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Alice: Madness Returns (The Art Of) x 132
Amy Lee x 32
Dead Fantasy x 19
Extra Requests (Some of the girls of Tatsunoko vs. Capcom (& Batsu), Street Fighter X Tekken, and Soul Calibur V) x 81


Teasers:


Here @ my journal

The Open Door Part 1


-Sweet Sacrifice-

                You run through the halls, panicked. You’re seeing shadows of him, the man that destroyed you. Took you for everything you have. You sink to the floor, drowning in self-misery and tears. You feel too weak to survive what you let him do. You rest your head against the cold white wall and drift into your make-shift death. As the day blackens, you begin to remember.

 

-Call me when you’re Sober-

                You find yourself sitting on an old worn out green couch, the TV is on full volume, pushing out your thoughts. There’s an unopened bottle of alcohol next to you, you debate taking the energy to pour yourself a glass.

                The phone rings, you let it go. It rings again, you pick it up, “Baby, it’s me,” you’re silent, “Baby, I need you,” he says, tears dripping from his words, “I can’t live without you, you mean the world to me.” The phrase is ended with a hiccup, he’s drunk.

                An hour later the buzzer sounds; you finish up your second cup and open the door.

                He forces his way into the apartment. “You bitch! I call to apologize and you hang up?” He stumbles a bit and reaches for the alcohol. He takes a long swig. “You ungrateful whore, how dare you live off me and my money.” He steps forward and slaps you, hard. You stager backwards only to be hit again.

                His lecture continues for awhile until he’s sobbing again, “How could you do this to me? How could you treat me like shit after I give you everything you ask for?” Always playing victim…

                When you don’t answer he becomes angry again. He hits you a few more time, calls you a few more names and pushes you down.

                You feel on top of you, you cry silently when you feel tissue rip as he forces himself into you. You keep your mouth closed, not screaming, you know this will go faster if you don’t say a word, it always does.

 

-Weight of the World-

                You wake up on the floor; you have a sharp, aching pain below the waist. You stand up and walk numbly to the shower. You wash the blood off of your inner thighs and stand in the scalding hot water, relaxing your muscles. You wash your hair slowly, not wanting to face the real world.

                After a long shower, you step out and dry off. You go to the bedroom and pull on your favorite jeans and a black tank top.

                When you finish applying a heavy layer of eyeliner and concealer to hide the black eye forming, you go to the kitchen and get the bleach. Your carpets is so stained already that cleaning up another bloodstain from his drunken rape won’t be noticed.

                You spend the rest f the day in a fog, with a weight on your chest.

                You leave for work, his shoes and coat are gone, and he’s out for the rest of the night. You walk to the bar slowing, wishing the walk would last forever.

                You scream. Not for any reason other than just to scream. You stop, wait, and listen. Nothing. No one’s there to hear you, to save you from your nothingness.

 

-Lithium-

                You get home around 3 AM. The house is dark. You check the bedroom, he’s not there, and you have the rest of the night to yourself, thank God.

                You open a beer and lean on the counter, you deserve this after a long night of drunken pervert staring at your tits and grabbing your ass.

                You open a pill bottle, “Warning: Do not drink alcohol while on this medication.” You swallow 3 with another long swig of beer.

                It doesn’t work anymore. The doctors all say it works, but you know it doesn’t, nothing can lift from these ashes.

                You walk to the bedroom, take off your tight jeans and slutty tank top and fall into bed with your expensive push-up and skanky, supper low-rise string bikini panties.

                Oh how you wish he was here so you don’t have to go to bed alone. You wish he would just say those three words. He never gets drunk enough for that.

 

-Cloud Nine-

                You wake up to the sound of the kitchen. You sigh and get up for another day you wished hadn’t come.

                “Shit,” Pots and pans fall and you hear him groan. You know he’s hung-over. He sees you, “Damn, don’t you think it’s a little early for that, baby?” He says, eyeing you up. “Make me some breakfast and we’ll see what we can do to that body of yours” He laughs coldly and sits down, watching you.

                You set a plate in front of him. “You aren’t eating?” You shake your head. “You better, your tits are starting to look a bit dull.” He holds a forkful at your mouth, you don’t eat. He shoves it into your mouth, you chew and swallow. He laughs, “Ungrateful bitch.” He eats the rest of his food.

                When he finishes he takes your arm and leads you into the bedroom. He rips off your panties and bra and grabs your tits; you wince in pain but don’t say a word.

                He warms you up first, not like the other night, and slowly pushes himself in. The wounds he gave you the other night makes it hurt, but again you say nothing. You lie there and wait for him to be done.

