WARNING: This story may contain ‘dark subjects’, inappropriate language and might be considered graphic, depending on the viewer.

This is Courtney’s POV

Dedicated to: a special someone, you know who you are- I think I might just go insane without you, that is, if I’m not already… :) We’ll go to the end of the world together, I promise.

Our Lady Sorrows

I am like a flower. Not the dainty and somewhat stouthearted gardenias or chrysanthemums that elegantly adorn the little kitchen table with their tame petals that glisten in the assertive golden bars penetrating through the half-opened blinds on the hot sultry summer mornings. I am not the effervescent carnation that fills your mother’s eyes with hope and pride when offered to her. Nor am I the picturesque, lofty yet balmy orchids or roses that augustly grace your grandmother’s mantelpiece that elicits admiration and ostentation reminiscences of the sweet memories of innocence past and symbolizes the utmost emblem of love.

No. I am the frail, pedestrian dandelion, the one that gets crushed by the towering, acidic rain and squelched by passer-bys that do not give a damn about my rueful existence. I am a waste of space, a waste of oxygen, a waste of being. My broken petals wither with despair. I am the kind of revolting flower whose ignoble stem cannot even support the weight of my apathy. I am the lonely flower, simmering in the hollow darkness, a disgrace to my own being. A creature, a monster desperately clutching to an evanescent innocence that dissipated long ago- so long ago, that sometimes I wonder if it ever was there. I am the flower that lies, suppressed in vacuity, suffocating in my self-hatred, in my ugliness, in my impurity, grasping pathetically on an illusion, a mere pitiful illusion. Some days, I even fool myself.

Oh… today I feel like shit. My head, it hurts. I can feel this throbbing pain vibrating on my forehead.

“Love…”

I clasped my eyes shut tight. I don’t want to see him. Maybe, just maybe if I don’t see him, he might just disappear… I pushed away all of the agonizing thoughts, far, far away to a secluded area in the back of my mind. I swallowed the lump in my throat and bit my lower-lip, suppressing the soft whimper from escaping my cursed lips. I am weak. I am so weak, and I am so damn emotional… or maybe I’m just overdramatic. They say that after a while the pain just numbs you, that you can barely feel anything at all. They say that you just become indifferent to it, like stone to the rain. They say with time it hurts much less, that it gets easier. That’s a load of bull. Indifferent? Easier? Better? Hurt less? These words are foreign to be, because no matter how much time passes, no matter how many days fade, no matter how many endless nights creep on, I am just as much tormented, I am just as much agonized. And it never changes. But I do suppose that I have gotten used to it.

“…you’re up,” he said his breath laced with liquor and his face nauseatingly close to mine.

His cold fingers wrapped themselves around my tiny waist. I could feel my skin crawl. My eyes remained closed shut… I’ve always been a dreamer, making up my false realities. This truth wasn’t made for me. I know, I am a coward; I am unable to face the world and its judgmental scrutiny. I felt his icy cold fingers slide from it’s original position and onto my posterior. I could feel the inside of my abdomen churn. I felt him pinch my ass. Hard. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to yell, to scream. My legs became weak. I wanted to break down and cry. His alcohol induced breath tickled against my neck. I smiled feebly and nodded hastily.

I should grow up. It’s not like it’s that bad.

Coleman, the club manager, released his grip from me. I scuttled away from him. I was up. I don’t feel so good.

I often lulled to myself that it wasn’t my fault that I ended up here. But then again, when have I ever taken the blame? When have I ever taken responsibility for my actions? I used to mollify my reality, sugarcoating it and often actually believing it. Not anymore. Fairytales do not exist. They are stories told to gullible starry-eyed children whose eyes light up with hope upon hearing them, only to be later on deceived my life.

And as I came upon thse the stage, surrounded by drunken beasts reeking from the awful stench of liquor, hollering mindlessly like wild animals, I spotted him. He’s so beautiful. He’s a murderer. I think he’s fucked-up. But he is so beautiful. And I’m a stripper. I think we’re both fucked-up.

I could see his soft blue eyes staring at me intently. The rest of the world just faded into numbness when he was around. I didn’t want to look his way. I would get entranced and lose focus. He sat with this poised expression to him. An aura of complete serenity enveloped him. His chiseled features, broad chest, tan skin and light brown hair had something majestic, like some air of superiority to him. And his soft blue eyes. They were so cold, so hard. They would never reveal any emotion. He was so cold, so intimidating. People whispered about his cold-heartedness, fearing him and gossiping about him as though they were any better.

