Meredith.
(:

quote:

Originally posted by prettyodd333:
wowzas cool i dont really want a part in this story i just kinda wanna sit back and see what happens cuz that first chapter just wow you blew my fucking mind

wow. . .really.
I'm really glad you liked it.

Yeah.
you're like an AMAZING writer.
you make mine look like a first grader wrote it.

yeah same here cuz i dont really get into thoughts and details

but you got really deep and just i could picture it so well in my head it just wow your writin handed my writings ass back to it

“They’ll try to write you down so you go crazy.”
There’s no real beginning to this story. Mostly cause I don’t know how to start anything.
So I’m going to give you a reasonable start.
My name is Monroe Fauxver.
I’m 19.
I was born in the city by the lake.
I’m a painter with musician friends.
___________________________________
It was a late night, the end to a long day.
The moon light was the only thing that gave light to the abandoned bedroom of the abandoned house.
The way he was standing, The moonlight caught his necklace that rested upon his now bare chest..
It gave me something to look at instead of his bones. I always hated that about Ryan.
That and how he was a writer.
Writers only invest in things they can rip off. And god how he gave me attention.
I should have refused his offer of a drink. . .but I needed one so bad and I was underage and he wasn’t.
“I’ll get you into the bar if you want. Monroe. You know that.”
I did. But Ryan never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. He does things so you owe him.
As we drunk, he encouraged me over and over again to “go for it.” whenever I said, “Ry it’s too much.”
___________________
His heavenly voice brought me back to hell.
“Would you like for me to take a picture of this and frame it so you’ll have it always?” he asked.
“No.” I mumbled keeping my eyes down. I learned that’s the best thing to do.
Hiding is always the best and easiest thing to do. Because it comes natural.
Nobody is ever really born a fighter, a lover . . . but everybody is born a coward.
He comes closer to me and pushes me unto the bed. Ryan is a fucking monster when he drinks.
And he's his father when he drinks with girls.
Not only did the bed springs not bounce but dust flew up and pressed into the air around me.
It was rock hard. I decided not to think about what kind of stains got the mattress to feel this way under my hands and legs.
I thought about how lonely and scared I should be and I let a whimper pass my lips.
Fast, like a reflex he pressed a sweaty hand to my face. He then took the scarf from his hair and tied it around my mouth.
The taste of bitter jasmine grazed my tongue.
“Are you gonna be good for me?” He asked leaning closer to my face. His face and body becoming a blur before my eyes.
I tried to squirm from under him.
“Don’t make this harder for me.” He laughed reaching a thin hand into the pocket of his painted on jeans.
“This is Phyllis.” He said caressing my face with a blade. “as long as your good I’ll pretend she’s not here.” He stabbed the knife into the rotting wood of the bedpost. “But just in case she’ll be right there.”
He started unbuckling his jeans and kicking out of them..
After he got semi undressed and stopped. He nodded toward my writhing body. . .
“Why don’t you get out of that dress for me sweetheart?” his voice slured.
I laid still.
“Hay.” I felt the coldness of the blade back upon my skin. This time on my throat.
“Don’t make me have to ask twice. Off with the dress.”
“Don’t.” I whispered. Gaining the confidence to speak at the wrong time.
“You really want to test me.” He asked.
I shakily sat up. My chest pressed against his.
His breath fighting against mine.
I fumbled with the zipper of my summer dress.
“Stop killing time.” He growled.
“I’m not.” I cried. My arms started to burn as I yanked the zipper downward.
As I slid out of my dress he pushed me back unto the bed and leaned into me.


I kept trying to take myself anywhere but here.
But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I started getting into it and grabbing his brown messy locks in my hands.
What was this?
What was this feeling? I can’t quite put my finger on it. . .
Friction or lust sure as hell doesn’t place it.
And what the hell is wrong with us?
Why is this only way to get him to touch me?
To get him so drunk and high so he doesn't remember he fucked me.
I'm crazy.
No. I just like to pretend.

hope that makes sence!
next update: tuesday. :[

woah.
that was like amazing.
I never imagined RY like that

wow just wow

you have a gift my friend as i re read this story it sinks in more like a brand to my brain the picture is too vivid never have i contemplated a person with such gentleness to his words to have such a horrible place in a fictuous world i must tell the truth it scares me but it scares me with heart

i wish this story had a happy ending with all the rest we know it does not

i have never been able to see him in my mind sweet and cute and all things nice

you wrote him this way and now i can see him clear as day

you took away my fantasy world to a harsher reality

and

i thank you

i hope you dont mind but your story gave me inspiration for a poem and im gonna write it here

I never thought I would see a rose as beutiful as he

blossoming out of shadow and woe

now everything is lost for he has dissapeared

now darkness has overcome us with screams of fear

we all miss the rose who we held dear

im bumping this thing so it gets noticed you need to share your writing with the world and really update soon please

im keeping this thing alive singlehandedly

wow triple 3, you realy like dis story! well, i liketh it to!

“Letters and paints fill the noise for a while.
But it’s all just gasoline.”
Monroe’s POV

I spread the burgundy oil unto the starchy white of the canvas.
It was the same color that the yellow and white flowers were set against on his shirt.
I couldn’t keep my mind straight. I couldn’t figure why I kept picturing Ryan so vicious.
I couldn’t keep my mind off of what I thought up.
What is wrong with me?
What I dreamed wasn’t how things were; I mean something’s were true.
It was a fact that the boy I loved denied my skin.
It was false that Ryan raped me.
Chills run up my spine just from the thought of him even being alone in a room with me.
Let’s compare and contrast Ryan now.
Fact, Ryan is as thin as a dime and he is calm and cool as the blue sky in North Carolina.
Fact, I’ve known Ry longer than I have known anyone, but I trust him less than anyone I’ve ever known in my life.
Because like I said in my dream, He’s a writer.
Writers are liars. Never forget that.
Even though I dreamed of Ryan in this position. He isn’t the boy I love or want.
Let’s compare and contrast the boy I do love.
Everything about him would make you motion sick.
How his wild golden brown hair sit in a mess atop his head and waffle cone colored eyes look right past me.
The way I love this boy, the way he ignores me.
The disappointment I feel knowing that I’m not good enough for him. And never will be.
I heard the door open behind me.
“Hey Roe you wanna go shopping with me?” Meredith asked. Nothing less than sweetness in her voice.
She was one of my good friends, and she would always check on me if I spent more than an hour in the studio.
“Come on the fresh air will do you good.”
She was right I was breathing in oil , that’s probably why I was having crazy dreams.
I smiled relived. That’s what was wrong with me.
I tucked my paint brush behind my ear and grabbed my plaid shirt from off the floor and I followed Meredith out the door.