their dark desire 18+

chapter thirty seven

' deep thoughts'

santos pov

i dont love beutifully.

i wish i did, i wish i was gentle and soft with my love, specially when it comes to carmen, i truely wish i could be soft with her.

good and gentle.

but i cant.

i dont love beutifully like the gentlemen in books. i love like achilles did. i love with passion with desire with bottled up rage. 

and i love so fiercely even the gods come to fear my love, i am a monsterous being and when monsterous beings like me and my brother fall in love we tend to fall so far we become and unreacable lesson of why not to give your all to someone mortal.

i  love till i have been beheaded. 

i love till my love carve out my heart. and i would let carmen do just that.

if she told me she wanted me dead i would hand her the gun myself. and if she tried to leave i would lock her up to assure she was never anywhere but with me.

it was sick.

and yet i did just that. 

if she wanted to leave us she had every right and premision to kill us, death was the only seperation she would ever get. not a runaway attempt.

if she said she wanted us gone we would be dead, not leave. 

like she would never have the option to leave. our death was the only way for that to happen. because in no way would she die before uss. 

and was she to die before us i would jump in her grave and lay and die with her and rot with her in the dirt.

i would strangle myself by laying next to her corpse in her casket and wait for the suffercation to take me out and i knew nicolas would do the same in a heartbeat.

she was ours, in death, in life, in the stars, in the every life time to come. she was ours and no one could convince me diffrently.

and i do not know if god exist, or if allah is real, or if the greek gods ever lived. or if there is something after death but whatever there is i know i will love her there too. and anyone who disaproves of our union will die at my hands or i will die trying.

because they will never understand true love.

not the kind of love i feel for carmen atleast.

and i found the meaning of life in carmen, and i cannot exist without her.

not now, not ever, i refuse to live a day or even a minute without her.

if she was to leave or die, leave for good. leave me.

i would kill myself the very minute she was gone. and i would have no regrets doing it. after all what better way to prove a point than by death itself.

specially when it comes to the matter of love.

death is the most dramatic love i know.

carmens pov

when we as a society speak about abuse, about physical abuse mostly, and sexual abuse. grooming and such. 

we talk about men, fathers, brothers, uncles, teachers, male, all male.

i wish i could too hate the men, hate the male species blame them all for my suffering. i wish i could i suppose i could blame my father though he never truely touched me like that. even though that night he was calling my name fucking a young girl who looked like me.

even then i wasnt the one being touched.

i wasnt the assulted.

not by him atleast.

so why dont we talk about it as something both genders do? why only men, not to say it isnt men, it is too.

but i've learned i cant ever mention it outloud. what happened to me, because it was my mother and why would she sexually explore her daugter? no one ever believed me when i tried to tell.

and i cannot hate all women, not even those who looks like the woman i thought my mother i still somewhat in my fucked up head consider my mother. not my mum but merely my mother.

because i am myself a woman, i cannot hate all women when i myself am one.

and i cannot hate those who looks like my mother when i myself looks like her. even if we are not blood i am still too much alike her when it comes to looks.

i could never speak outloud about my abuse.

because it didnt come from a man, it wasnt a man that touched me, it wasnt a man that hit me, it wasnt a man who hurt me, it was my mother, she did it.

and no one believes a mother could do such thing to her daughter. but mine could. mine did.

i was her little whore for years. 

i was her whore.

her plaything.

and while i know others can figure out so much when looking at me and her and from what we say. they will never know it all.

i vowed i would never tell a living soul again.

that i would never tell anyone anything again about what else happened in that hell house. the problem is theres a little girl somewhere i dont know. who has been through the same as me if not worse. 

a little girl who wouldnt make it on her own wihtout ending up like me or worse.

ending up as sick in the head as i was.

i was a good actor. good at pretneding.

but i was sick. even i knew that. sicker than a shcitophrenic high on fetanyl. more delusional. i was fucking sick. but i was good at pretending atleast for a while at a time