Scar

The shouts of unseen children followed him as he made his way behind the stalls. His world ablaze from the light of a flashing neon sun, he placed a filter-less cigarette between his dry lips and inhaled hard. He felt that haze fall over his mind that can only come with the feeding of an addiction. When he pulled it out again to exhale it took a tiny piece of his skin off with it, he licked his wound, enjoying the taste and the pain. His eyes rose to the open sky above him, squinting in defence against the heavy rain. The cigarette was starting to burn with every toke; he drew in a final dirty breath and flicked it away, watching the embers bounce and falter against the muddy floor. He was starting to feel uneasy alone in that alley, he walked on towards his destination - the sounds of life seemed far away now and the silence was pressing in on him. He stopped in front of his objective and squinted around him. The feeling of agitation was growing with every dwindling moment. He took to pacing the space outside her door to take his mind off it. He noticed the rain getting harder, beating him down like tiny exploding fists, he was already drenched but now he wondered if he'd ever be dry again. Just as his eyes were adjusting to the absolute darkness around him a sliver of light broke through accompanied by the rusty squeak of an abused door. His eyes shot up hopefully and there she was, her perfect eyes glaring at him through the damp haze.

'Inside.' She hissed venomously. He trotted over to her like an overly excited puppy, sliding in through the cracked door. His body grazed against hers, dampening her with the outside world - she winced. 'Take off that coat, you're drenching the trailer.' She walked over to the dingy faux-marble kitchen counter and reached for two odd, chipped glasses. She looked at him coldly and slowly raised one eyebrow, realizing he still hadn't taken his coat off he scrambled out of it in such a haste he knocked over a frame. She sighed exasperatedly and poured two whisky straights before walking back over to him. He watched as she drank, never a wince with even the strongest liquor, and here he was nursing his poison like a housewife. He knocked back the entire glass, coughing and spluttering as it burned down his throat and into his organs, he could feel her judging, beautiful eyes watching him and so he looked up through repressed tears - she caught his gaze, and began to take her clothes off. She slid her straps down her shoulders and motioned for him to help her with the clasps. He cleared the distance of the trailer in two enthusiastic strides and placed his hand softly against her neck and led it to the fastening of her dress. He undid her clasps with fumbling hands, slightly catching her skin with his nail; not like she noticed - she was numb by now. He placed his cold, coarse hands against her exposed pearly skin, and gently turned her so she was facing him. He pulled her body against his and desperately forced his mouth over hers and felt that haze descending over his senses again. He angrily grappled at her breast, making fingernail indents all over her delicate skin. She placed her hand against his chest and quietly bore the ordeal, only kissing back when his thrusting tongue gave her no other choice. He knew she despised him. He was well aware that every time he left her trailer, she cried herself to sleep, nursing a bottle of gin and mentally blocking him out so she had the strength to wake up the next day. He knew all this, and he didn't care. He was so dependant on what she gave him that it no longer mattered to him - he couldn't stop. The guilt faded long ago when the burning desire began to take over. He could see the knife in her hand and he grabbed a handful of her hair in his and pulled it back roughly, causing her to whimper in pain.

'Do it.' he growled against her neck, his erection was beginning to hurt against his tight jeans. Her eyes locked with his and he could see the disgust in them, the vile hatred behind the stony expression. She brought the knife down so it's cool menacing tip was lightly pressed against his side, he felt the excitement rush through him like an electric wave and he quivered with anticipation. Staring straight through him she slid the knife into his flesh. He cried out in a repulsive combination of pleasure and pain and simultaneously felt warm substance between his legs from his ejaculation.  His eyes rolled back into his head as the pain and ecstasy became too much, his knees buckled and he fell back, happily chuckling. He could feel himself losing consciousness but it didn't matter, she'd tend to him, she always did. When he awoke he'd be clean and clothed and he could pay her and leave. He knew he'd be back; the memory only lasted so long. He thought about his wife and repressed the urge to vomit, not sure whether it was the pain of his wound or the pain of his sham of a marriage that was producing the bile. There was only a certain amount of times he could fuck her while picturing another woman's face before their faces merge and he lost the appeal. The time between his visits was becoming less and less, he was starting to feel irritable and shaky after shorter periods of time. Like any addiction the constant longing, the consuming lechery was taking over his life. He knew he had a problem, but he also knew he could never stop. He’d always come running back to this trailer behind the fairground, to add another scar to his violated mentality, and his tattered skin. He'd keep taking the desecration, giving himself to her, until he had nothing left to give. His mind hazed over as he passed out, swimming in fond memories of blood and semen, completely consumed by his masochistic obsession.