Short Story

Erm... I remember thinking all these things being high and stuff...
So I tried to write it and I was still taking hits while I was writing and it took me forever just to finish a paragraph! 8D
Please tell me how I can make it better!

Just for the record, I never believed you when you told me you love me. I never believe anyone who takes the time to say ‘Trust me.'

That might have been why she fell in love with him. After all, he never did tell her to trust him. She fell many times because of that and he watched from the sidelines with a heavy heart - Or maybe it was a bemused smile. It would depend on whether or not she trusted him tonight.
His name was Matthew and he never in a million years wanted a woman who needed a protector.



“Hey Roxanne.” He sat in the shadows and against the wall so all she could see was the smoke from his cigarette though it only appeared as a lighter ribbon against the pale moonlight pouring into the window. She watched it hypnotically from half lidded - she knew he hated her attention landing anywhere else but those eyes of his.
Even in only a pair of dark blue jeans, the man embodied superiority and dignity. He disgusted her but he was by no means disgusting. He had strong features and jet black hair which felt softer than it looked. His eyes were blue, though - That vibrant bright blue was the only thing about him that turned her on.
Roxanne blinked and it stung - She caught herself staring at the smoke for too long and her eyes needed to readjust. Those damn lips of hers were already parted and she was lying on her back, just off the edge of the bed so her head hung from the side of it by her breakable swan-like neck. She could now crane herself to give him the obviously uninterested glance every now at then but she wouldn‘t give him the satisfaction.
Roxanne shifted to her stomach, continuing to ignore the shadowy silhouette who only wanted to fill her room with the dizzying smell of cigarette smoke. It did well to mask the sour air of sex, though. The two violating odors mixed together and left the woman thirsty. Maybe it was just the stale air of the filthy motel room. Was it love for this man? No; it was her whore-red, spaghetti-strap, cocktail-dress finished with a rather unflattering smudge right on the front. And she was just thirsty.
The digital alarm clock on the nightstand read 2 AM in the morning.
“Hey Matt.” She smirked back. The response was, to her, nicely timed and suspenseful. To him it was simply annoying.
In the darkness there were sounds of clothes rustling about and Roxanne knew he was getting up. When the moonlight caught him, he radiated majestically; Then the shadows would envelop him for moments at a time and he would disappear.
Roxanne watched Matthew walk the 3 or 4 steps between the bed she was laying on and the wall he was leaning against. She watched him seat himself on the dirty carpet so his back was resting against the aged mattress and the side of his head might as well have been touching against hers. She had to roll back onto her back to get away from the man - Make small talk.
Clearing her throat, she forced a wry smirk to her chapped lips but her voice still croaked as she spoke.
“Hey. I found a treasure map.”
“Oh?” Matthew's own voice was devoid of interest and a grunt under one's breathe would probably have been easier to decipher. He raised the cigarette as if to salute her and then took one long last drag before reaching around Roxanne to get to the nightstand. She reached as well - an uncharacteristically considerate gesture of passing him the ashtray. Matthew looked at her with such a humored expression on his hard features, she could feel her cheeks heating in a deep blush. Her right cheek stung, though - It had been from earlier in the night when he slapped her.
He must have seen her blushing because just at that moment he leaned in close to her and their faces were too near touching each others. She prepared herself for a kiss and he let out a breathe of smoke and that smell she could never get out of her hair.
He chuckled, satisfied, and she fanned the air before her, humiliated. After blowing that cigarette cloud in her face the girl deserved to be humored a little. Matthew took the ashtray, ground out the last of the fire in his cigarette and looked over to the general direction of the window as if to allow her to carry on with whatever faint point she might have to make.
“Do tell.”
“It's written in the bathroom mirror - with blood. It tells of a magical and wonderful treasure.” Roxanne smiled to herself. She hoped he would never discover how content she felt that moment he expended the energy to respond. It would be an emotion only to exist outside these filthy motel room walls.
“Where is it?”
“In the walls. A hidden trove of Irony and Asbestos.”
“And used Heroin Needles, probably.”
“And that pride you discarded earlier when you chose me.”
An awkward silence followed. That was when Matthew smiled a kind condescending smile at Roxanne and raised a hand to pat her on the cheek. She flinched.
“There there, beautiful. What on earth made you think I chose you?”
“You're still here, aren't you?”
“It's a place to stay warm.” His hand was already doing its magic, gently caressing her heated cheek and stirring up emotions she hated acknowledging.
“Yea. It's cold tonight.” That was bullshit.
Matthew had been breathing a slight bit heavier now and his hand was idly exploring the girl's neck. He wanted another go. She jerked her body away from his disgusting touch and muttered under her breathe. “I‘ll stay.” Her dirty blonde hair fell in strands over her glaring chocolate eyes. She looked fierce, ready to fight back; She also looked an absolute mess though she doubted he would mind - the room was dark enough.
She might have convinced herself that there was dignity in her rejecting his touch, but the truth was she was just another bitch willing to do tricks for a warm bed to stay in and her defiance fueled the moment.
In the next moment the hand at the girl's neck pulled her from the edge of the bed and had her pinned on the dirty floor.
The two were entangled and Matthew has already hooked a thumb in the waistband of his jeans. In one swift motion, they were on the ground. There was crying out and kicking and the sound of the back of his hand coming into contact with her cheek again.
She quieted as he panted and then she turned her head to the side and shut her eyes tight. Her breath hitched; He felt disgusting in her. “I'm going to throw up.” The words managed to leave her lips in a resigned tone and he acknowledged with a quickened pace and a tighter grip around the whore's throat. Soon, she would be out of oxygen.
She should have realized by then that he wouldn't let go.



“Hey Matt?”
“Yea?”
“Do you ever think about that night? I still can‘t--”
“Try not to. Talk about something else.”
“Ahh… How are things?”
“Mostly cloudy. A good chance of rain. You?”
“Getting better. It's still a bit too cold for my taste.”
“Are we talking about the weather, babe?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”​