Jason Morgan. My bipolar brother’s enforcer. My brother doesn’t love me. He always looked at me with a sense of disgust and belittlement. He never said anything, but I could feel it. Especially when he found out I had become a stripper. I was always such a disappointment, such a burden. I always asked too many questions and spoke candidly of my dislike in his choices. I wasn’t the sweet little sister that shuts her mouth and does quietly what she is told when she told that he expected me to be. Then again, if it wasn’t for him, I would have never met Jason. Yes, he had assigned his enforcer to guard me… it doesn’t mean that he cares.

I… I don’t feel so good.

I used to hate Jason. I used to loathe him. He was my alcoholic husband, A.J’s brother. He was the reminder of my loveless abusive marriage. I guess the reason I hate fairytales so much is because they blinded me to believe that I loved A.J. or that he or anyone could actually love me. But would someone who actually loved you inflict pain onto you? And yet, here I was, standing before this crowd of savages, humiliating the little dignity I had left paying for his mistakes. I should leave my husband. But I am incapable of it. I think I’m terrified at the prospect of being alone. I’m terrified of burning and crashing and realizing that this is as good as it will ever get.

And then I met his blue sapphires. Jason. He was always there. He always listened to me rambled on selfishly about my own meager problems. He look was so receptive and kind and devoid of judgment. The only one person that never judged me. Jason was funny too. Not that he ever made jokes, but his earnestness always brought a smile to my lips. I cannot describe with words how I felt when I was with him. He was just so warm. He felt like… home. He is so beautiful. I am not worthy of him.

My head ached… it hurt. It hurt to breathe… The room started spinning. I think I was getting dizzy. My eyes rolled inside my head, and everything went pitch black.

XXXXXX

I could smell his cologne. His heavenly scent whisked in the air. I could feel the dim light reflected on my closed lids. My eyes slowly fluttered open.

Everything was still pretty hazy, but I instinctively smiled. I knew he was here. My head weighed heavy on my delicate shoulders. It still hurt a little. I quickly closed my eyes, wincing in pain. Pain- that was something I was definitely used to.

“Hey,” he said as worry puckered over his chiseled features. But Jason still smiled. We okay, not smile, but his lips did curve up.

“Jason,” I breathed softly.

I looked around me. The gloomy grey walls of the otiose room stared back at me. I immediately recognized my repugnant three-room apartment. I laid on my pitiable brown couch that was anchored in my living room after being disowned by its previous owners. They clearly had more sense than me. It had a bathroom, a bedroom and a crammed combo of a kitchen, dining area and living room. A stench of something like old cat litter bustled in my nose. I hate this place. Younger, yielded in my fantasy world, I would dream of this perfect future, this perfect love, this perfect job, this perfect home… I was to be the quintessential wife. I wanted to be better than my mother. I wanted more for myself. I needed more. I think, at one point, I actually foolishly believed that I actually deserved more. And where did I end up? I am no better.

“I’m right here,” Jason spoke calmly. He smiled wryly, almost as if he were in agony at that very second. His breath was intoxicating. He was right in front of me, our faces a mere inches a part. Sitting on the cheap coffee table, he looked down at me, watching over me protectively. I felt so secure in his dominating presence.

“What happened?” I asked weakly, recalling vaguely of the previous events.

“You stumbled and fell. You lost consciousness. Are you OK?” he asked. He didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at me. If I was delusional, I might actually think that he cared. But of course he didn’t care. I am but a job description. It’s not like we’re friends. I have no friends. But then again, I always have been a dreamer. What’s wrong with a little wishful thinking?

“Yeah, I’m fine Jase,” I said, trying my best to sound sincere. Ok, so I lied? “How did I end up here?”

“I carried you here,” he said and then smirked lightly. I think my face flushed at that very moment. Jason bent down, his warm fingers brushed over my face. I could feel my body tense for a second before giving in and relaxing underneath the light pressure. My face burned underneath his touch. A knot formed itself in the pit of my stomach. He caressed my cheek. He looked entranced. He smiled once more, and then quickly removed his hand as if he just touched the surface of a burning stove.

