Across The Hall

I observed how Hazel caressed her husband's face with her fingers. her touch tender despite the weight of everything she must have gone through. The way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her fingers traced the contours of his face as if committing them to memory—it stirred something in me. She seemed so fragile like she could break at any moment, but there was a quiet strength in her, too. It was that strength that caught my attention from the start. She got those dolly Bambi eyes, along with her angel tears and milky lace dresses.

Doll face, honey voice, fairy mind, pink aura, angel heart.

She just looks like a little lamb.

Weak and Pretty. I would chase her. Let me tell you something, the wolf loved the lamb, it was obvious. It ripped the lamb's throat out and then licked the dying lamb with the most passionate affection. I thought of you and me, Hazel.

I want to devour her.

I turned my gaze away from her and back to my own reality. I observed my wife, lying still in her hospital bed, the machines around her beeping steadily, reminding me that she was still here—alive, but not really living. I felt the familiar ache in my chest as I watched her. Her once vibrant smile was now just a distant memory, her laughter a ghost that haunted the silence of this sterile room. I don't miss her, I'm already ready to move on. She is just a friend, that had to marry me so she could get away from this psycho.

But that psycho got to her and now she is here on the bed, next to me. Everyone told me that I need to fucking take care of her but I never wanted that. What I wanted was to torture Ben, watching one of his best friends getting sliced up by me. I want him to feel what I felt. I felt horror. But right now what I'm feeling when I see Hazel is the opposite of horror.

The first time I saw her, I stared at her. One look, I was totally hooked. Addicted to you. I want to bite, I want to chew, I will eat you up. I will love you like a rotten dog, I will love you like my canines are falling out of my gums, Like a monster, like a beast.

Like something not worth loving back.

Everyone says "How do you love?" Like this, Like a fist. Like a knife.

I want you stuffed into my mouth. Hold you down and tear you open, live inside you. Little Lamb, I'd never hurt you, but I'll press so close that our bones meld and our marrow becomes one. I will eat you slowly...

Leave your husband and get on your knees for me.

Hazel had been unexpected. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke with such quiet dignity, despite the pain that was so clearly etched on her face. There was something about her that drew me in, something I couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the loneliness I saw in her eyes, a loneliness that mirrored my own. Or maybe it was the way she seemed to find solace in caring for a man who had done nothing but hurt her, while I could barely stand to look at my friend-wife without feeling a crushing sense of helplessness.

That little lamb was a vision that commanded not just my attention, but my entire being.

I still remember from yesterday.

Those hazel eyes, those innocent fawn eyes, held an ocean of untouched purity, yet sparkled with a hint of something more, something wild and untamed. They were the kind of eyes that could bring a man to his knees, begging for a taste of her sin.

Her skin was porcelain, flawless, with a soft pink blush that spread across her cheeks, as if painted by the very hand of God. It was the kind of blush that made you want to reach out and touch, to see if it was as warm as it looked. Her lips, full and inviting, promised warm vanilla kisses, sweet and addictive, like the first taste of a forbidden dessert.

She was draped in one of her signature milky lace dresses, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places, hinting at the paradise that lay beneath. The dress was innocent, yet seductive, a perfect reflection of the woman herself. She was a lamb, soft and delicate, but with an undercurrent of strength that was impossible to ignore.

Her voice, when she spoke, was like a melody, a sweet symphony of cake and vanilla and cherries. It was the kind of voice that could soothe the wildest beast, that could make the most hardened of hearts skip a beat. She spoke of boneyard words and romantic wishes, her voice a whisper of sweetness, a delicate trace of purity in this fucked up world.

Her scent was divine, a mix of fragile roses and baby's breath, soft and satin, just like her touch. She was a vanilla doll, draped in lace's embrace, a dream girl come to life. She was everything I wanted, everything I craved. She was the lamb to my wolf, the angel to my demon.

I watched her as she moved, her every step a dance, her every breath a song. I wished I was her husband, not that piece of shit who didn't know how to treat her right. If she was mine, I would worship her, body and soul. I would devour her, but I would do it slowly, savoring every inch of her, every touch, every kiss. I would grind against her bones until our marrows mixed, until we were one, until she was truly, completely mine.

She was a lost angel, her wings torn and tattered, but I wanted to be the one to help her fly again. I wanted to be the one to set her free, to show her what it meant to be truly loved, truly cherished. She deserved that much, and so much more. She deserved the world, and I wanted to be the one to give it to her.