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Snow
I’msittinginmyown thoughts on the floor of my cell when an emotional Julissa walks in. She’s hysterical, there’s tears running down her face and she opens the door of my cell with aggression. I jump to my feet, having this overwhelming need to make her feel better. I’m not sure what’s happening to me or why I give a shit if she’s hurt when I know she doesn’t give a shit about me. But I guess a part of me accepts that she’s right. I do deserve what she’s doing to me. The girls I’ve fucked over didn’t deserve what happened to them either.
I know what she wants and I won’t make her wait. As she starts to move toward me, I start taking off my clothes. Before they’re even off, she grabs my face and kisses me hard before pulling away and staring at me with eyes that look like she’d kill me right then and there. She hurries out of her clothes and I move to remove everything, unsure whether I should lay my ass on the bed or sit on it. I choose to sit because I don’t want her to think I’m getting too comfortable. We exchange no words as she climbs over me and it’s the saddest fuck I’ve ever seen someone CHOOSE to do with me. Just tears. Full on bawling as she’s bouncing on top of me.
The bawling soon ceases as she throws her head back, torment pulls her lips down when she sighs and presses herself closer against me, bringing her head forward to tuck it on my shoulder as she tries to work as much of me into her as she can, grinding me as if she’s trying to feel something, get the most out of any pleasure she can manage to get. Every moment a rush of pleasure hits her, she moans against my ear and it’s taking all my willpower not to take her and do her the way I want to do her but I need to remember my place.
“Take the pain away, Mikhail,” she says. “Take the pain away.”
Who the fuck is Mikhail? I feel the walls of her vagina squeeze against my dick but the only sign of her orgasming is the fact that she slams her forehead against mine, letting a shuddered breath escape her mouth. She climbs off me as if disappointed in herself before walking over to her pants and taking out a meth pipe and a bag of crystals. I know it’s a meth pipe because I’ve had a few myself, got a few girls hooked on the shit. I know it’s dangerous. And I find myself leaping forward to grab it from her hands.
She elbows me in the face and I’m sure my nose is broken. “What the fuck are you doing?” she says as she spins around to look at me in rage.
“That shit’s poison,” I tell her, nodding toward the pipe.
“And? What the fuck is it to you?” she asks as she’s standing there naked. I notice that she’s lost a lot of weight since the first time I met her. It’s the first time I’m getting the chance to really get a good look at her as she seems to be in no rush to leave.
And she’s right, what the fuck is it to me? I think I might be having a case of Stockholm syndrome. I should fight it but I don’t want to. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“What’s bothering you?” I ask her.
She hisses her teeth as she turns her back to me, lighting it up.
“You’d feel a lot better if you talk about it,” I tell her.
She pulls on the pipe, letting the smoke enter her veins, freezing for a second in ecstasy before laughing at me. “And you think I’d feel better talking to you? Fuck off.”
“Is it Mikhail?” I ask her.
I’ve hit a nerve, I can tell. I can almost see the hairs become erect on her body as she pauses to make sure she heard me right. She marches over to me and I’m positive she’s going to kill me now as rage consumes her. She grabs me by the neck. “How the fuck do you know about Mikhail?” she asks.
“You called his name earlier,” I squeeze out past the tightening of her hand.
“When?” she asks.
“Just now,” I say.
“While fucking you? Impossible. Nothing about you reminds me of him. How do you know him?” She tightens her grip.
“You said, ‘take the pain away, Mikhail’ just a moment ago, don’t you remember?” I can’t breathe and my face feels swollen.
She thinks about it before releasing me. This whole strangulation thing is becoming a habit. How the fuck does she pack so much strength in those small ass hands? When I can speak again, I ask, “Who’s he? Was he your pimp?”
She looks disgusted by my question. “He’s someone you could never compare to.” Her eyes take on a distant look.
“So he’s your lover? What does he think about you fucking me? Does he know?” I ask her.
She turns to look at me after taking another pull on her pipe while she sits bare ass on my bed.
“You know, if you keep talking, I’ll fucking have to cut your lips off,” she says. I’m silent and she’s silent for a while before she speaks again. “He’s not the kind of guy that gets jealous about that kind of shit. He’s one out of the three men I’ve ever truly loved and he’s no longer here with me,” she says, looking at me as if she hates that she’s opening up to me.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
She grimaces. “Fuck, I hope not. Don’t ask me that. I hope they’re all alive and doing better things with their lives than I’m doing, sitting here drugged up next to a fucking worthless nasty ass pimp who I just fucked and keep fucking.” She holds her head and cries. “Oh no.”
“I wish Mikhail’s alive and well, having the kind of life he wanted for us.” She wipes her eyes. “I wish Calder’s getting the help he needs and I hope he’s prospering.” She sniffles. “I wish Axel is somewhere helping other survivors like him. I wish that they’re all doing better without me.”
Saying that seems to break her heart. I can imagine the sounds of it shattering like shards of glass crashing to the floor. “And you better not try some slick shit to get to them because I promise you, it won’t do you any good if you try to figure out a way to harm my men. You don’t know suffering yet, but you sure would then,” she warns me.
