06-26-2020, 08:25 PM
#607d7d[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 1.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Jerome didn’t stand a chance.
Hands were so tight around Jerome’s neck that Eben felt as if his trachea would cave into the pressure with a sickening crunch. Maybe it was what Eben wanted, that stomach-churning sound, the feeling of cartilage fracturing under his weight, that ultimate power and control over the man he felt he couldn’t restrain anymore. It was such a dangerous thing to need somebody so badly that their criticism could break him. Yet, in all actuality, Eben wished that he could have maintained control over his own impulses - this total loss of control - but Jerome should have known better. He should have known better that Eben was a volatile and sensitive man.
It had been Jerome’s own fault.
Instead, Eben stood over him like death itself with rigid control over Jerome’s next breath, or lack thereof. He was seething in the moment, and perhaps he didn’t want Jerome to die but he certainly wanted him to hurt. After he hurt Eben this much, who could blame him? However, what was worse? Dying by the hands of the man you thought you could trust, or surviving with the fear of knowing what he was truly capable of?
At that very moment, Eben’s mind was in overdrive; he wasn't even sure anymore.
Jerome’s eyes sprung open wide, lips parted as if he was screaming for help - yet he made no sound. Whilst he had conflicting feelings, Eben could not come to admit to himself that he liked how this felt. All of this power in his hands, that terror in Jerome’s beautiful blues. He thrashed beneath Eben’s weight but it would be to no avail when all Eben saw was red. Jerome tried to talk in a strangled panic, but nothing would snap Eben out of his rage now. He’d take things too far - he always did - and Jerome would undoubtedly pay the price for it. Features scrunched up with frustration, Jerome’s words only urging Eben to tighten his grip.
And then, he let out a cry. Everything within him felt as if it was shattering. If Jerome wanted to abandon him, then it had to be by Eben’s own hand. No running away to live a happily ever after with that bitch. Jerome’s world had to begin and end with Eben. Tears welled up in Eben’s eyes as Jerome eventually stopped his wild thrashing, instead clawing at Eben’s wrists as if this would pry his hands away. The first thrust of his head against the cold ground, and then another. Eben let out an ugly, choked out sob, a pained grunt emitting from the back of his throat.
Nothing made sense anymore apart from all of the hurt. Jerome’s vacant eyes turned to stare at the ceiling, Eben’s torso contorting with choking cries as he wailed, ❝ Look at me! ❞ Instead, Jerome’s eyes sank shut, face reddened as he choked feebly. No - Eben needed this moment to understand his hurt. Eben wanted time to stop in that moment. He wanted to have time to think. He wanted to relish in this moment of taking back control, but instead he felt nothing but anguish. No release of anger or feelings of betrayal that he’d originally hoped. Instead, all he had to realize was that he felt hurt beyond any recognition or comprehension.
He wanted time to freeze, staring down wide-eyed with those hollow, tear stained eyes like glass. Fragile. Broken. Harmful. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted Jerome to stop.
Not stop breathing, but stop leaving.
He wanted him to stay. He wanted him to look over his shoulder at Eben right where he was and realize that all he could ever need was right here with Eben, in their lackluster home with their lackluster life. He wanted Jerome to stay. He wanted Jerome to look at him because once he was gone, there could be no turning back.
Once he left, he could never have not gone. He could never have not broken Eben's soul.
Did Eben not realize that it was already too late?
Jerome went limp, arms sliding down to the ground as he stopped writhing with hysteria. Eben hadn’t realized that he’d grown silent, impassive, as if his very own soul had left his body moments before. That rage had dissipated in those last moments, instead replaced by a numbing emptiness, the severing of the mind from the body.
Did he just murder Jerome?
All of that rage was extinguished by the snap of reality returning, fingertips twitching as Eben slowly removed his hands from Jerome’s throat. The marks across the skin, ugly reminders of what Eben had just done, and with eyes darting across Jerome’s lifeless corpse and breath shuddering, he realized that his fears had been nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. He didn’t want Jerome to leave, and so he killed him. Eben had still just lost the only meaning to his pathetic excuse of a life.