I looked into his eyes. His soft blue eyes. They didn’t seem so cold and unreadable anymore. They were tender and solacing, but nevertheless there was something so mysterious about them.

I pushed myself up on the couch into a sitting position.

He was staring at me. I don’t know why. He was just gazing raptly as if spellbound. But it didn’t trouble me. No, in fact it was reassuring and comforting in an unusual manner.

“Jason? I-I’m going to go take a shower. You can go back home.”

I got up without making a sound and paced my way to the bathroom, before turning.

“Thanks again,” I whispered to him softly. He didn’t hear me, I know.

The lights were dimmed and the skin was pink from the rust. The light monotonous dripping droned in the background.

I threw my skirt to the floor. Little baby blue and pink hearts adorned my small underwear. I stripped down, my bra fell to the floor with a gentle thud. Cold, the air was cold. My body ached. My head hurt. I had goose bumps frisking along my limbs. I was so, so cold.

A stranger. That’s what I felt like. I’m a stranger to myself. I felt alienated from my own body. I looked into the icy glassed surface of the mirror. I can see my reflection, my image, my ugliness. My naked hideousness.

I have sickening crimson slashes on my right arm tainted with blood. Red, deep rich crimson and scarlet blood. It’s… beautiful, it’s enticing. I’ve always been a coward. Too coward to face my problems, too coward to finish with my meaningless existence. And those gashes prove it. And the fact that I’m still standing here proves it. It created an unwholesome contrast, my pale ghastly white skin against the scarlet scratches from the fury of my razorblade, my only one true friend.

Oh it hurts to live today. I feel like shit today.

I looked like a vampire. Yes, that’s it. A pale, lurid creature of the night that submerges before the sunlight and its truculent rays. I was a damned being. I was a living corpse, or a walking dead. Red circles adorned my sleep-deprived eyes. Red… I like that color. I hate my eyes though. They always reveal too much. They are the doors to my soul. They unveil so much of me I wish could just disappear. They are the attestation of my impurity, of my ugliness.

I stepped into the bathtub and turned the water on. The warm liquid came cascading down on me from the fury above. Each drop soothed my woe. I closed my eyes and pictured the drops penetrating my pores, cleansing me. I scrubbed long and hard. My skin became pink and rash. I am so dirty. Why can’t the water clean me? Why does the atrocity remain? Why can I not get rid of the impurity?

I want to peel off my skin.

I would bleed.

The water would turn into a pool of crimson blood. I like red.

XXXXXX

Once I came out of the alluring hot shower, I got dressed in army printed baggy pants and a brown body fitted hoodie. I tied my hair in a ponytail. My hands slid in the pocket of my pants. I could feel the cold metal. My friend, the razorblade. I took a deep breath. I don’t know why, I just needed to take a deep breath to clear my head before the haunting thoughts and my mental turmoil took over me, before my disturbing thoughts drove me to the brink of insanity.

I came out of the washroom and to my astonishment I found Jason on the couch, sitting and waiting patiently for me. Hearing the slight creaking of the door, Jason looked up. He smiled sweetly upon seeing me. He had a coffee mug.

I walked over to him, bemused. Jason handed the cup of the burning liquid to me. The steaming coffee whirled in my nose. I love caffeine. The redolence soothed my aching head. Oh I love, love caffeine… maybe as much as I love red.

“Here, I made you coffee,” he shrugged. Oh, he was so sweet. My heart skipped a beat.

I took a seat on the sofa. My body twisted in a manner that my feet laid majestically on my paint-scrapped coffee table that had chips of wood falling off. I was facing Jason. My left hand supported my head and my right held the coffee mug.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

I looked into those blue sapphires. The same soft baby blue eyes that watched people die. The same eyes that witnessed people being robbed of the most precious gift given on Earth. The same bland sapphires that stared at those lifeless bodies, those hollow corpses as red thick crimson blood welled from the gunshot wounds, forming a pool of blood around them. Those same eyes now stared back tenderly at me. They were so full of compassion and understanding. Not once has he ever looked upon me with pity. Never. Yet there was something mysterious, almost challenging about them that intrigued me. His eyes lighted up, glistening in the dim light. We just sat there, nestled comfortably on the couch, staring at each other, lost in our own little world. We didn’t utter a sound for God knows how long.

