by Cerys du Lys
Shit. That didn't work out how I planned, now did it?
I did end up killing that guy, though. I made money while I was at it. I sent most of it to my parents to give to Angeline, but besides that I never wrote or went back there. I couldn't. It took longer than I would have fucking liked to off that bastard, and then I needed to move on to someone else. And more... again... over and fucking over...
I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry.
*** Angeline
Months after Noah left me, I realize I am pregnant. I do not understand how that works. I understand it in technical terms, but I do not understand why it happened to me. What did I do? Is this good or bad?
Is it Noah's child? Or is it...?
I do not want to think about the alternatives. I see them all sitting in the church still, dead, blood flowing freely across the floor. His blood was delicious. I like it. I do not tell anyone this, because I know it is a strange way to feel, but that is what I think. I cannot stop sometimes. It is an obsession. I do not want to be a bad person. I am sorry.
The priest told me this many times. It is my own fault. I must deal with the consequences of my own actions. They are mine. I need to deal with them. It is not his fault for doling out my punishment, it is my fault for needing to be punished. Mine. It is yours, Angeline. It is...
Noah's parents know I am pregnant, yet they do not say anything about it. I think it makes sense to them. I think they think this is why Noah left to find a job.
I know that is not why he left, though. I know it but I do not tell them.
Sometimes I leave the house now. I walk around. No one hurts me. I am strong now. I am invincible. Noah has saved me. Sometimes I am sad, but it is because of Noah, too. Noah makes me happy but he also makes me sad. Why do you do that, Noah? That is not a nice thing to do.
Is Noah back yet? No, he is not.
I go to the lake and I swim naked. I remember Noah. He is not with me, but I swim and I remember him. I go to our cave and I lay there and pretend that my head is on his chest and we are together. We will take a nap now, Noah. When we wake up, we will have fish and dandelion salad with roasted roots.
That does not happen. Noah is not there when I wake up. I go back to his home and eat dinner with his parents.
"Is Noah back yet?" I ask them. "Has he written a letter? Have you heard from him?"
No. No they have not. They are sorry. I believe them. They apologize to me and they say they are sorry but they are sure he will come back soon.
"For the baby," his mother says. "I'm sure that's what he's doing. He'll be back in time for the baby."
Is this a good baby, though? Or is it a bad baby? I do not know. Can babies be good or bad? I do not think it is mine. It is inside of me, but I do not understand why and I do not think it is mine.
I do not think I can have this baby. I am sorry. I do not know what to say to it. I try. I talk to it at night and I apologize. I tell it that it is not its fault. Is it a girl or a boy? I do not know. I will never know.
One day when I leave, I go to the ruins of the church. It sits there to this day, burnt and charred, empty and forgotten. I went to the ruins and I stepped inside. I went to the priest's room, where he once ripped off my nails. The trunk is there still. It is not burned. I open it and look inside. The contraption he used to rip off my nails is still there, along with the needle nose pliers.
In the bottom of the trunk, trapped in a glass jar, are my fingernails. They are all there. I pick up the jar and stare at them, confused. Are these mine?
All of my fingernails have grown back now, or they are growing back. All of them except one. My smallest fingernail is missing. I do not think it is coming back. I hope that it will, but I do not know. My smallest fingernail reminds me of Noah. That makes me sad.
I go to the priest's office. There are things here, too. Much of it is charred beyond recognition, but there is a desk. Why has no one come to clean this building?
I know why, but it is a strange reason. This town is so small that this one building and the accident that happened is unimportant. They do not think that it was anything but an accident, because who would do such a thing? Why would someone burn down the church?
No one would, they say. There is no reason to investigate further.
I investigate, though. I investigate even though I already know what happened here.
In the priest's desk in his office are papers. I read through them. There is a Bible there, too. It is old and worn. It is not like any other Bible I have ever seen. I think perhaps it is one of a kind. I do not think that is a good thing. The priest did bad things with this one. Perhaps it should not exist.
I find more papers. I find a strange one that I read in its entirety. It is a contract stating that I am to be sold. The date of my sale is long past. It is near the time when Noah left. I do not know what that means. It makes me sad, though. It is hard to feel, hard to feel happy or sad or anything else, but when I think of Noah I am able. I can feel sad when he is in my mind. Other times I am nothing. I feel nothing. I do not exist.
I am already dead. I should have died.
I take the bottle with my fingernails in it with me as I go to the stairs. I step down them, heading to the basement. The basement is mostly stone, but there are hints of fire down here, too. It spreads along the walls, leaving charred markings of black and burning, like a mythical dragon's nest. I march into the dragon's lair and go to the room that used to be mine.
Is it still mine? I do not know. I head to my fetters, the ones that I did not need to use at the end, and sit down on the floor.
Laying next to the shackles is a note. I do not recall there being a note here before. Why would there be a note?
It is from Noah. It is short and sweet and to the point. It says this:
Angeline,
I'm sorry. I need to leave. I'm leaving this here because I can't give it to you. I can't tell you what I'm going to do, but I need to tell someone.
