#cantfukinfite

[darkrccm]

Rachel’s mind was reeling as Nathan helped her to the desk, bloodshot eyes never leaving the lifeless body of Mark Jefferson. Did this really just happen? She thinks its another hallucination, her inner most desires realized right before her eyes but it leaves more than just simple relief. With the absence of Mark in the living world she feels more than just the solace of not being subjected to his sick games any further, of having to pose like some creepy doll that he wanted to caress and photograph. There is an ache at the core of her being and she can’t help the tears that continuously slip down her cheeks as she sits motionless. 

She is aware of Nathan’s presence, of him watching her like she was about to break apart at any given second but she can’t bring herself to look at him. Her fingers grip tight around the water bottle, fingernails digging into the thin plastic as her thoughts conflict with one another. Nathan saved you, he’s a killer, Mark is dead, Nathan did this to you. All at once she’s picturing what life would have been like if, like Mark had said, Nathan didn’t suggest to bring her here. Did he even suggest to bring her here? Was Mark lying? Rachel could feel her heart shatter at the very idea of it being true, wishing that she had never gave Nathan the opportunity to get as close to her as he did. Regret begun to fill her otherwise blank features, suddenly feeling the roll of disgust in her empty stomach. A wave of nausea hits and she’s suddenly doubled over in the rolling computer chair, the water bottle splashing to the floor as an unforgiving dry heave pushes it’s way up her throat. 

She can’t help but feel defeated in this moment. Rachel can only think of times in the past she had felt so vulnerable, how much she hated the sinking feeling of not being able to do anything. Why does everyone she loves cares about want to hurt her? The tears are falling faster and heavier, her face starting to contort as the nausea passes. Rachel holds her sides tightly, fingers digging into skin and bone.

It hurts, it hurts so much. 

She’s trying to ignore Nathan’s presence as she feels herself shattering into jagged pieces in front of him. She doesn’t want him around her, she doesn’t want him to touch her but she craves human contact, she wants to reach out. Rachel’s cries become much more audible with every passing moment as the tears begin to collect on the cold floor beneath her feet. 

have some angst binch ✖ @cantfukinfite

[deadpostergirl]

“This can’t be happening!”

Meme: XStatus: Accepting!

She’d spent months in that bunker, being injected over and over with doses of the sedative neither Nathan or Mark knew actually had the opposite effect on her, thanks to an allergy. So, she could tell by the feeling of the drug running into her vein that Nathan had given her too much. Immediately, her usual reaction to the drug was amplified. 

Her already sweat-matted hair was dampened as rivulets of sweat began to bead and run down her skin. Rachel’s heartbeat seemed to trip over itself and then speed up in an effort to compensate. All moisture seemed to evaporate from her mouth as it went cotton dry, and suddenly her breaths were getting harder to take. Shaking uncontrollably, Rachel leaned over and retched, humiliation that she was doing it in front of Nathan no longer registering, sensing what was coming. Even so, she fought. The urge to fall asleep was almost unbearable, her every muscle feeling like lead. 

She trembled as she looked up at Nathan through months-dirty strings of hair, an expression of pleading turning to pure, immeasurable rage as she realized he was still taking her picture any way. Knowing the exact kind of shot he was looking for, she ruined it. Her last act was one of defiance. No helpless, limp limbs. No blank stare to give him (or rather, Mark) his unfettered reign over her any more. Instead she held on, teeth gritted behind tightly drawn lips, eyes blazing with all the rage, hate and humiliation she’d suffered the last six months. 

But behind that rage, she was breaking. She knew the end was coming, she could feel her soul waving the white flag, begging to let her leave this living Hell behind. She was scared, though, and grieving for all the people she wished she could give one last goodbye. Her parents, her sister, Chloe. What future she might have had. Despite her heart crumbling at the reality of her situation, she kept the hard glare on her features, staring Nathan Prescott right in the face as she finally let go, let the drugs overtake her, and for the first and last time in her life, gave up. 

[darkrccm]

✿

send me some flowers ✖ accepting

random number generated: 64. clinging hug

It was cold and hazy. The fog of the drugs both seemed to heighten and dilute her awareness, alternating between feeling the intense hatred she had for Mark Jefferson to the dull ache of a pain that she could only wait to disappear with her life force.  Most of the time it was her and Mark alone, him wanting to get the perfect shots without the interruption of Nathan who would often interject and keep him from his work. During their time alone Mark made sure to take every agonizing second of his time, nitpicking on position and expression and berating her when she ultimately defied him. 

What remained most vivid about their time together wasn’t the things he did to her, no. She was used to filing away the terrible things that happened to her and never revisiting them – pretending like they simply did not exist. Rachel would be strong enough to take the humiliation of being betrayed by someone she had loved idolized since it wouldn’t be the first time and if she was to survive this room it wouldn’t be the last. What remained the most vivid about this horrifying encounter was the things Mark had told her. 

"It was Nathan’s idea to bring you here. You have no one to thank but him. He thought you’d be the perfect model for our work and let me tell you, he was right. You have such a natural talent, Rachel, such innocent beauty underneath that defensive and rebellious exterior. If only you’d just let me work,” He had clicked his tongue, a grim smile on his lips as he caught sight of the flame that was starting to suffocate and smolder in her eyes. “You two were more than friends, weren’t you? You must’ve cared a great deal about him. What a shame he led you to a place like this.”

