading with her eyes.
((Oh glob, that was tough to write…))
(It was really really good holy mother of god)
Marcus flinched backwards, her hands were touching his face, too warm, too soft. Her eyes were too scared, too worried. The blood was too sweet.
“No.” His voice was rough, hoarse. Too much, too sweet, too scared. “I don’t care. I want this.” I crave it every second of the day. Do you know what it’s like, to lust for your own blood? “Just leave me alone. I’m not trying to kill myself.” Not yet. I have to kill Luc. I have to be strong. He did not remove his face from her hands. “You hate me. Leave me alone.” None of his usual menace pushed the words forth, only a sort of ragged desperation.
"Marcus…. Lord Marcus, you are being irrational!" She protested. "You're going to bleed out if you don't let me patched these up… please." she said once more. Why was he doing this? "I'll do anything if you… please, just let me take care of you." she rambled. She feel her calm slipping away quick.
Finally, Marcus caved in. “Fine. Just this once.” He was being weak. He needed to be strong, but he couldn’t. He would hate himself for this later, but right now, he needed to let himself be weak. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone, especially not my uncle, and you have to promise to leave me alone about it after. No questions. No therapist sessions. No therapy in general. Just stitch me up and let it go.”
Winnie blew a breath of relief and let go of his hand. She rushed to get her things and set them up in his room. She removed her needled and thread, and a small candle. She cleaned the needled and returned for Marcus. She took his hand and led him to the bed where she had him sit.
Woking in silence was best. She knew if she opened her mouth, she would cry, sobbing uncontrollably. That would be truly embarrassing. Yet, it was al she wanted to do as she stepped gingerly through the red pool to fill a bowl and grab a towel. She washed his skin in silent, her strokes gentle.
Marcus also stayed completely silent and perfectly still, strangely afraid to move as her hands traveled in careful circles across his bare chest, washing the blood from his wounds. Her skin felt warm and cold at the same time, his skin felt hot. Burning. Too hot, too much, too sweet. He wanted to push her away from him, he could barely stand to feel her touch him so gently, like she was afraid he would crumble under her touch. And he might have, if he wasn’t holding himself together for the endgame, for the kill. When it was over, when he had succeeded, he was going to be alright. He had to believe that, or he would never make it.
(Sure!As long as your okay with the content, it is a little mature)
Winnie finished and turned from him. She put the cloth down and took a deep breath. Her hands shook furiously and she tried to calm. She couldn't go at somebody with a needle like this. Get yourself together, Doctor! she yelled at herself. And surprisingly, her body listened. She straightened and went for her needle and thread. She heated the needle before beginning her work, threading slowly, the needle weaving in and out of his flesh. She glanced up from time to time to check for pain, strands of hair falling from her bun and into her face.
Marcus didn’t look her on the eyes once. He couldn’t stand them. Couldn’t stand how nice she was being. Just yell at me goddammit! Be mad! Call me a brat! Worst of all, he could feel the needle weaving in and out of his flesh, hot, burning, hurting like hell. It was stitching him together, pulling his pieces back into place, healing him. And he hated it.
Finishing her stitches after hours of silence, Winnie cut the last thread and put the needle down. Before she could stop herself, she blew on the red and irritated skin on his chest and arms. "I'm sorry…" she said once she stopped, knowing he would complain or rage just by the simple action. Packing her things, Winnie couldn't ignore the feeling of numbness that surrounded her.
Wordlessly, she took a bottle out and pour a red syrup into a cup. "Take some of this for the pain, and go to sleep….please…" With that, she took up her things, and left, exiting through the connecting door she didn't bother locking. She collasped on her bed.
I need a nap… she thought as her eyes grew heavy. Several moments later, that's exactly what she got.
((Want him to go through her things? Read some of her strange books?))
(Ou good idea)
Marcus stared wordlessly at the bottle full on medication she’d given him, gripping it in his hand. His skin ached and tingled, all hot and cold at the same time, a hard knot in his chest.
He left the meds on the sink.
Once back on his bed, he didn’t bother putting on a shirt, only sat there numbly and listened to the silence. In her room, Winnifred didn’t stir, so he assumed she was asleep. Before he knew what he was doing, he had crossed the room and was carefully opening her unlocked door.
Marcus slipped inside, eyes landing on his… nurse’s sleeping form. She touched me. She saw my scars. She sewed me together. I should have never let that happen. He looked down at himself, at the stitches running across his chest, in complete and utter disgust, but before he could leave the room again, his gaze snatched on a pile of books at the foot of her bed. You are a weaklimg, Marcus Crenshaw. A pitiful brat.
He opened the first book.
(Could you type up an excerpt for him to read?)
((My pleasure! Give me a few minutes I want this to be gooooooooood))
The page he opened to was dog-eared. Winnie shifted on the bed where she slept.
He held his hand out for me, his eyes narrowed and cold. There was no warmth in them, yet, I was hypnotized.
"Come." he commanded, and with that one word, I obeyed. Like a puppet on string, I stood by him side, the rough calluses of his hand scraping the soft skin of mine. His other hand snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, pressing me against his body. I could feel the power that roared just beneath those clothes. My knees grew weak.
I could see their faces without looking towards them, their judgmental stares burning holes in my back. They whispered words of shock and hate at me, but I didn't care. His frost-cold fingers trailed love-lines down my back, the feeling seeping into my skin. I gave into him.
I don't remember seeing them fall, hearing their screams and cries, tearing their skin with my bare hands. But I do remember the blood, the warm liquid coating my hands as he watched me with approval. I remember him watching me. "Good girl…" he purred as I returned to his side. Taking my face into his hands, he kissed me.
Blood…
I could taste. It was exotic and wild as it trailed down my throat. I moaned as I drank my fill. All this pleasure from his kiss. This sick, sweet pleasure.
Oh Death, I love you more than words can say. Make me your slave… I'll do your evil bidding. Love me, is all I ask in return. Ravage my body with your cold gaze and rough hands…
(Oh my god. That was beyond words— oh my god that’s amazing. I’m shivering holy shit that’s so good)
Marcus had no breath left in his lungs by the time he finished reading. Blood.. Stars that was good… Caught between disgust and entrancement, he flipped the page quickly, creating a minuscule tear in it in his haste. Pausing, he flipped back to the page he’d just finished and re-read it, eyes pouring over the words. He had never seen any book like this before, how had it even been published? The content— any priest would name it a sin and burn every copy immediately. But here it was, in his hands. And the writing style, so different from that of his own awful red-bound volumes… he was hooked, disgusted, but hooked. It reminded him painfully of his own insanity, but the pain was welcome. It was almost as if there was someone else out there with the same brand of mentally ill as him.
Marcus hadn’t noticed his heart beating faster by the time be read it a fourth time. He didn’t notice the blood until it sloshed against his knee.
(A note: the blood is a hallucination, he’s sitting cross legged on the floor, and he’s still shirtless)