❝ No, no, no, no- ❞ Eben whimpered, his touch far softer now as he nudged Jerome’s shoulder. No sign of life. His breath quickened, uncontrolled and hysterical as he hyperventilated, head shaking rigidly as he searched Jerome’s face. ❝ J? J?! Fuck! ❞ He hunched his shoulders, head hanging low as closed fists began to slam against his forehead. Over, and over, and over again. What had he done? ❝ Dammit, dammit! ❞ He choked out in panic, lines of drool and mucus stringing down his face from where he failed to clean himself in that moment of horror.
He slid off of Jerome’s torso, body rocking from the tears that were uncontrollable. He wished that he’d been the one who had died. He wished that he was dead. This pain was blinding as his head swirled with horror. He’d killed Jerome. He’d killed his soulmate. His best friend. His reason for life. Head twisted violently to the side as he retched in his ugly panic, gasping for breaths as if he couldn’t breathe.
Jerome couldn’t breathe, and that had been Eben’s fault.
All Eben did was destroy himself and then wonder why he was this way. It was pathetic.
Eben leaned over Jerome, two fingers against his wrist to feel for a pulse, cheek close to Jerome’s lips to feel for any sign of breathing.
Wait. Wait - he was alive.
Red eyes widened frantically, lifting his head to look around the kitchen. His next fear was that his lapse in judgement would be met with disgust and contempt from others. No one could find out about this. Stumbling up onto his feet like a disorientated fawn, he stared down at Jerome with whimpering breaths, chest heaving before he leaned down to grab Jerome’s wrists. He tried to drag him across the ground. Maybe he could get him to the couch, make it look like he was sound asleep. Would that qualm Eben’s guilty conscience?
Jerome’s hands slipped from Eben’s grip, his dead weight too much for the emotionally weak Eben to carry along the floor then. Eben sobbed in his panic, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair as he tugged harshly. He deserved the hurt more than Jerome ever did. In a sense, it’d been Eben who had ruined himself. But, he could never accept that this had been his fault. It had to have been Jerome’s for ever provoking him. But, in reality, Eben did this to himself.
He was a monster.
And, as he spluttered hideous sobs, the horrified expression on his face was as if he was no longer sure he was supposed to be here on earth.
Back pressed against the cold kitchen wall, and Eben’s panic exhausted him into a near catatonic state. Bloodshot eyes felt like sandpaper with every slow blink, lips parted as he slowly allowed his lungs his rise and fall as he stared at his lifeless friend on the floor. He’d brought through a pillow and blanket at one point, carefully tucking it beneath the skull he’d been slamming against the cold ground earlier. He draped the blanket delicately over the body he’d battered and bruised previously in his anger. Eben cared about Jerome, after all. He always did.
He wished that he could protect Jerome from everything in this cruel world. From all of the danger of nature itself, the cruelty of inhuman people and the realities of love. Ellie would ruin sweet Jerome. Eben needed him to know that. None of this was meant with ill intent. Eben only feared that he would never be good enough for Jerome. Insecurities riddled with soul like maggots in live flesh. It ate away at him constantly, creating holes in his soul.
Eyelids twitched, and then slowly opened, Eben’s breath hitching in the back of his throat as he finally saw movement from Jerome. As if life was slowly returning to him. That life was no longer Eben’s to have taken. Crawling over carefully on his hands and knees, Eben stopped beside Jerome’s head before sitting cross legged beside him. ❝ J? ❞ Words were meek as he squeaked, jaw wobbling as he stared down with concern. And then, tears began to pool in his eyes again, choked up as he uttered, ❝ I’m sorry, J. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me. I’m going to die- ❞ Tears ran down his cheeks, hand resting on the top of Jerome’s head.