I'm going with the guy who was going to buy you from the priest and sell you to someone else. I know that sounds strange. You don't have to believe it. It's probably easier if you don't. This is hard. Life's hard and your life's already been so hard, so I don't want you to worry anymore, alright?
I'll try to come back, but they keep hurting people. I need to stop it. They hurt you and they're going to hurt other people, too. I'll stop them, I promise. I saved you, right? I can save everyone else, too.
I'll come back after I do. I don't think it'll take that long. Maybe a couple of months. I'll do it faster now. I won't wait. I'm sorry for waiting so long to help you. I'm sorry you were hurt like that. I won't let it happen to anyone else ever again.
I'll send you some money when I can, alright? You just stay here with my parents. Don't try to come after me. I'm going to leave an address down below just in case, but seriously don't come after me. It's just so that I can tell someone where I am. This entire letter is just to talk to someone. It's for you, but it's not for you, too. You're never going to read this, anyways.
Just know that I love you, alright? I know that I don't have the right to say that, especially like this, but I do. I love you, Angeline
I love you,
Noah
At the bottom of the note, Noah has scribbled an address. I do not recognize it.
This is why you left me, Noah? I understand. You are a good person. I love you, too. I kiss the note, I kiss his name and his signature.
I love you.
I will leave now. I know that you said not to go, Noah, but I am going to leave now. I do not know where I am going, but maybe I will find you. Maybe not. I cannot stay here anymore. I am pregnant, Noah. Did you know that? No, of course you did not. I do not know for sure, but I do not think you would have left if you knew. Even if it is not yours, I do not think you would have left.
When I return to Noah's home that night, I speak with his parents.
"I am going to leave," I say.
"
Where are you going?" his mother asks me, startled.
"I need to go," I say. "I need to find Noah. I need to..." I do not know why I say this, but I tell them both. "I love him," I say.
"Of course," his mother says, smiling. "Of course, dear. I understand. Of course. You can go right after you have the baby, alright? Maybe we can go with you?"
"No," I say. "I am sorry. I must leave soon. Tomorrow or the day after. I need to go."
Noah's mother seems upset. Noah's father frowns, but shrugs.
"Let her go, darling. It's her choice. If she wants to go, let her go."
"I know, but..."
We eat quietly after that. No one talks. I am not good at talking, anyway. I like talking with Noah, but I do not know how to talk with others. It is difficult for me.
After dinner, I go up to Noah's room and begin to pack. I have items now. I own possessions. It is strange, but I like it. I have clothes and bags and a few little trinkets. I pack as much as I can. I do not know how I am going to leave, because I do not own a car, but I will walk if I must.
I have the bottle with my fingernails, as well. I do not know why I have this. It is a strange thing to have. I do not want to leave it behind, though. I pack it. I take Noah's letter, also. He says that it is for me but not for me, but I take it still. I cannot leave it. I pack it.
Noah's mother knocks on the door. "Hun?" she says.
"Yes," I say. "You may come in."
It is Noah's room, not mine. This is Noah's mother, not mine.
She comes in. She comes in and she sits on the bed with me, smiling sadly.
"Here," she says. She hands me something. It's an envelope. "This, too," she says. "It's the keys to our car. There's money in the envelope."
I open the envelope and there is money inside. There is too much money. I do not know how they can afford to give me this. I look at her, blinking, confused.
"Just think of it as a gift from God," she says, smiling.
I do not know if I will ever be able to think of it as that. I wish it was a gift from Noah, instead. I do not tell her this, though.
"Thank you," I say. "I will be careful."
"I know," she says. "He was really worried about you, you know? I don't know if he ever told you. He left kind of suddenly, but he was really worried. He made us promise to take good care of you."
"You have," I say.
"I hope so," she says. "I know it's been hard for you. After what happened with your parents, and then the church, I know it's been hard."
I understand what she is saying, but she does not know what happened at the church. I do not think it is a good thing to tell her. I do not think it is a good thing to tell her that I cannot remember my parents, either. I know them, and I know I loved them, but they do not seem real anymore. I do not know if they ever existed. I hope they did. I want to love them still. I do not care if they are dead; I want to love them.
"I'll pack you some food, alright? I'll make you enough to last for awhile. Don't worry about the car. We'll be fine. We were going to buy a new one soon. Nothing fancy, just something to run us around."
I nod. I do not know why I do it, but I hug her. She hugs me back. I think her hugs holds more love and affection than mine. I want to be loving and affectionate but I do not know how. I only know that when you hug someone, it is good. It is a good thing to do for a good person. Noah's mother is good. I like her.
"Don't stay up too late," she says. "Make sure you get a good night's rest."
I nod. "Yes. I will."
The next day, I leave to find Noah. Many things happen. I am sorry, Noah, but I am not pregnant anymore. I am sorry, but I cannot do that. The baby is gone. I am sorry.
I am sorry.
I find out where Noah is after a few years. I end up in a strange situation before then, too. Noah said he wishes to help and protect and save. Can I help and protect and save, too? I will, Noah. I will do what you are doing. I will help, too. I do not wish to hurt anyone... I am sorry if I hurt anyone. I will try to be better. I will try to be good. I will try...
