sulkygirl
Member
- Nov 2, 2024
- 49
Trees rise up from an endless sea of ferns. A trail slithers through the forest down to the water, dimly lit by the few beams that manage to penetrate this realm. I make this pilgrimage every morning whenever I have the energy to leave my room. On the way down, I hop over the patches of overgrown vegetation drooping over the path, avoiding ticks. I've heard Lyme disease is a bitch.
I arrive and take it all in. There's usually a sense of serenity about bodies of water. This particular one was an exception. The mosquitoes, muck, and stench all flood me with that familiar sense of disappointment. The pond I envisioned in my head was much more pleasant. I wish reality would just cooperate. I don't know why I keep coming down here; I should know better by now. Perhaps I'm simply delusional.
The more I gaze upon the water, the more the dancing reflections beckon me closer. There's a little rowboat propped up against a tree over here. The hull's painted what would be a lovely teal if it wasn't so worn and mucky. I knock it down and heave it into the water. I get some dirt on my jeans in the process. Fuck, I curse to myself. I rather liked this pair. At least I'm feeling something, though. That's a plus.
I climb into the boat and kick myself off from the shore. Out on the water, my imagination runs wild. I would be floating in the murky water. No need to worry about getting dirty if all goes according to plan. I would slit my limbs, one after another. The water would sting on contact as brilliant red bloomed forth in a morbidly beautiful display. Then, I'd give in and let the water overtake me, sinking into its dark depths.
I viciously shake the vivid scenes out of my mind. It wouldn't work out anyway. It'd be slow and painful, not to mention unreliable. I hate that I know that.
I ground myself by taking a deep breath and focusing on my surroundings. The woodland ambience consists of croaking and chirping. I think I recognize a catbird somewhere in the mix. But most of all, I hear her absence.
We'd broken up before. I had already healed, almost forgotten her even, when she came crawling back. Even at my strongest, I'm still weak for her.
She confessed she'd monitored my socials while we were apart to ensure I was alive. She swore that, even if we weren't speaking, she'd end it all if anything ever happened to me. I despise not having the freedom; that she still has some amount of control over me.
Up until this week, she's been venting daily on my public message board. She seems to also be spiraling without me. She attached photos of her cut wrists and threatened to kill herself again. I'm hoping she was bluffing, but I honestly can't tell if I am either.
On the surface, she seemed to be under the impression I wouldn't see her vents. I've been inactive on that site since high school. But if she genuinely didn't want to be caught, she'd vent in a diary, not my message wall. I presume she craves the attention. The only evidence I have to support this hypothesis is the line "Wouldn't it be hilarious if she checked her page and showed it to me out of concern?"
I was not in the mood for these games anymore. I finally blocked her a few days ago.
I'm free now; I should be relieved. But I rather miss her obsession with me now. I miss feeling so desirable that not even a no could stop her. Is that weird? Maybe I really am delusional.
I'm ashamed to say I've developed a new kink lately. I want to struggle and whimper to stop, as I continue to be violated. I've listened to so many audios of just this by now… It very often ends with me crying in a mushy mess. Sometimes I imagine it's her raping me. Just as the haze of climax clears, I'm always met with the realization that she's not actually beside me. And then the dangerous thought of reaching back out crosses my mind.
I snap back to the present. The boat and I bob gently in the water. I briefly wonder to myself if those berries on the shore over there are poisonous. I'd rather not shit myself to death, though. Perhaps asphyxiation…
I arrive and take it all in. There's usually a sense of serenity about bodies of water. This particular one was an exception. The mosquitoes, muck, and stench all flood me with that familiar sense of disappointment. The pond I envisioned in my head was much more pleasant. I wish reality would just cooperate. I don't know why I keep coming down here; I should know better by now. Perhaps I'm simply delusional.
The more I gaze upon the water, the more the dancing reflections beckon me closer. There's a little rowboat propped up against a tree over here. The hull's painted what would be a lovely teal if it wasn't so worn and mucky. I knock it down and heave it into the water. I get some dirt on my jeans in the process. Fuck, I curse to myself. I rather liked this pair. At least I'm feeling something, though. That's a plus.
I climb into the boat and kick myself off from the shore. Out on the water, my imagination runs wild. I would be floating in the murky water. No need to worry about getting dirty if all goes according to plan. I would slit my limbs, one after another. The water would sting on contact as brilliant red bloomed forth in a morbidly beautiful display. Then, I'd give in and let the water overtake me, sinking into its dark depths.
I viciously shake the vivid scenes out of my mind. It wouldn't work out anyway. It'd be slow and painful, not to mention unreliable. I hate that I know that.
I ground myself by taking a deep breath and focusing on my surroundings. The woodland ambience consists of croaking and chirping. I think I recognize a catbird somewhere in the mix. But most of all, I hear her absence.
We'd broken up before. I had already healed, almost forgotten her even, when she came crawling back. Even at my strongest, I'm still weak for her.
She confessed she'd monitored my socials while we were apart to ensure I was alive. She swore that, even if we weren't speaking, she'd end it all if anything ever happened to me. I despise not having the freedom; that she still has some amount of control over me.
Up until this week, she's been venting daily on my public message board. She seems to also be spiraling without me. She attached photos of her cut wrists and threatened to kill herself again. I'm hoping she was bluffing, but I honestly can't tell if I am either.
On the surface, she seemed to be under the impression I wouldn't see her vents. I've been inactive on that site since high school. But if she genuinely didn't want to be caught, she'd vent in a diary, not my message wall. I presume she craves the attention. The only evidence I have to support this hypothesis is the line "Wouldn't it be hilarious if she checked her page and showed it to me out of concern?"
I was not in the mood for these games anymore. I finally blocked her a few days ago.
I'm free now; I should be relieved. But I rather miss her obsession with me now. I miss feeling so desirable that not even a no could stop her. Is that weird? Maybe I really am delusional.
I'm ashamed to say I've developed a new kink lately. I want to struggle and whimper to stop, as I continue to be violated. I've listened to so many audios of just this by now… It very often ends with me crying in a mushy mess. Sometimes I imagine it's her raping me. Just as the haze of climax clears, I'm always met with the realization that she's not actually beside me. And then the dangerous thought of reaching back out crosses my mind.
I snap back to the present. The boat and I bob gently in the water. I briefly wonder to myself if those berries on the shore over there are poisonous. I'd rather not shit myself to death, though. Perhaps asphyxiation…