And, despite being the man who had harmed Jerome, he barely offered help. Instead, he simply cried as Jerome began to gain consciousness again. ❝ I’m going to die if you leave me. Please. ❞
Hands were so tight around Jerome’s neck that Eben felt as if his trachea would cave into the pressure with a sickening crunch. Maybe it was what Eben wanted, that stomach-churning sound, the feeling of cartilage fracturing under his weight, that ultimate power and control over the man he felt he couldn’t restrain anymore. It was such a dangerous thing to need somebody so badly that their criticism could break him. Yet, in all actuality, Eben wished that he could have maintained control over his own impulses - this total loss of control - but Jerome should have known better. He should have known better that Eben was a volatile and sensitive man.
It had been Jerome’s own fault.
Instead, Eben stood over him like death itself with rigid control over Jerome’s next breath, or lack thereof. He was seething in the moment, and perhaps he didn’t want Jerome to die but he certainly wanted him to hurt. After he hurt Eben this much, who could blame him? However, what was worse? Dying by the hands of the man you thought you could trust, or surviving with the fear of knowing what he was truly capable of?
At that very moment, Eben’s mind was in overdrive; he wasn't even sure anymore.
Jerome’s eyes sprung open wide, lips parted as if he was screaming for help - yet he made no sound. Whilst he had conflicting feelings, Eben could not come to admit to himself that he liked how this felt. All of this power in his hands, that terror in Jerome’s beautiful blues. He thrashed beneath Eben’s weight but it would be to no avail when all Eben saw was red. Jerome tried to talk in a strangled panic, but nothing would snap Eben out of his rage now. He’d take things too far - he always did - and Jerome would undoubtedly pay the price for it. Features scrunched up with frustration, Jerome’s words only urging Eben to tighten his grip.
And then, he let out a cry. Everything within him felt as if it was shattering. If Jerome wanted to abandon him, then it had to be by Eben’s own hand. No running away to live a happily ever after with that bitch. Jerome’s world had to begin and end with Eben. Tears welled up in Eben’s eyes as Jerome eventually stopped his wild thrashing, instead clawing at Eben’s wrists as if this would pry his hands away. The first thrust of his head against the cold ground, and then another. Eben let out an ugly, choked out sob, a pained grunt emitting from the back of his throat.
Nothing made sense anymore apart from all of the hurt. Jerome’s vacant eyes turned to stare at the ceiling, Eben’s torso contorting with choking cries as he wailed, ❝ Look at me! ❞ Instead, Jerome’s eyes sank shut, face reddened as he choked feebly. No - Eben needed this moment to understand his hurt. Eben wanted time to stop in that moment. He wanted to have time to think. He wanted to relish in this moment of taking back control, but instead he felt nothing but anguish. No release of anger or feelings of betrayal that he’d originally hoped. Instead, all he had to realize was that he felt hurt beyond any recognition or comprehension.
He wanted time to freeze, staring down wide-eyed with those hollow, tear stained eyes like glass. Fragile. Broken. Harmful. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted Jerome to stop.
Not stop breathing, but stop leaving.
He wanted him to stay. He wanted him to look over his shoulder at Eben right where he was and realize that all he could ever need was right here with Eben, in their lackluster home with their lackluster life. He wanted Jerome to stay. He wanted Jerome to look at him because once he was gone, there could be no turning back.
Once he left, he could never have not gone. He could never have not broken Eben's soul.
Did Eben not realize that it was already too late?
Jerome went limp, arms sliding down to the ground as he stopped writhing with hysteria. Eben hadn’t realized that he’d grown silent, impassive, as if his very own soul had left his body moments before. That rage had dissipated in those last moments, instead replaced by a numbing emptiness, the severing of the mind from the body.
Did he just murder Jerome?
All of that rage was extinguished by the snap of reality returning, fingertips twitching as Eben slowly removed his hands from Jerome’s throat. The marks across the skin, ugly reminders of what Eben had just done, and with eyes darting across Jerome’s lifeless corpse and breath shuddering, he realized that his fears had been nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. He didn’t want Jerome to leave, and so he killed him. Eben had still just lost the only meaning to his pathetic excuse of a life.
