Post by Pauley Morgan on Jun 20, 2009 2:04:16 GMT -6
WARNING! I wrote this based off of a plot Cian and Pauley are living right now. This is the possible outcome, but it is mainly the by-product of her pissy attitude. Pauley was ready to kill.... This is rated M for mature. Seriously, it can get messed up. Enjoy!
It has been three weeks since the beating. Three weeks since my world was turned upside down, and so was his. The bruises have faded, the wounds are now scars, but the memories linger. The ones that have him waking up in the middle of the night, screaming out, tears and sweat running down his scarred face. I do what I can to sooth him; I love him with everything I have. I hold him until the memories fade to black as he drifts back into his fitful sleep. Those deep eyes I fell in love with are now hollow, empty vessels that no longer lead to his soul. I swore I would find who did this him and get revenge. And I will.
Cian is finally sleeping tonight- thanks to help of the Vicodin and other sleeping aids our trusted doctor prescribed. I am in the living room , my clothes for the night out and ready for me to put on as soon as I get the call. For weeks I had been establishing connections down town, getting into the right circles, and making sure my purpose was clear. No one was going to screw me over- they didn’t dare. My steps have worn a small track on the floor as I pace around the flat, eager to get the justice I so desperately crave. My hair and makeup are already done; my long tar black pulled up tight in a leather strap, and my hauntingly pink eyes heavily lined with black eyeliner. I even had my nails done for the occasion; long and black, they matched the rest of my attire, and made me even more frightening.
At last my phone rings. With a snap, the untraceable phone is flipped open and a menacing grin takes over my features. I respond quickly and roughly before shutting the phone and tucking it away. I gather my clothes and change in the bathroom, and the transformation is complete. I am no longer the sweet Pauley who takes pictures for a living. I am now the Pauley who is out for blood, and will not stop until she settles the score. My attire is all black, and nearly completely leather. Leather pants that are still flexible enough to run in, black patent leather boots that come up to my calf and have a four inch heel, a solid black tank top with my leather riding jacket over it. In the inner pocket of my jacket sits my best friend- the small pistol that will make sure I get the job done. One quick glance at myself in the mirror confirms the effect I was looking for: I looked like a bitch who knew what she wanted, but still vulnerable enough to be taken advantage of.
I leave Cian a note letting him know not to worry, that I am out taking pictures and will be home later. Slipping out the door, I lock it and make my way down to my bike, where my camera is hiding, and the beast that will take me to my destination. Mounting my Ducati, I feel the familiar rush of power that comes with the small, fast engine. I take off, the blacks, whites, and grays of the city flashing around me as I speed, with purpose to the small, run down bar just blocks from where I had found my lover, curled up and broken and bleeding, forever changed.
Jaw clenched tight, I park my bike outside of the dingy bar and lock it to the lamp post. The comforting weight of the gun presses into my chest and I smile, just knowing this would soon all be over. I would be able to breathe, and we can both try to live a normal life without worrying about losing our lives. I gather my wits and push my way into the bar and take a seat at the end of the counter. The bartender and owner comes over and I order a ginger ale. I want to have my wits about me when I do this. “Which ones are they?” All I have to do is get the men liquored up and lure them into following me somewhere, but I need to know which ones they were before I put my plan into action.
The bartender nodded to the table behind and to the left of me, and I nod in return. “Are you sure?” My voice is rough and demanding, but it has to be in order to get the information I need. The old man nods again and hands me my drink. “They are over there bragging about it, the twisted freaks.” I nod and set my chin. “Make sure they get all the drinks they want, put it on my tab.” I watch as the owner leaves, pitcher of beer in hand and heads over to their table. I turn and flirtatiously wave at the gruff men, smiling coyly. The tender set the pitcher down and I watch as he lets the men know I bought them drinks for the rest of the night. I secretly congratulate myself. Stage one of the plan is complete.