I find Noah after a few years, but I do not do anything with the information. It takes me ten years before I finally decide what to do. I think it is too late by then. Noah will not remember me. Maybe he is not Noah anymore. Maybe he is someone else. This is not good. You said you would return, Noah. Are you back yet? No, you are not. You never came back.
Do you hate me? You made a promise. You promised. I love you. I... no, I cannot love you. I am sorry. I should not love you. I do, though. I love you.
I should not have done what I did, but I did it, regardless. I am not responsible for the consequences of someone else's actions. I am responsible for my own.
I am not a good person, Noah. I am sorry. I am sorry but I am not a good person. Please, forgive me? I love you...
Epilogue (Day Twenty-One)
To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
*** Noah
Look, I'm not trying to say that Angeline's pussy is perfect, except fuck you, it is. Her cunt fits my cock like a fucking glove and I love it. Seriously, this gorgeous fucking beautiful bitch is perfect.
I love her. Fuck you.
It's not just that. Yeah, part of it is that. Sex with her is fucking amazing is what I'm trying to say here. It's amazing for a lot of reasons, and her perfect fucking pussy is just one reason. It's a really fucking good reason, but it's just one reason.
I like how she's not weak. It's not even just a small preference, but it's everything. She's under me right now, because we managed to get those five hundred condoms I told her to get before, and I'm jackhammering the fucking shit out of her. I've got my hands around her throat, squeezing hard. She can't breathe; I know she can't breathe. Her hands are dragging at my forearms, nails digging and raking against my skin, begging me to stop.
She doesn't want me to stop. I've got her at arm's length and you seriously don't even fucking know how many orgasms this bitch has had. It's like a constant fucking stream of them. Her pussy is perfect for my cock, but my cock is perfect for her pussy, too. I'm considering giving up the black market slave trade and becoming an orgasm donor. For a small donation, I'll give them to you, too.
No, that wouldn't work. Sorry, love, but Angeline would kill you.
I fucking love the look on her face. I've never seen this before. It's intoxicating. It's a cross between pain and ecstasy where you can't really figure out which is which. The French call that le petit mort or whatever the fuck. An orgasm is "the little death" to them because of the look on a person's face right before they climax. It looks painful, except it's not painful at all, it's fucking ecstasy.
Angeline's in pain right now, but she's feeling a whole fucking lot of pleasure, too. I'm choking her, and she can't breathe. It's a fucking struggle to survive. It's a struggle to survive except I'm watching her spasm and cum around my cock like her body's made for sex.
It is. But only for me. You fucking touch her and I'll kill you.
It's not just that, though. I like how she's not weak, because...
She's done. She needs air. She stops pretending to rip and rake at my arms and takes real action now. She slams the heel of her palm into my side just beneath my ribs and forcefully sends me reeling to the side. I gasp for air and fall over, but she doesn't give me any leeway. She's on me now, riding me, slamming her tight fucking body onto my cock. Her arms wrap around my back and she squeezes me in a tight embrace.
It's too tight. This shit hurts. I want her to fuck the pain away, though. Fucking... I love this. Fuck, she's so perfect.
"I want to taste you," she says, whispering into my ear, sensual and sultry. "Please, Noah? Can I taste you?"
Fuck, this is going to hurt.
"Yeah, go ahead, love."
I tilt my head to the side. It only takes her a second to decide what she's going to do. She dives onto my neck, mouth latching on hard, sucking. She sucks, sucks harder, all while bouncing
up and down on my cock with no remorse. After she's good and ready, because this is Angeline and she does whatever the fuck she wants whenever the fuck she wants to do it, she pulls a small piece of the skin on the side of my neck between her teeth.
Then, slow, she begins to bite down. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. My cock is so fucking hard right now, though. Shit, more. Ride me, you insane fucking psychotic bitch. She does. She doesn't stop. I don't even think I could get her to stop if I wanted her to.
Finally, she breaks through the skin with her teeth. Seriously, that shit fucking hurts. I'm bleeding. She's fucking devouring me, though. No more biting, just licking and sucking. And moaning. Angeline loves to moan, apparently. It's like when you've had a great meal and you're really fucking satisfied at the end, so you just let out this huge fucking sigh that's borderline erotic?
Yeah, this is that. The blood thing is kind of fucked up, but I don't even fucking care. God, she's so fucking perfect...
Her tongue trails up my neck towards my ear and she starts to swirl it around. I love that shit. She laps at my earlobe, then pulls it between her teeth like she's going to bite me again. She won't, though. We've already established a source for her lust for blood, and it's lower down. She likes to tease like this, though.
I love her.
She goes back to my neck, lapping up what's left. She's squeezing me for all she's worth, and I'm grabbing at her, too. My hands are on her ass, pounding her down onto my cock even harder. She lifts up and slams down, I pick her up and push her down. This is a team fucking effort right here. High grade sexuality, don't try this at home, kids. Warning, warning.
I don't have a lot of time left on this erotic world, so I tell her as much. "I'm going to fill your fucking cunt to the brim, love," I say.
"No," she says. "You are wearing a condom."
"Fuck you," I say. "I'll rip the fucking thing off, throw you onto the ground, and pin you there while I ram my cock so fucking deep inside you."