“Jason, what are you doing here?” I said almost plaintively. It hurt having him there. I don’t know why. I wanted him badly- no I needed him, and this went beyond any sexual sensation. No it was deeper than that. It’s like he was my oxygen. But it hurt to have him so near me, and yet so far away.

He’s so beautiful. I-I think I love him. No, love is an illusion. It only exists in fairytales. But… I just have this strong urge, like this pull of the heart every single time our eyes lock.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone. Courtney, I’m afraid for you. You look sick,” Jason said worriedly. His brows furrowed. He was so adorable when he became troubled.

“A.J. will come any minute now Jase. I swear, I’m fine,” I sighed. I know- I lied again… big deal?

I couldn’t help but feel ashamed. I looked down. It was a reflex. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. Not after everything he’s done for me. And how do I repay him? By being dishonest.

I knew Jason could see right through me. My deep blue eyes sought out to display my truth candidly.

“Courtney…” he said softly for no peculiar reason. It was just a method of empowerment.

I looked back up at him. I couldn’t keep away from him for long. There was something magnetic about him. I swear, he is going to be the death of me.

I took a sip of the coffee before placing it back on my coffee table. Shoot, it’ll leave a ring. I shook my head. I’m such an idiot. It’s not like it’s worth scrap anyways.

“What’s wrong?” he said in an inviting and receptive manner. Jason didn’t push; he was just sedate and alluring. He waited patiently. He placed a hand on my thigh as he abided resignedly. A shiver ran down my spine at the contact of his hand. My stomach convulsed in a pleasant manner.

I peered at him for a moment, hesitating. I would probably regret spilling my guts to him later on… but I really needed this. I needed someone to listen. I didn’t deserve to be listened, but I still needed it.

“I don’t love A.J. He doesn’t love me. And I’m stuck with him. My life’s a mess, and it’s all my fault Jason,” I said after much reflection. I sounded so weak.

He didn’t answer. He remained mute. He just looked at me… Horror washed over my face. Why did I open my mouth? I knew it. I knew it. I drove the one person who actually gave a fuck away. I drove Jason away by opening my fucking mouth. No, please not Jason. He didn’t answer. Why, why wouldn’t he speak? My heart skipped a beat.

Jason leaned in towards me. His breath on my face. I could smell him, his masculine scent. He was so near. He was so, so close. His lips came crashing down on mine. He kissed me. It wasn’t harsh, nor forceful unlike my husband’s. No, Jason was sweet and gentle. Why would Jason kiss me? His hand remained on my thigh and he started delicately rubbing my thigh.

He pulled apart. A sudden look of sadness washed over his face. He quickly removed his hand from my thigh as though he were a child caught in a reprehensible act.

“I’m so-”

If he would say he’s sorry, I think I’d kill myself.

I cupped his face and kissed him. Again. I needed him. Could he not sense how much I needed him? He cupped my face, tenderly. I could feel his tongue about to break my barrier. Why was I resisting? I opened my mouth. Our tongues tangoed as we sipped each other. We stayed glued to each other. Jason gently pushed me to the back of the sofa, lying on top of me.

We broke apart, breathless, bewitched and enchanted by the heat of the moment.

I could feel his warm body against mine, his torso against my chest. I could feel his heart beat. And I could feel mine about to rip out of my thoracic cage. He kissed my pulp lips. My hands went underneath his t-shirt. I could feel his warm torso underneath my fingertips.

He showered me with soft loving kisses, descending from my lips to the crook of my neck. My hand fondled his spiky brown hair, lightly pushing his body against mine.

Lust filled the pit of my stomach and between my legs. Desire ached my breasts. I wanted him. A moan escaped my lips.

I pushed his t-shirt off of his body, revealing his muscular body. His eyes filled with desire and want. I wanted him too.

His strong hands went underneath my brown hoodie. I felt goose bumps all over my abdomen as his hungry hands appraised my body. His hand went to my bra, managing to push underneath the lacy layer of silk. I let out a low moan, which further excited him. He lifted the shirt over my head and threw it on the floor, revealing my black lacy bra.

I lifted my head as our lips connected. I opened my legs, wrapping them around his hips. I could feel his body tense and arouse against my stomach, almost erect. I wanted more. His firm hand gently caressed my breast. I moaned softly. He touched the buckle of my belt.