                When he’s finally done, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You gag at the days old whiskey on his breath.

                You begin to drift off to a deep sleep, hoping this time you don’t wake up.

 

-Sweet Sacrifice-

                You run through the halls, panicked. You’re seeing shadows of him, the man that destroyed you. Took you for everything you have. You sink to the floor, drowning in self-misery and tears. You feel too weak to survive what you let him do. You rest your head against the cold white wall and drift into your make-shift death. As the day blackens, you begin to remember.

 

-Call me when you’re Sober-

                You find yourself sitting on an old worn out green couch, the TV is on full volume, pushing out your thoughts. There’s an unopened bottle of alcohol next to you, you debate taking the energy to pour yourself a glass.

                The phone rings, you let it go. It rings again, you pick it up, “Baby, it’s me,” you’re silent, “Baby, I need you,” he says, tears dripping from his words, “I can’t live without you, you mean the world to me.” The phrase is ended with a hiccup, he’s drunk.

                An hour later the buzzer sounds; you finish up your second cup and open the door.

                He forces his way into the apartment. “You bitch! I call to apologize and you hang up?” He stumbles a bit and reaches for the alcohol. He takes a long swig. “You ungrateful whore, how dare you live off me and my money.” He steps forward and slaps you, hard. You stager backwards only to be hit again.

                His lecture continues for awhile until he’s sobbing again, “How could you do this to me? How could you treat me like shit after I give you everything you ask for?” Always playing victim…

                When you don’t answer he becomes angry again. He hits you a few more time, calls you a few more names and pushes you down.

                You feel on top of you, you cry silently when you feel tissue rip as he forces himself into you. You keep your mouth closed, not screaming, you know this will go faster if you don’t say a word, it always does.

 

-Weight of the World-

                You wake up on the floor; you have a sharp, aching pain below the waist. You stand up and walk numbly to the shower. You wash the blood off of your inner thighs and stand in the scalding hot water, relaxing your muscles. You wash your hair slowly, not wanting to face the real world.

                After a long shower, you step out and dry off. You go to the bedroom and pull on your favorite jeans and a black tank top.

                When you finish applying a heavy layer of eyeliner and concealer to hide the black eye forming, you go to the kitchen and get the bleach. Your carpets is so stained already that cleaning up another bloodstain from his drunken rape won’t be noticed.

                You spend the rest f the day in a fog, with a weight on your chest.

                You leave for work, his shoes and coat are gone, and he’s out for the rest of the night. You walk to the bar slowing, wishing the walk would last forever.

                You scream. Not for any reason other than just to scream. You stop, wait, and listen. Nothing. No one’s there to hear you, to save you from your nothingness.

 

-Lithium-

                You get home around 3 AM. The house is dark. You check the bedroom, he’s not there, and you have the rest of the night to yourself, thank God.

                You open a beer and lean on the counter, you deserve this after a long night of drunken pervert staring at your tits and grabbing your ass.

                You open a pill bottle, “Warning: Do not drink alcohol while on this medication.” You swallow 3 with another long swig of beer.

                It doesn’t work anymore. The doctors all say it works, but you know it doesn’t, nothing can lift from these ashes.

                You walk to the bedroom, take off your tight jeans and slutty tank top and fall into bed with your expensive push-up and skanky, supper low-rise string bikini panties.

                Oh how you wish he was here so you don’t have to go to bed alone. You wish he would just say those three words. He never gets drunk enough for that.

 

-Cloud Nine-

                You wake up to the sound of the kitchen. You sigh and get up for another day you wished hadn’t come.

                “Shit,” Pots and pans fall and you hear him groan. You know he’s hung-over. He sees you, “Damn, don’t you think it’s a little early for that, baby?” He says, eyeing you up. “Make me some breakfast and we’ll see what we can do to that body of yours” He laughs coldly and sits down, watching you.

                You set a plate in front of him. “You aren’t eating?” You shake your head. “You better, your tits are starting to look a bit dull.” He holds a forkful at your mouth, you don’t eat. He shoves it into your mouth, you chew and swallow. He laughs, “Ungrateful bitch.” He eats the rest of his food.

                When he finishes he takes your arm and leads you into the bedroom. He rips off your panties and bra and grabs your tits; you wince in pain but don’t say a word.

                He warms you up first, not like the other night, and slowly pushes himself in. The wounds he gave you the other night makes it hurt, but again you say nothing. You lie there and wait for him to be done.

                When he’s finally done, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You gag at the days old whiskey on his breath.

                You begin to drift off to a deep sleep, hoping this time you don’t wake up.

 

 


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