The men refill their glasses and I get up, put on my best flirty moves, and join my targets at their table. “May I join you?” Ernest nods let me know it is fine. “So what are you two boys doing out here alone tonight?” I lean forward a bit and let my arms rest on the table, my cleavage showing over the top of my tank. The one with the bald head grins a toothless smile and blows a kiss at me. “The question is, honey, what are you doin’ here ’lone? Dun you know it ain’t safe ‘round here, a purdy thang like yerself?” “I know what I’m doin’. And I think a couple big ol’ men like yourselves can keep me safe, can’t ya?” I bat my eyes and licked my lips, my chest pushing out.
They fall for it, and I take no time in running my boot up the leg of the one with the greasy hair. I will have to throw the boots out later, but I have a job to do first. I flirt with the men for another half an hour. All the while, they drink, getting the harder liquor, and I keep getting ginger ale. Both men are sloshed, and phase two is complete. Standing, I wave my hand around in front of my face and let out a deep breath. “Phew, it sure is getting smoky in here. Hot, too. Will you boys excuse me while I get some fresh air?” I get wide eyed nods, then turn and leave. I walk a few blocks and know that they are following me because I hear them, joking and stumbling, arguing over who is going to get me first. I grin as I turn down the same alley I found Cian in three weeks previous.
I stop and watch as my targets approach and both stumble over the loose gravel as they get closer. I press my hands against my chest and give my breasts a squeeze, then run my hand up my shirt and around my stomach. They have identical sloppy grins plastered on, and I get my hand inside my jacket just in time to cover my gun before the bald one pushes me against the wall and gropes at my ass. The steel of the small gun is like ice in my hand as I pull it from my pocket and take aim. I let my head tilt and the bald idiot gets the drift and begins to kiss my neck while his friend rubs his crotch through his pants. Without thinking, I pull the trigger, shooting the creep kissing me in the balls and sending him to his knees. Before the other mother fucker can even think about running, I shoot him in the same area. Now neither one of them will ever hurt another man or woman for the rest of their pathetic, short lives. I kick the bald one over on his side and put the heel of my boot on his ass. With my gun pointed at the other son of a bitch, I grind my heel into baldy’s asshole and grin as his scream echoes off the walls.
“You better tell me what I want to hear, or this heel is going to rip your ass apart, you stupid fucker.” I look over and greasy is trying to pull himself away. I laugh and shoot his hand, and watch as he curls up, staring at the hand that is now missing fingers. “Listen, baldy, and listen well. I want to know why the fuck you beat and raped that guy three weeks ago. If I don’t like what I hear,” I grind the heel of my boot a little hard, “well, you’ll never be able to shit again. Got it?” The mother fucker nodded his head and I put a bit more weight on my leg, and keep an eye on greasy. “Well? Get to talking, asshole, or yours is gone!” I push down and hear his pants rip. He screams as the heel of my boot pushes on his anus. “He owed us! The idiot bet away all of his money, and then he bet himself. Please, please don’t hurt me again!” I sigh, then put all my weight on my boot and watch as the heel rips through him. I pull my foot back and smile satisfyingly as he grabs at his ass. “You didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. Poor you. Now you know what it felt like when you two perverts raped him!”
I make my way over to the greasy-haired bastard and watch as he begs me not to hurt him. Such sniveling losers. Pressing the heel of my boot to his ass, I give him the same chance. “You have one chance, or you wind up like your friend there. A hand can be fixed, but an ass, well, he’ll never shit right again. Now, tell me why you raped that man?” With the clean heel, I press onto greasy’s ass until the fabric of his pants rip. “Well, he bet himself. He was ours, because he lost. We let him go, I swear. We left the door open and everything. I… I’m sorry.” My pink eyes flash and I step on my heel with all my might, twisting my foot as I go. “You sick fuck! You fuckers kept him locked up for TWO DAYS! He doesn’t remember a fucking thing, then you had to go and leave him a fucking TAPE!” I pull my heel out, then step back and look at the rapist pigs. Without remorse, I shoot them both in the back of the head, the greasy one first, then the bald one. Never again will they hurt a person.
I quickly tuck the gun back in my jacket and walk briskly to the Ducati. I unchain it and climb on. One last look at the bar, and I leave, the bodies of the two men lying where I found Cian an eternity ago. The ride home is peaceful and the wind rips through my hair. Outside my building, I lock up my bike and take the lift to the flat. He is still sleeping, so I bag up the boots and toss them in the trash. After a quick shower, I put my pajamas on, and toss the note I had left. It was irrelevant now. As I slide into bed with the man I love, I get a sense that all is right. There was nothing left to harm him now.
