Nocticadia

Jealousy is a callow schoolboy’s emotion that ends in hard feelings and bloody noses. What I feel for you, Miss Vespertine, would destroy lives.

That is the tragedy of women, isn’t it? We deny ourselves beauty for the sake of misleading men.

Calling her beautiful was like calling the sun lukewarm. She’d blazed like the hottest part of a flame in that dress. And fuck me, I’d felt the heat.

What separates monsters from good men is only a matter of perspective.

She was the warmth of the sun on a cold and rotting corpse. The first breath after a lifetime of death.

Says who? I happen to get very attached to my fictional boyfriends.

He was moody, like rainy days and bitter coffee. Sensual whispers in dark corners and the slow burn of fine whiskey.

And so the moth befriended the flame.

Don’t hide from me, Lilia. You are no less beautiful than that day you walked into my classroom and stole my fucking breath.

That I would kill for you without a beat of hesitation, or remorse. And yet, at the same time, I could be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash without you.

I feel it, too,” he said, as if reading my mind. “It’s inside of me. Burning like a fever I can’t shake. It’s a spiteful, prideful anger that refuses to admit the truth.” “What truth?” I asked, my voice shaky. Nervous. “That I would kill for you without a beat of hesitation, or remorse. And yet, at the same time, I could be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash without you. I’m weak for you, Lilia.

I’m not going anywhere. You and I? This? There’s no escaping it. Doesn’t matter how fast you run, or how far you get, I will always be inside you just like this. In your bones and in your blood and in your head. It doesn’t matter what you tell the universe–what secrets you spill. Nothing can change what we are, what we’ve become.

Allow me to caution you, Miss Vespertine. You are a confused moth dancing about a wild flame. Blind to the incomprehensible danger of your curiosities.

Under different circumstances …” The pause in his words carried a laborious heartbeat that smothered my own, as I watched the slightest smile play on his lips. A beat of hesitation. “I might’ve pursued you.” A nervous rush of breath escaped me. I gripped the strap of my bookbag in some faulty attempt to hold my composure, and swallowed past the dryness in my throat. “And I might’ve let you.

I don’t give a damn about every other girl. There’s only one who crosses my mind a fuck-ton more than she should. So, I’m going to finish you, Lilia. I’m going to give you the release you’ve been craving, and I won’t touch you again. But this pussy belongs to me. You let any other undeserving prick near it, and I will cut out his tongue and send it to you in a specimen jar.

Your professor is about to eat your pussy, Lilia.

The wealthy possess an insatiable appetite for the rare and priceless. They stare because you’re the only thing worth staring at.

I was drawn to her, for reasons I could neither justify nor understand. A realization that annoyed the shit out of me. She was an itch on my brain that I couldn’t scratch. The maddening shimmer in the corner of my eye during lecture that distracted my thoughts. The kind of girl who seduced with nothing more than a single glance. A bite of the lip.

Eyes locked on his, I reached up the hem of my skirt and pulled down my panties, slipping them over my ankles. I balled them in my palm and stuffed them into the pocket of his slacks, next to the hard length that brushed the edge of my thumb. “Panties are for the modest,” I said, and turned for the door.

You don’t have to be scared. I will never hurt you, Lilia. In fact, I’ll rain hell on anyone who ever hurts you again.

Or perhaps it’s the sea who fears the depths of you, Miss Vespertine.

You're a sickness inside of me that begs never to be cured.Infecting me with this unshakable craving for things I shouldn't want.

Good fucking girl,

if fucking her meant an eternity in hell, I’d welcome damnation with a goddamn smile.

Translations "Voulez-vous boire un verre, mademoiselle?" Would you like another drink, Miss? “Si vous comprenez, retrouvez-moi dans le placard dans dix minutes.” If you understand, meet me in the closet in ten minutes. “Je comprends. Et je décline votre offre.” I do understand. And I decline your offer.

Stay out of trouble, Curious Moth,” he said, as he strode for the door. Curious Moth. A nickname. A fitting one, too, given the fact that I had no intentions of avoiding the flame.

One touch would end this agonizing curiosity, but might just send me spiraling into madness.

No. No quiet sounds from you. I want to hear you fucking scream. You’re in the throes of fire now, Little Moth. Show me how much it burns.

Just to clarify–we’re friends.” Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “Who hurt you?

They stare because you’re the only thing worth staring at.