Buzzkill(er)

The trip back to the basement had been... eventful. It had been fairly hard to get a passed out girl out of a window and down a fire-exit without dropping her and crack her skull open. Luckily that hadn't happened.
About halfway over there, I had been stopped by a gang of jocks, they had been asking about what had happened to her. I had just explained myself that "Hey, she's my sister.. She's fuckin' passed out drunk! I'm just taking her home, man!" And they left.
I have figured after experience with hooking up with taken girls that no one will question anything if you explain to them that you're siblings. The only people who would maybe question it is people who screw their siblings, but normal fucking human beings usually just go "Oh man I'm sorry!" then get over it.


I walked around her a couple of times, she looked so peaceful there, strapped the chair I had prepared for her. She was still unconscious. She would hopefully stay that way till morning. I honestly did not feel like having to deal with her at the moment.
And when I say "deal with her" I mean, dealing with possible screaming, and hysteria in general. I mean, she could scream all she wants but her perfect howls would not be heard anywhere but inside of this basement.
I continue circling around her. Fuck. Why did I not think this through, why did I just plan on getting her here. I had been too fixated on the thought on having her here, too fixated on the thought of capturing her.
I didn't even have any practice, I didn't even know how to proceed with any of my ideas or thoughts. My mind was now, for the first time in weeks, completely blank. Not one single thought rushed through me.
She was here. What now?

You need practice. Practice. Practice. Practice. A voice in the back of my head whispered. I knew I should have practiced, deep inside I knew I shouldn't have gotten so excited and obsessed. I mean, I had just killed her room mate, so I guess that had kinda been practice? No, It was not enough, it wasn't any good either. I didn't want to kill Clementine, thats not what I wanted with her. Not once had that been my plan for her.
I look at her, her pale skin illuminated by the sterile and sharp light coming from the old ceiling lamp. Her black hair hanging around her face like curtains, framing her face perfectly. Even now, even after being dragged from her "safe" room to a basement fairly far away from her school, she still looked perfect. She still looked like an angel.
Her cheeks was red and flustered, almost like she was blushing. The redness in her cheeks matched perfectly with her pale skin, creating an illusion as if her skin was made out of porcelain. Thats why she looked so good, no living breathing human could ever look that good. She was simply a doll, without a single crack......yet.

Oh by did she had something to look forward to. After I have gotten my practice of course. Because what could possibly be more poetic than a cracked porcelian doll in the hands of the big bad wolf.

Notes

this one is kinda short.. also kind of a filler chapter.

"I'll try getting a chapter out tomorrow or the day after that! (or maybe even later tonight who knows im really in the writing sone atm)"

I feel as if I'm not the most reliable writer lol.. No but really, I will always try to update this story as often as possible! I will certainly start updating more frequently when my mental health gets more stable again.

sending out more (((((((((((good vibes))))))))))) for people who needs it!