It has been three weeks since the beating. Three weeks since my world was turned upside down, and so was his. The bruises have faded, the wounds are now scars, but the memories linger. The ones that have him waking up in the middle of the night, screaming out, tears and sweat running down his scarred face. I do what I can to sooth him; I love him with everything I have. I hold him until the memories fade to black as he drifts back into his fitful sleep. Those deep eyes I fell in love with are now hollow, empty vessels that no longer lead to his soul. I swore I would find who did this him and get revenge. And I will.
Cian is finally sleeping tonight- thanks to help of the Vicodin and other sleeping aids our trusted doctor prescribed. I am in the living room , my clothes for the night out and ready for me to put on as soon as I get the call. For weeks I had been establishing connections down town, getting into the right circles, and making sure my purpose was clear. No one was going to screw me over- they didn’t dare. My steps have worn a small track on the floor as I pace around the flat, eager to get the justice I so desperately crave. My hair and makeup are already done; my long tar black pulled up tight in a leather strap, and my hauntingly pink eyes heavily lined with black eyeliner. I even had my nails done for the occasion; long and black, they matched the rest of my attire, and made me even more frightening.
At last my phone rings. With a snap, the untraceable phone is flipped open and a menacing grin takes over my features. I respond quickly and roughly before shutting the phone and tucking it away. I gather my clothes and change in the bathroom, and the transformation is complete. I am no longer the sweet Pauley who takes pictures for a living. I am now the Pauley who is out for blood, and will not stop until she settles the score. My attire is all black, and nearly completely leather. Leather pants that are still flexible enough to run in, black patent leather boots that come up to my calf and have a four inch heel, a solid black tank top with my leather riding jacket over it. In the inner pocket of my jacket sits my best friend- the small pistol that will make sure I get the job done. One quick glance at myself in the mirror confirms the effect I was looking for: I looked like a bitch who knew what she wanted, but still vulnerable enough to be taken advantage of.
I leave Cian a note letting him know not to worry, that I am out taking pictures and will be home later. Slipping out the door, I lock it and make my way down to my bike, where my camera is hiding, and the beast that will take me to my destination. Mounting my Ducati, I feel the familiar rush of power that comes with the small, fast engine. I take off, the blacks, whites, and grays of the city flashing around me as I speed, with purpose to the small, run down bar just blocks from where I had found my lover, curled up and broken and bleeding, forever changed.
Jaw clenched tight, I park my bike outside of the dingy bar and lock it to the lamp post. The comforting weight of the gun presses into my chest and I smile, just knowing this would soon all be over. I would be able to breathe, and we can both try to live a normal life without worrying about losing our lives. I gather my wits and push my way into the bar and take a seat at the end of the counter. The bartender and owner comes over and I order a ginger ale. I want to have my wits about me when I do this. “Which ones are they?” All I have to do is get the men liquored up and lure them into following me somewhere, but I need to know which ones they were before I put my plan into action.
The bartender nodded to the table behind and to the left of me, and I nod in return. “Are you sure?” My voice is rough and demanding, but it has to be in order to get the information I need. The old man nods again and hands me my drink. “They are over there bragging about it, the twisted freaks.” I nod and set my chin. “Make sure they get all the drinks they want, put it on my tab.” I watch as the owner leaves, pitcher of beer in hand and heads over to their table. I turn and flirtatiously wave at the gruff men, smiling coyly. The tender set the pitcher down and I watch as he lets the men know I bought them drinks for the rest of the night. I secretly congratulate myself. Stage one of the plan is complete.
The men refill their glasses and I get up, put on my best flirty moves, and join my targets at their table. “May I join you?” Ernest nods let me know it is fine. “So what are you two boys doing out here alone tonight?” I lean forward a bit and let my arms rest on the table, my cleavage showing over the top of my tank. The one with the bald head grins a toothless smile and blows a kiss at me. “The question is, honey, what are you doin’ here ’lone? Dun you know it ain’t safe ‘round here, a purdy thang like yerself?” “I know what I’m doin’. And I think a couple big ol’ men like yourselves can keep me safe, can’t ya?” I bat my eyes and licked my lips, my chest pushing out.
