Layout credit @cloudcastles and I really like how this set turned out. I'm in such a mood though I'm probably going to kill off a character and there's no guarantee it won't be Co. Speaking of killing, when is @sophiaspastic announcing pll parts? you're killing my mojo.
Just a pre-warning: today’s story is rather graphic and deals with such topics as death, blood, and cutting. If any of these trigger you, please stay far far away, your health is much more important than reading my stories. Also even if these don’t trigger you be on your toes, it is rather… yes. I’m just in the killing spree sort of mood. I’m sorry babes.
--- ☽♕☾ ---
Saturday, June 30th; Slip on your sexiest bikinis and head on down to the beach today because Hunter is hosting a beach party. Spend the day splashing around in the ocean, eating good food, and drinking ice cold beers. When night falls, there will be a bonfire and s'mores for everyone who is still around.
--- ☽♕☾ ---
scent – saltwater
mood – dead inside, bloodshot eyes and all
hair – who even cares
nails – chanel vamp
lips – eos lipbalm
music – song//kidstreet
food – pretty girls don’t eat
where – beach party
with – surrounded by people but completely alone
--- ☽♕☾ ---
It’s quiet locked away inside my car. The darkness permeates every crack in the windows like ink, swallowing me into the blackness. I sink lower in my chair. Just over the horizon of my dashboard I can see the bonfire they’ve started. A speck of light in the distance. I’m cold. Like Ivy’s body in my dreams. I want desperately to pull my key from the ignition and release myself, run into the throng, find Tally. Alisa. Dylan. But I don’t trust myself enough. My scabs are barely formed. My skin still stings from being pulled taut.
I close my eyes, and I see earlier again. It’s my new ghost, not Ivy. Not anyone but me. It’s a peculiar thing, being haunted by yourself. A self that shows you everything you want to forget. The glint of steel. The marble in the bathroom. I succumb, dragged under by my subconscious and my guilt. I’m breathing hard, my pulse quickening. I clutch for my rosary as I fall deeper, into the madness.
“Cordelia?” It’s a voice I know. Tabitha North is standing just behind my door. I frown, what could she possibly want with me? She’s the one dating Con Novak. A golden girl. One just like myself. Or rather, one just like I used to be. I mutter a vague curse under my breath and set my face in a cautious smile, descending the front staircase to open the door. “Tabitha, what a lovely surprise.” She smiles back at me. We stand there for a moment, neither of us sure what to do. We don’t talk. Before this summer I never really spoke to anyone. I break the silence to invite her to cross the threshold.
“Oh, no, really, it’s okay.” She stands awkwardly, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “I just wanted to make sure you were going to the beach party later.” My eyebrows fly up. She continues. “Everyone missed you at cotillion, and, well, we had to repay you for your Cape Cod party that went awry!” She’s adorably enthusiastic, it’s charming. I purse my lips in mock concentration. “Yes, I’m going.” Her face lights up. “Great! See you!” She waves and turns to leave. I watch from my place behind the door. There’s someone in the car with her. Con. I smirk, if only I had the heart to be a ruthless sl-t.
My new plans require some time to fulfill, and in my head I’ve started a tally of shops to visit and waxes to do. I glance at my hand, clutching the door handle. My manicure, Chanel Vamp, is chipping, and it’s more than past shabby chic. I slam the door closed, retreating to the kitchen for one of the fruit popsicles Tally made. It’s cold, so much so that my tongue feels like it’s on fire. I eat it quickly and was my hands free of any juice before going back upstairs to my bathroom.
I’ve peeled off the pajamas I’ve been wearing all day in no time, setting them in the laundry hamper, grabbing a fluffy white towel to cover myself. I stare at the old claw-foot bathtub to my right. It’s still beautiful. I stare at it for a few minutes and give in to the whim and drew a bath, warm, clear water filling the empty space. I shed the towel and slipped in cautiously, sighing in pleasure as I slide under the water. My hair fans out around me, and I close my eyes. I surely looked like a drowned siren to anyone who could see me. No one could. I relax my muscles and succumb to the hidden exhaustion, letting myself sink.
I’m reaching for a razor when it tumbles down, slicing through the skin of my palm as if it’s paper. I yelp, submerging my hand under the water, the blood pouring from my wound. An odd thought emerges in my head, and I slowly bring my palm up through the water to my lips, my tongue flickering out to taste my life force. It’s metallic and bitter, and I drop my hand immediately. The sting from my cut had eased, replaced by a warm feeling in the hollow of my chest. I think I understand why people cut themselves now.
I pick up the razor again, and it hovers over my wrist, aching for a cut. It’s not a hard decision to make. I slash once, then again, again. Four little lines tilting into each other, drops of blood pooling inside the hollows. My skin tingles. I do it again to the other side. They match. Symmetrical, red stained beauty. My chest suddenly tightens, and an unfamiliar feeling takes a hold of me. It’s shame.
I stare at my wrists, which are mercifully beginning to clot. Like Ivy’s blood did, inside her neck, blocking her vessels. I gag violently, and the razor slips away from me again. I’m alone, drowning, in the bathtub, water stained red with blood. I killed her. The thought slips into my head. It’s been my fear the entire time. I say it out loud. “I killed her.” It’s unfamiliar in my mouth. It can’t be true. I’m delusional. I sink and force myself to breathe.
When I emerge from the tub again, the cuts, all of them, are little and fiery, scabbed over, mottled purple and red and pink. My hair is annoyingly soaked. I carry on as if no madness overtook me in the tub, drying my hair and slowly easing into the pre-party high. Without my Need’s help, I have become the Monster.
I lean forward in my seat, gagging again. I’m possessed. On the beach there are shouts, and for a moment all I can think of is if Ivy screamed or not when she was being killed. I can’t be alone anymore, and I shove my door open, stumbling into the sand. Someone passes I don’t know. They’re judging me, they think I’m drunk. I am. Crazy-drunk. Insanity-drunk. Madness-drunk. A part from a song rushes toward me. ‘Intoxicated by madness, I’m in love with my sadness.’ I am, I am, I am.
I regain balance and propel myself into the crowd. For a silent moment I wonder if the weights in my pocket are enough. A rock. Several rocks. I’ve sewn the pockets shut. Someone in the crowd holding a beer calls out my name. I ignore it. I’m possessed. I make my way towards the waves, wading in. No one notices. I’m just another silly alcoholic going for a midnight swim. The fire burns on the shore, scorching my eyes.
Before I can stop the thing inside me, I’m running from the water and diving. Into the flames. My skin bubbles and stretches. I scream. Burning flesh is a horrid scent, pungent and fearsome. And then I’m outside my body. People are panicking. My bones are snapping through. And then I’m gone. Dead. Just. Like. Ivy. The girl I helped murder.
I wake up in my bed in a cold sweat.
--- ☽♕☾ ---
(type ‘is it mad to pray for better hallucinations?’ if you read it all)