Masochistic Fuck

This book was beyond fucking twisted. It was from the point of view of a kidnapper that had accidentally killed his favorite kidnap-pee. I almost wanted to throw up with the sickness that possessed the man's mind. He only kidnapped young teen boys that had a certain look. It was odd, and I couldn't fathom how a writer could even write about it. Few things the narrator, Dave, said made sense. And from his point of view, one could kind of see where he was coming from. The world was messed up, and yes, people didn't see him as if he mattered, but that didn't excuse his immoral actions. It was wrong to take people from their homes because they reminded him of his dead son. The boys' views were never discussed, only Dave's. I understood how Dave felt that he wasn't very important on the grand scale of things. But who was? Not even Beyonce was important on the grand scale of things. Why? Because at the end of the day, we are all going to die. And nothing can stop that from occurring. With every chapter that I'd finished of the book, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. With the final chapter, I was empathetic towards Dave and didn't want him to be arrested, because he never meant to hurt any of the boys, he merely just wanted to fill the hole his son's death had left in his heart. The boys were never hurt, except the one that he'd accidentally killed. I knew he was wrong, but yet, I didn't want him to be caught. Tears rimmed my eyes as I turned the last page, Dave having shot himself in desperation and fear of being caught. I wiped at my eyes and shut the book. I'd been so far off. The book being titled Dave, made me assume that the book was about a girl who was in love with Dave from afar. But there weren't even any girls mentioned in the book in the first place. I took a deep breath and went downstairs and to the library, I wanted to throw the book, because it was so good and had such a depressing ending. "What the fuck is this!" I screamed showing Oli the book. He glanced at it, a smug grin coating his features. "I'm guessing you finished the book." He said slyly. I nodded. "I loved it." "I kinda did, but then, I hate Dave, but then I understand Dave. I hate this book. I hate this book so much. I hate you for telling me to read it. Why did he have to fucking die? He could've lived! It would've been okay!" I took a deep breath. "How could you love this?" "I told you, I like tragedy. I like pain and depressing shit." He shrugged. "Dave wouldn't have survived in prison. You and I know this. But, maybe you're right. Dave might've never been caught." Oli rummaged through a few books. "Well, I suck at this whole betting thing." I said with a sigh, handing him the book, which he laid on a random shelf. "I should pick the book this time." "Fine, go ahead, bet I'll still win." He was being a cocky little shithead. I rolled my eyes and began searching through the books for something that contained an unexpected story behind it's thin cover. "Why do you like pain and tragedy so much?" I was curious about how Oli could be into those sorts of things. He just laughed. "I dunno why per say, I just always have, I guess. Pain's good. It makes me feel alive, I guess. It's odd. Some people like skydiving or chase adrenaline. I prefer to feel pain to feel alive. There was a point in time where pain was my life, and that was all that surrounded it. I'd felt so much pain on a daily basis that the pain had become a numbing feeling and it was nothing more than a daily activity. Pain is sharp, like a razor to innocent flesh. But it can also be warm like a hug from a grandmother. It's just how you take it. I also like screaming. Screaming hurts my throat sometimes, but it's a good pain, 'cause that pain comes from me screaming out my feelings and things that hurt me emotionally." He sighed. "I don't like emotional pain though. I don't like that. I like physical pain. Emotional pain is too much and I just can't deal with it." "What do you mean by 'emotional pain'?" "I mean like self-hatred. Hatred of yourself so much that it's all you can focus on. Hatred that makes you want to be the one to cause your own destruction. Then there's desire. Desire so painful that makes you ache at the thought of receiving what you want so badly. Or just wanting to be with someone so much that you can't imagine life without them and they wind up just leaving. Then there's the emotional pain left behind when someone dies. It hurts cause no one ever cherishes anyone enough, that's why everyone grieves." "But, how could anyone avoid emotional pain? Emotions coat and cover every thing we do." I reminded him. He nodded, his