Time simply didn’t make sense in the bunker. She was finding it hard to comprehend the hours of the day without a window or sunlight but she could only assume she had been there a few days. The next time she had opened her eyes Nathan was there. With her head full of fog she didn’t hear him as he spoke to her in quick hushed tones, not understanding the flurry of words that spilled forth from his lips. When she had begun to come to, head clearing of a haze that stifled her, her eyes had begun to widen, filling with a rage towards someone she had come to care deeply for. Rachel struggled against the restraints the best she could. Her muscles ached with each creak of her bones against the rope that had held her limbs together for what felt like months. 

Her attention was caught briefly as Nathan suddenly turned quickly back towards the entrance of the room, Mark standing there with the sickest of smiles. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets he begun to stroll towards them. It wasn’t until Rachel could pull her fear-stricken eyes from Mark to catch sight of the gun that Nathan had been holding in his hand. He had begun to wave it at Mark, shouting and shaking as he tried to hold the gun steady towards the elders visage. Rachel couldn’t grasp onto the words but she remembers the stuttering, Nathan trying to spit out words that were hard for him to say. 

Mark had continued to stroll, unaffected by the gun that was held on him. He had took a few more steps forward before the sound of a loud POP! filled the bunker. The sound had ricocheted off the metal walls and pierced their ears. Rachel was further disoriented, all sound completely draining from the room as hazel eyes watched the bullet pierce Mark’s chest. He had fallen backwards, landing on the glass coffee table directly behind him and shattering it into a million of pieces. Rachel looked back up at Nathan who was trembling, holding his head in his hands as Mark’s blood begun to seep across the floor and create a sea of red among the shattered pieces of glass. 

There was a sense of relief and sorrow that washed over Rachel’s features. Nathan had taken a few moments to pull his thoughts together before falling to his knees in front of her. He begun to work quickly and clumsily to undo her confines, fingers trembling as he undid the knots. Nathan pulled the duct tape from over her mouth carefully, apologizing as he moved it along her swollen lips. Once her arms were free from constraints he had immediately pulled her into an embrace. He hung onto her desperately, clinging as he buried his face in her unkempt hair. Rachel remained limp in his grasp, eyes beginning to water as a slew of apologies continued to fall from his mouth. 

“Fuck, Rachel, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I – I didn’t, I’m –” He was sobbing, she could feel the erratic heave of his chest against her own as he gripped onto her tight.  

Rachel closed her eyes, furrowing her brows together as weak fingers worked to grasp onto his shirt. She wanted to push him away, tell him to fuck off and to understand why he would want to do this to her. The blonde couldn’t find the will to do any of these things and admittedly found comfort in the first nice touch she had experienced in what felt like decades. Instead, Rachel pressed her lips together to suppress a sob as her fingers grabbed at his shirt and started to tug.

[quccnvictoria-blog]

👝🗑

 LIVING SPACE HC // accepting 

👝- The contents of their purse/backpack/bag: Victoria has a million purses, in varying colors and sizes, but her main bag is a black Chanel bag. She has a Miu Miu wallet, her favorite lipstick (in the color Bikini), a small vial of perfume, a few emergency tampons, a pack of gum, and cigarettes.

  🗑- Trashcan: Her trashcan is changed out every day (at home by the housecleaner, at Blackwell she takes her trashbag and dumps the bag in the girl’s restroom trash), so it’s very tidy. Since she really only eats in her room (due to her eating disorder and discomfort eating in front of others), there’s a lot of food wrappers and food waste. Aside from that, many pages from her journal and sketchbook that she didn’t see as “good enough” are balled up and thrown in there as well.

[queenavedon-blog]

hello seattle

     The wait is boring.

   Victoria tosses and turns for what feels like years, staring at the empty, cream-colored walls surrounding her. They used to be filled with posters and pictures, but she took them with her when she moved into Blackwell’s dorms. She’s scrolled through her Instagram and Twitter timelines to nearly three weeks back, watched every Snapchat story, and now she’s staring blankly at her wall, filled with an immense sense of boredom. 

   She puts both of her hands on her face and drags them down, letting out a groan. She’s impatient. Waiting for anyone feels like centuries to her.

   But waiting for Nathan? That felt like an eternity.

   Mostly because she hasn’t seen him since she left for Seattle with her parents. She missed him dearly, even though she texted or facetimed him on the daily. It’s been about three and a half hours since he told her he’d left, and since then, she was itching to leave, anxiously awaiting that ‘i’m here’ text. 

   She’d barely even asked for permission, just telling her parents she was getting picked up and leaving for a bit. They didn’t exactly care, they were just curious in who in god’s name was picking her up. She told them it was Nathan Prescott, and before further interrogation could take place, she shut her door again. 

   She’s listening to one of the countless playlists they’d created together, crossfaded out of their senses, and she can practically hear Nathan imitating the trilling noises to their favorite songs, and she laughs to herself. 

   The music fades out, and before the ding of her text message notification sounds, she’s lifting her Vera Bradley overnight bag and her phone, and sprinting out the door. Her parents don’t react to her running out, so she doesn’t even waste her breath on mustering a ‘bye.’

“Naaaate!”

   She drops her bag right in front of her driveway and squeals, running and jumping into Nathan’s arms (without warning) as he’s shutting his car door. She wraps her long legs around his hips and just squeezes him.

“I missed you,” she cries, the biggest grin on her face.

@cantfukinfite​