Beth: if you're not alive, please rectify this xoxo

@embryxnewton  @julesxnewton​

misery bred chaos, and like most of his life -- that’s everything zach had ever known. a child learns to love by the affection given by their parents, their favorite teacher, their best-friends ----- a girl. as for this kid? every soft touch craved by an innocent was slaughtered by the idea of violence with the taste of cigarette smoke and intoxication. burn marks laced his body in simple reminders of who he was, who he could never be, and what it mean to be touched by someone who hadn’t cared whether or not you were alive or dead. the party was loud, just as every one before this. the music boomed off the tiny walls, the picture frames rattled with each beat that dropped, and zach? he found affection in the bottom of a bottle and in the arms of a stranger he wouldn’t remember in the morning. his brother had came back, and where had he gravitated? to the one and only thing a nelson boy had ever loved -- she was his weakness, she was everything he hated about himself, because it reminded him of the person she needed, the person sometimes he wished he could be --- but deep down? zach always knew he would lose her. this wasn’t a battle of the quick wit, it wasn’t something he could or ever wanted to charm his way out of. it was pure and unadulterated agony as he stood outside the window, hazel hues peering through the rain slicked windows, someone really should fix her drain before it leaked. his gaze was withered with the taste of alcohol, it spun and couldn’t focus, but it lingered. ---- he watched from the sidelines, he watched as his brother’s hand cascaded against her palm, so delicately, like nothing in the world could ever hurt her. within a period of sixty seconds, he would get sick. five, ten --  they’re laughing, and his head is dizzy. eleven, twelve -- she’s never smiled like that for him. twenty-three, twenty-four --- he looks happy too. thirty-one, thirty-two -- they would be good for each other. forty-six, forty-seven --- if he kisses her, it’s over. fifty-one, fifty-two --- he’s outside now, and they lied. fifty-five, fifty-six --- he dry heaves in the bathroom sink. S I X T Y  --- there’s a stranger nuzzled beneath his grasp, and they’re leaving together. she’s beautiful, she’s blonde and contradicting to a pair of baby blues and dark curls. he replaces the lavender, with the scent of cocaine and caviar. whoever she is, in whatever lifetime, her daddy’s money was easily spent that night snorted up their noses in a little white powder that made it easy to forget. everything was a blur, from the ride home --- to the expensive black dress he left in pieces across marble tile. “you know how fucked it is--” they laughed about their daddy issues, though hers were bedtime stories in comparison to the monsters under his bed. “i fucking hope he rots in hell--” another vicious spat of laughter after the fuck, and whoever she is, she’s so high out of her mind - she’d listen to anything. she nuzzles into his chest, and she asks if he cares about her because her father never did - he lied. the morning was brighter than the regret that stained his conscious, and he rolled out of a stranger’s bed, another heart whispered to, another i love you he didn’t mean. he wouldn’t call, he never did -- what was her name? and where did it all go wrong.                               ( @fcarlessly )

“BODY heat...isn’t it a marvelous thing?”