fingertips sliding mindlessly across a few books spines. "We all feel things, you feel things." "I probably feel things far more intensely than you do though. My mind isn't like your's. Haven't you figured this out yet? I'm fucking twisted." His words were like chocolate drenched poison. The words almost stung and burned but yet seemed kind, or Oli's own sort of kind. I looked at him. "I feel pain more. I feel angry like it's a blinding red filter over my eyes. Sadness blurs the colors of the world, draining every living thing around me until I resort to pain to refill my own kind of enjoyment. Irritation is blinding and leads to anger for me. Except when it's you that causes the irritation. Honestly, you influence my emotions and thoughts in an odd way. It's like you cause the world to be more bright and less shitty. But that's odd, because if you were really that wonderful, then you shouldn't be here." I understood what he was saying, and it caused my palms to sweat with nervousness. He was being very open, exposing his thoughts and feelings to me. And I wasn't sure how to respond to his vulnerability. Should I let him in? But there wasn't much to know. I wasn't as complex and hard to understand like Oli was. I was simple. A hopeless dreamer that always saw more good than she was given. "What do you do to control your emotions?" I dared to ask. He chuckled darkly. "I cut them off like a cancerous limb. A diabetic foot, if you will." He answered. "And you my dear, are one cancerous limb I can't bare to part with." My cheeks burned with his words. He wasn't supposed to say things like that. Oli was a cold-hearted person, or so he came off. He wasn't kind. He was quiet and kept to himself for the unseen monsters that taunted him were enough company. "So you don't feel. Or try not to?" I was a bit tongue-tied. Not quite grasping what he was saying. He shrugged. "I like to feel on my own terms. I use my emotions as a way to inflict pain upon myself. Like you. I feel very vividly around you. That's why I like to be around you." "And that's why you like pain? Because it gives you control?" "If you want to water it down to that, then, yes. You're absolutely correct." He began to walk away from me. "Forget the wager. I'd much rather forget this conversation completely, but you, my dearest, Holly, won't let me, would you?" "No, because a lot of what you're saying lets me know who you really are." "Fine, I'll keep it simple for you; I'm a utter bastard. A masochistic fuck and a tormented artist." "No, you're Oli." I took a deep breath. "You can use all the adjectives and descriptions you want, but you're still Oli to me." "What's your point?" "I don't think you're insane. And I care about you." "Caring is as useless as trust." "Stop bullshitting yourself. You care about me too." "Piss off." "You want me to do that because it'll make you upset that you'd let me leave. You're not going to get rid of me that easily." "I take that as a challenge, sweetest, Holly." "What's with the terms of endearment?" "Didn't you say it yourself? I care about you."

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Another strike to the face as he pounded his dick into my vagina. This was a measly history teacher. He'd seemed too scrawny and innocent to do this to me, but yet, there I was. He'd already left hand-print bruises along my hips and wrists. This hit to the face wasn't much. "Dirty, little, fucking slut. You take my cock. Take it!" He growled at me. Each word spat with each pound. I whimpered, not because I enjoyed it, but because I was scared for what he'd do when he orgasmed. Would he hit me again, kiss me, or just groan and pull out of me? It was always a dangerous round of roulette. "Yeah, I'll take it. Harder, harder." I chanted, egging him on. I was rooting for the finish line more than anything. I desperately wanted to go back to my room and attempt at poetry again. My first attempt had been feeble and a complete disaster, resulting in thirteen crumpled up failed poems. The sound of flesh on flesh echoed throughout the room as he continued going. "Worthless fucking whore." He slapped me again and groaned as he came down from his high. He slowly pulled out of me. "Hm, you were worth the sixty dollars." He grinned evilly and pulled up his pants. I laid back on the bed, watching him go before getting dressed again. My thighs hurt. Along with my vagina. That dude was beyond fucking rough. His words were six syllables that meant nothing to me anymore. My being a whore was nothing short of a fact. I'd lost track of how many guys I'd slept with. Funny to think that I had only slept with one person prior before coming