Hunger
@thehaydenbarnes
She’d grown bored of people under less exacerbating circumstances. Kicked them to the curb because they stopped being fun playmates, stopped being exhilarating. Oh watching Hayden try to remove himself, the way his jaw would clench and he’d lean towards a blood stained scene like he was starving and inhaling the scent of a five course meal, was entertaining at first. For a week, two maybe. Not that she hated the way he put his hands on her afterward, angry, like he was mad she didn’t push him into the fray and mad she’d opened this pandora’s box inside him all at the same time.
“Hayden?” Her voice echoed against high church ceilings, stained glass windows, empty pews. She kept finding him here, begging for salvation, she supposed. He’d left the Casino today, before the first bone had even been broken. Such a shame. Such wasted potential. She could see the hunger under his skin even now, as she spotted him at the far left of the church. “Has anyone answered you yet?’ The question lacks compassion, she has no empathy for his brooding little existential crisis. Hayden is a masterpiece just two paint strokes from being complete and she needs those final splashes of color to complete him, to make him hers. “Have your prayers been answered? Have your hungers been sated and your thirsts been quenched?” He smells of nicotine and danger, Ainsley’s heels clicking against the floor as she hiked the skirt of her red dress up, gripped his shoulders and claimed a far better seat in his lap.
“I’m starting to think you like hanging with the idea of God more than you do playing with me.” Her lips hover, inches, breath gusting out, her hands smoothing down his chest. “Is that what I’m too assume, Mr. Barnes? You don’t want to play anymore?”
