* 𝐥𝐨𝐯 / 𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑠.

            hello   !!   this   is   a   selective   ,   independent   writing   blog   containing   a   multitude   of   original   characters.   i’m   lizzie   ,   she/her   ,   currently   23   and   living   in   the   EST   timezone.   will   contain   medium   activity.   below   are   some   quick   links   to   navigate   you   around   my   blog.  

hearing her words , he’s stopped in his tracks – thinking about the first day he’s met her . the night in the grocery store , in the produce section . if anything , he’s such a goddamn good actor that he could get away with anything . of course , this ? her ? she’s DIFFERENT , that’s what haunts him . thing was , she was so PERFECT , because she was more conventional than the others he had . a gulp , as he barely faces her – thinking about the words he can say . “ because , noa . . ” is all he can etch out before he slowly turns to look at her , her beautiful doe eyes ; filled with nothing but hopes & no one can take that away from her .

in the back of steve’s mind , he’s already so CONCENTRATED on his next victim , who would it be ? her friend , mollie ? or some other stranger that he’d sweep off their feet – making them feel SPECIAL ? after all , he has a gift . he’s better than this , than hearing her words , allowing his heart to beat right against his ribcage ; against his chest , humanizing him . that’s not what he wants , not at all . “ because i saw something SPECIAL , something magnificent inside of you , ” & that’s not a lie . from that first night to this – he stills sees something special inside of her . & outside of her , of course . he’s not shying away from the fact that he still wants her FLESH , nonetheless ; he’s going to keep her around for some time . “ you’ve been watching too many romantic comedies , noa . not everything is like that . ” he quips , this sadistic little grin forming onto his face before his hand touches at the door , marking this – a goodbye , until he’s done .

     there’s     a     deep     -     rooted     ache     ,     lingering     . . .      as     if     following     rapid     beat     of     her     heart     ,     pounding     against     her     ribcage.     steady     features     cast     upon     him     ,     refusing     to     show     any     ounce     of     suffering.     feels     like     perhaps     that     is     the     desire     he     craves     ,     whereas     she     . . .     was     genuinely     falling     for     him.     a     sense     of     heartache     there     ,     for     that     reason.     a     sense     of     betrayal     weighs     heavy     on     her     heart     ,     and     that     feeling     of     hope     ?     d  r  i  f  t  s   . . .    away     splicing     through     the     air.     she’s     always     been     anything     but     a     optimistic     ,     spending     one     too     many     nights     out     on     terrible     dates     ,     trying     to     fake     laughter     at     cheesy     pick     up     lines     and     trying     to     dig     through     surface     level     conversations     to     find     her     person.     that’s     all     anyone     could     ever     want     ,     right     ?     to     be     in     love.     to     feel     loved.     and     in     moments     with     him     ,     she     was     content.     like     dancing     together     in     her     living     room     . . .      time     seemed     to     come     to     a     halt     ,     the     time     only     fleeting     by     with     bursts     of     laughter     and     her     smile     that     spread     across     her     whole     features.     now     ,     that     ,     was     the     shit     they     wrote     romantic     movies     about.     that’s     all     she     wanted.

                                              here     is     she     now     though     ,                                  melting      a   w   a   y      in     a     void     of     hopeless.                                               . . . . .        sulking     in     REGRET.