here. I went into my bedroom to find Josie and Shay sitting on my bed. Josie was twisting the ends of her orange hair around her finger nervously. I raised an eyebrow at the two. "Why are you guys on my bed?" I asked them both. Now they were my obstacle in my journey to just write some goddamned poems. "We wanted to talk is all." Shay replied. "Josie, you go ahead." Josie nodded and cleared her throat, though she already had my fucking attention. "I heard you and Oli the other night." Josie confessed, her words coming out in one breath, rushed together like a Las Vegas wedding. I didn't really care if she'd heard us. It wasn't like we did anything wrong. He carried me to bed, kissed my forehead and left. "O-fucking-kay. So?" I'll be the first to admit, I came off very bitchy. And considering the two in front of me were one of the few people in the house who bothered to talk to me on a semi-regular basis, I shouldn't have been. "I just want you to be honest with us, what's going on between you and Oli?" Josie asked me quietly. I sighed. "Nothing, and even if there was, it's none of either of your business." I replied simply. Shay rolled his eyes. "We're family here, Holly, that means no secrets." Shay said to me, his words edging into the region of arrogance. "No, family means we care and love each other. That's it. What goes on between me and Oli stays between me and him." I retorted hotly. They were starting to really get on my nerves. "Look, I really don't want to be rude, but can you two just leave me alone about this? It's nothing." "Fine. But if you two get together, you'd better tell us." Shay winked at me as he got off my bed. "Or not, but it'll slip sooner or later." Josie added with a shrug. "But, we respect your wishes." They both walked out of the room, and I caught a glimpse of them high-fiving each other in the hallway. I sighed and fell onto my bed. Shutting my eyes I thought about it. The chances of me and Oli ever getting together weren't slim, but weren't large. And the main reason for that being that Oli strongly believed that no one could ever love him. Yes, he could be somewhat affectionate at times, and sometimes we did things that normal friends didn't do. But it's not like we made out with each other. I didn't even understand why it was such a big deal if me and Oli were together. Not to mention how would a relationship even work when we're both prostitutes for a living. I didn't want to be like what Ashley and Jake were. Thinking about that made my head and stomach hurt. I kept my eyes closed and tried to think of other things. How was my family? Probably still struggling to make ends meet. I missed my brothers. I missed my mom and dad, but I really couldn't just go and visit them. They wouldn't want to see me. Truth be told, did I even want to see them? Missing someone and wanting to see them could be two different things. I missed the family dinners, hanging out with my mom, reading to my younger brother, or listening to my eldest younger brother tell me about whoever he was crushing on. Life had been so good until I'd turned eighteen. Until I'd graduated high school and was left with zero options but to go down. Things were shit. Life was shit. But I still managed to push that thought away and get on with things. No use in pondering the useless. I could always try to get out of prostitution, but then where would I go? Escorting? Call-girl? Stripper? Those weren't much higher than where I was now, but they'd be a start. Missy had called me smart. Oli said that I was probably too wonderful to be there. It's not like there was anything stopping me from leaving. I just kinda...didn't want to. But why didn't I? I constantly got beaten down, emotionally and physically. I felt alienated often, and my best friend here was Oli, and his mind was an interesting place to imagine. I knew I could never accurately picture what it'd be like to live with thoughts like his, or with his appreciation of pain. Was pain truly sharp? Was pain really warm like a grandmother's embrace? Pain always just seemed to be quite frankly...painful. Oli was a masochistic fuck, but his thoughts were poisoning my mind. Causing headaches, but I let his thoughts infiltrate my mind voluntarily. I could understand how pain could make someone feel alive.

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A/N: I'm so sorry to say this, but I'm going to be at my cousin's house for the next two days, so I might not update. I'll try to, but no promises. If you need to talk or have any questions, you can comment or kik me at kekethejewel. I'll still be writing, I promise, okay? Thank you for all the votes and comments.