Happily... Never #2

I see him, standing over me as I lay helplessly on the floor of the shower. My skin is wet and cold, in contrast to the hot water streaming over my body. He stands over me with a wicked, triumphant grin. His dark eyes glinting maliciously as he crosses his arms. He is triumphant. He has me exactly where he wants me.

His dark hair is slightly unkempt and fashionably tousled. His broad forehead smooth, though slightly lined from his expressionful face. His brows, dark, his eyes, deep set. His cheekbones are sharp and his cheeks slightly hollow in a manly way, promising a lean, trim body below. His lips are chiseled, his chin dimpled. In short, the typical handsome face for which many women swoon.

His chest is broad; his arms, well defined. I’ve always been attracted to unusual parts of a man’s body: his forearms, his calves. Eyes are what draw me in. But with him, his are so dark, the color can’t even be defined.

I call him “D”, not to be confused with Devin, but perhaps with the Devil.

Or perhaps “DM”; for he is my Dark Muse.

Updates

Hi all,

I realize I haven't posted in a while. Most of you might not know, but I'm engaged and getting married next Thursday, on February 25. So, it's been a bit busy around here. It's a very low-key affair, but still have things to plan and purchase. Think I'm just about ready though. Quite excited.

I wrote a little bit more in Happily... Never, but it's not quite ready to share yet. I will say that He revealed what He looks like and will share soon. Are y'all liking it so far?

Devin has gone quiet. I think living in Anna's memories takes its toll, but I'm sure he'll start talking again soon.

Have you read Distorted Hope? If so, please leave a review on Amazon! If not...well, why not? :-)

Tired of Hearts and Flowers This Time of Year?

Happily... Never #1

I stare at the drop of water, hanging from the shower head. It seems to grow and not grow at the same time. It is always that size, whether big or small, it is that size. I don’t see it grow, it was always the size it is at this moment. It stretches, lengthens, distorting the silver rope behind it, then drops into the nothingness below. It becomes part of the whole. Part of the puddle that surrounds my toes. It is now everything below me. No longer an individual. Just consumed by the larger population. And another one takes its place above.

My feet are cold, my skin is warm. The water sluices down my skin, which was once cold, and now becomes the temperature of the cascade from above. But my feet are missed. I’ve adjusted the pressure so that the small amount of hot water that the tank has produced today will last as long as I need it to. So far so good. It is still hot. It silences the sounds from outside. All I hear is the music as the drops hit the puddle around me. THe shower is not deep, but my leg keeps it from draining, so I have a few inches of warmth that surrounds my ass.


The sounds, the stress, the chaos is silenced. I’d hoped to escape from Him too, but He stands above me with that wicked grin of His. He speaks to me, weaving His dark words into the
fabric of my soul. It’s not hard, He’s been doing it for years. But His words seem stronger these days. They puncture holes in the fabric of my sanity. Always.

I’ve escaped Him before. Several times. Many times.

I’ve sought other Masters before. But I always return to Him. I can’t help but do so. He owns me. He always has and always will.

He lets me escape, when He’s in the mood. He allows me to see the light, to feel the warmth on my skin. But inevitably, I return.

Point of View

Distorted Hope was written in First Point of View...

Anna, in Enslaved, told her story in her own words (First POV), but the rest of the books were in Third Point of View (3POV)...

Which do you prefer?

Speculation...

Tell me what you think Devin was like as a teenager...

What do you imagine made him go "bad" or was he always evil?

Depression

I know I've been quiet the last few days. Many of you know that I struggle with depression. Although it didn't get quite so deep this time, it still came. And when that happens, there's not much I can do except ride it out. I know it will get better. I've finally learned not to make decisions while in that state. I just let my body do what it needs to do to get through it, which generally consists of sleeping and staring at the TV all day.

I'm very fortunate that my fiance understands my struggle and always seems to know what I need. He reminds me that it's ok to "do nothing," which, for my task-oriented self, is very important to hear.

I also am very fortunate to have friends on Facebook that understand my struggle. I simply post that I'm having a rough day, and instantly, I have countless posts of support. Those mean so much to me.

Did you know that many great artists, writers and painters alike, have struggled with mental illness? I have wondered in the past if it's part of what makes it possible to create. Hemmingway, Van Gogh, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso, Cole Porter, Tolstoy, Tennessee Williams, and countless other "greats" reportedly all struggled with the stuff. I'm not saying I'm even close to being as talented as these folks, but if they did what they did, while (or because of) struggling, then I am in good company.