Torri Heat

Show me how pretty you look when you come.”

“I’ve made you laugh. Now I’m going to make you come.”

My dirt lay hidden, beneath my fair skin, flawless from the outside.

I didn’t mind being compared to a doll. It was an apt description. Pretty on the outside, hollow on the inside

I wasn’t dangerous. I was just dirty.

A doll. That’s all I was. A dirty doll with a broken soul, dark thoughts, and a desperate need to express what lay written on my bones.

The stories still screamed, overwhelmingly loud in my mind. I needed an outlet for all of the darkness muddying up my thoughts, or my porcelain skin was going to shatter.

Meanwhile, my darkness grew harder and harder to hide. It bled up through my pale skin, staining the outside like the deep crimson that streaked my fingers.

Me, though? I was born bruised and battered, my soul streaked with stains that would never come clean no matter how hard I scrubbed. From the grave I was born, and to the grave I’d return.

From a logical
standpoint, I could see how some people found it attractive. Pretty, even. I had only ever seen it as a mask, barren, protecting the dark thoughts that lingered beneath.