They fall for it, and I take no time in running my boot up the leg of the one with the greasy hair. I will have to throw the boots out later, but I have a job to do first. I flirt with the men for another half an hour. All the while, they drink, getting the harder liquor, and I keep getting ginger ale. Both men are sloshed, and phase two is complete. Standing, I wave my hand around in front of my face and let out a deep breath. “Phew, it sure is getting smoky in here. Hot, too. Will you boys excuse me while I get some fresh air?” I get wide eyed nods, then turn and leave. I walk a few blocks and know that they are following me because I hear them, joking and stumbling, arguing over who is going to get me first. I grin as I turn down the same alley I found Cian in three weeks previous.
I stop and watch as my targets approach and both stumble over the loose gravel as they get closer. I press my hands against my chest and give my breasts a squeeze, then run my hand up my shirt and around my stomach. They have identical sloppy grins plastered on, and I get my hand inside my jacket just in time to cover my gun before the bald one pushes me against the wall and gropes at my ass. The steel of the small gun is like ice in my hand as I pull it from my pocket and take aim. I let my head tilt and the bald idiot gets the drift and begins to kiss my neck while his friend rubs his crotch through his pants. Without thinking, I pull the trigger, shooting the creep kissing me in the balls and sending him to his knees. Before the other mother fucker can even think about running, I shoot him in the same area. Now neither one of them will ever hurt another man or woman for the rest of their pathetic, short lives. I kick the bald one over on his side and put the heel of my boot on his ass. With my gun pointed at the other son of a bitch, I grind my heel into baldy’s asshole and grin as his scream echoes off the walls.
“You better tell me what I want to hear, or this heel is going to rip your ass apart, you stupid fucker.” I look over and greasy is trying to pull himself away. I laugh and shoot his hand, and watch as he curls up, staring at the hand that is now missing fingers. “Listen, baldy, and listen well. I want to know why the fuck you beat and raped that guy three weeks ago. If I don’t like what I hear,” I grind the heel of my boot a little hard, “well, you’ll never be able to shit again. Got it?” The mother fucker nodded his head and I put a bit more weight on my leg, and keep an eye on greasy. “Well? Get to talking, asshole, or yours is gone!” I push down and hear his pants rip. He screams as the heel of my boot pushes on his anus. “He owed us! The idiot bet away all of his money, and then he bet himself. Please, please don’t hurt me again!” I sigh, then put all my weight on my boot and watch as the heel rips through him. I pull my foot back and smile satisfyingly as he grabs at his ass. “You didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. Poor you. Now you know what it felt like when you two perverts raped him!”
I make my way over to the greasy-haired bastard and watch as he begs me not to hurt him. Such sniveling losers. Pressing the heel of my boot to his ass, I give him the same chance. “You have one chance, or you wind up like your friend there. A hand can be fixed, but an ass, well, he’ll never shit right again. Now, tell me why you raped that man?” With the clean heel, I press onto greasy’s ass until the fabric of his pants rip. “Well, he bet himself. He was ours, because he lost. We let him go, I swear. We left the door open and everything. I… I’m sorry.” My pink eyes flash and I step on my heel with all my might, twisting my foot as I go. “You sick fuck! You fuckers kept him locked up for TWO DAYS! He doesn’t remember a fucking thing, then you had to go and leave him a fucking TAPE!” I pull my heel out, then step back and look at the rapist pigs. Without remorse, I shoot them both in the back of the head, the greasy one first, then the bald one. Never again will they hurt a person.
I quickly tuck the gun back in my jacket and walk briskly to the Ducati. I unchain it and climb on. One last look at the bar, and I leave, the bodies of the two men lying where I found Cian an eternity ago. The ride home is peaceful and the wind rips through my hair. Outside my building, I lock up my bike and take the lift to the flat. He is still sleeping, so I bag up the boots and toss them in the trash. After a quick shower, I put my pajamas on, and toss the note I had left. It was irrelevant now. As I slide into bed with the man I love, I get a sense that all is right. There was nothing left to harm him now.