❝ No, no, no, no- ❞ Eben whimpered, his touch far softer now as he nudged Jerome’s shoulder. No sign of life. His breath quickened, uncontrolled and hysterical as he hyperventilated, head shaking rigidly as he searched Jerome’s face. ❝ J? J?! Fuck! ❞ He hunched his shoulders, head hanging low as closed fists began to slam against his forehead. Over, and over, and over again. What had he done? ❝ Dammit, dammit! ❞ He choked out in panic, lines of drool and mucus stringing down his face from where he failed to clean himself in that moment of horror.
He slid off of Jerome’s torso, body rocking from the tears that were uncontrollable. He wished that he’d been the one who had died. He wished that he was dead. This pain was blinding as his head swirled with horror. He’d killed Jerome. He’d killed his soulmate. His best friend. His reason for life. Head twisted violently to the side as he retched in his ugly panic, gasping for breaths as if he couldn’t breathe.
Jerome couldn’t breathe, and that had been Eben’s fault.
All Eben did was destroy himself and then wonder why he was this way. It was pathetic.
Eben leaned over Jerome, two fingers against his wrist to feel for a pulse, cheek close to Jerome’s lips to feel for any sign of breathing.
Wait. Wait - he was alive.
Red eyes widened frantically, lifting his head to look around the kitchen. His next fear was that his lapse in judgement would be met with disgust and contempt from others. No one could find out about this. Stumbling up onto his feet like a disorientated fawn, he stared down at Jerome with whimpering breaths, chest heaving before he leaned down to grab Jerome’s wrists. He tried to drag him across the ground. Maybe he could get him to the couch, make it look like he was sound asleep. Would that qualm Eben’s guilty conscience?
Jerome’s hands slipped from Eben’s grip, his dead weight too much for the emotionally weak Eben to carry along the floor then. Eben sobbed in his panic, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair as he tugged harshly. He deserved the hurt more than Jerome ever did. In a sense, it’d been Eben who had ruined himself. But, he could never accept that this had been his fault. It had to have been Jerome’s for ever provoking him. But, in reality, Eben did this to himself.
He was a monster.
And, as he spluttered hideous sobs, the horrified expression on his face was as if he was no longer sure he was supposed to be here on earth.
Back pressed against the cold kitchen wall, and Eben’s panic exhausted him into a near catatonic state. Bloodshot eyes felt like sandpaper with every slow blink, lips parted as he slowly allowed his lungs his rise and fall as he stared at his lifeless friend on the floor. He’d brought through a pillow and blanket at one point, carefully tucking it beneath the skull he’d been slamming against the cold ground earlier. He draped the blanket delicately over the body he’d battered and bruised previously in his anger. Eben cared about Jerome, after all. He always did.
He wished that he could protect Jerome from everything in this cruel world. From all of the danger of nature itself, the cruelty of inhuman people and the realities of love. Ellie would ruin sweet Jerome. Eben needed him to know that. None of this was meant with ill intent. Eben only feared that he would never be good enough for Jerome. Insecurities riddled with soul like maggots in live flesh. It ate away at him constantly, creating holes in his soul.
Eyelids twitched, and then slowly opened, Eben’s breath hitching in the back of his throat as he finally saw movement from Jerome. As if life was slowly returning to him. That life was no longer Eben’s to have taken. Crawling over carefully on his hands and knees, Eben stopped beside Jerome’s head before sitting cross legged beside him. ❝ J? ❞ Words were meek as he squeaked, jaw wobbling as he stared down with concern. And then, tears began to pool in his eyes again, choked up as he uttered, ❝ I’m sorry, J. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me. I’m going to die- ❞ Tears ran down his cheeks, hand resting on the top of Jerome’s head.
And, despite being the man who had harmed Jerome, he barely offered help. Instead, he simply cried as Jerome began to gain consciousness again. ❝ I’m going to die if you leave me. Please. ❞
[align=center]
I'M BURNING BRIDGES, I DESTROY THE MIRAGE
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]ALL VISIONS OF COLLISIONS, FUCKING BON VOYAGE — truce.#1303
《 WRITING &. PINTEREST &. SPOTIFY 》
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]ALL VISIONS OF COLLISIONS, FUCKING BON VOYAGE — truce.#1303
《 WRITING &. PINTEREST &. SPOTIFY 》