He pulled apart.

“You are so beautiful.”

No… I’m not.

“I want you Courtney. I always have. You deserve so much more than A.J.. Tell me, does he hurt you? You are so special, you are so damn amazing. I care for you so much.” He whispered softly as he jiggled with my belt.

Why was he saying this? Why was he doing this? He was lying! Saying all the right words… for what? For pity sex? Why was I doing this? Was I that easy? I am married. I vowed to saty loyal to my husband. I swore. And what am I doing? In an instant, I went from lust and craving to revulsion and utter disgust. I am abhorrent.

I pushed him away roughly.

He stared at me confused. His warm body against mine.

“Did I do something wrong? Are we going too fast?”

I shook my head. You? Do something wrong? No, Jason never. Do you know how much I love you!

He bent down and kissed me. He fondled my cheek.

“You are so, so beautiful. I care for you so, so much,” he whispered.

Why was he lying to me? Jason was always honest… He cannot be telling the truth. He doesn’t care for me, he doesn’t love me. No one can love such a hideous monster.

“You deserve better than A.J. Courtney, you can leave him. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he said breathlessly.

No I didn’t deserve better than A.J.! Look at me! I am a whore! A filthy, dirty whore! I do not even deserve A.J.!

His serene blue eyes pierced right through me. They seemed so caring, so sincere.

He’d never hurt me? He was hurting my now by just being here. No scratch that. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Jason was always there for me. Always. I am the problem. I always have been… Why is he lying to me? My eyes welled up with tears.

I started to cry. Salty tears slid down my face. I couldn’t fucking stop myself now. I was so weak, so pathetic. I have no control over my overbearing emotions.

Jason came off me. He caressed my cheek lightly. He tried to comfort me… he tried so hard. He was so sweet, so kind and caring. I didn’t deserve him.

“Courtney… I’m sorry…” his face twisted in agony. He looked worried, confused. I knew he’d never understand.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I-I care for you Courtney, and I’ll always be there for you,” he whispered. I could hear the sorrowful serenade of his words, his oft melody crushing me, crushing me like a flower.

I cried. My hand clapped on my forehead. I bit my lower-lip. The tears unstoppable.

“Get out,” I whispered as I continued crying, hot tears running down my red puffy cheeks.

He stared at me befuddled. He looked shock.

“Just get out Jason!” I whimpered.

“I’m sorry- I took advantage of you when you were most vulnerable,” he said apologetically. I could see his self-disgust. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He was in pain. My heart broke. I inflicted this on him. No you didn’t Jason… Go ahead, shout… Tell him the truth! I want this too- you did nothing wrong!

He grabbed his t-shirt.

“You didn’t want this, huh?” he asked miserably.

Of course I did! I want you Jason! I love you! Yes, I fucking love you!

“No,” I said in an alienated voice. Why did I lie? Tell him the truth!

“I see…” he said. His face contorted with pain. He went out. He walked out of my apartment, out of my life.

I used to fool thinking I was better than my mom, better than my brother, better than my husband. I was stupid to believe that. Look at me! I am no better! I slipped off the couch. Crouched on the floor, I laughed bitterly… or cried… or both. Maybe I was just addicted to drama, addicted to pain, addicted to misery? Maybe it made me feel secure in some perverted way? Maybe I enjoyed the feeling of the aching against my breast, to feel the overwhelming desperation and hollowness in my heart? Maybe I am just fucked-up?

Oh it hurts to live today. I could feel this void inside of me. There was nothing left to my pitiful existence. I was unworthy, unloved, undeserving. My innocence… was it ever there? I am all alone now, locked in my self-hatred, crushed by the world. I always knew I was a coward.

I think I’ll find solace in my razorblade... Red from the crimson scarlet blood welling from my slit paper wrists. I’ve always liked that color. There was always something beautifully chaotic about that color.

And maybe when I close my eyes I’ll just disappear. Maybe the pain would numb itself. Maybe, just maybe I’ll stop hurting.

I lost everything. And I deserved it.

After all, I’m just a fucking worthless flower.

XXXXXX

Author’s Note: The title credit goes to the song ‘Our Lady Sorrows’ by My Chemical Romance. This is my very first one-shot and POV story… so please be kind! And feedback is much appreciated. Good? Bad? Awful?

A huge thanks to Julia for being my beta.