AN: I read the words angel lust (which is an awesome phrase,) and this popped into my head. I have no other explanation. And yes, it's very, very short. I tried to make it a drabble, but I fail at only 100 words. Maybe I'll add onto it if I get in the mood and people if are interested.
There's something fascinating about watching Kenny die.
It wasn't just fascinating, though. It was heart-stopping and terrifying and it burns.
I can't look away. Can't stop taking his last breath with a kiss, tasting his juice as he bleeds out, gazing lovingly into his eyes as they glaze over.
When we were fourteen, he lured me back to his trailer. I can't remember what exactly he said, but I do distinctly remember not being particularly surprised when he pushed me onto his mattress.
We had sex. It was fine. Not the important part.
Immediately afterwards- he hadn't even laid down yet- a pipe came flying through his window and straight through his skull.
So there I was, pinned underneath my future-boyfriend's corspe, grey matter and blood leaking onto me. For awhile, I blamed shock for my inability to move. Afterglow for my remaining (building?) bliss. But as I laid there for a few hours, it was obvious that wasn't it. As his various bodily fluids and mush dried and crusted onto me, I tried to move, to leave, to be disgusted...
And I failed.