Alessandra Huxley

The silence of the room was deafening, only the sound of the television static could be heard..the cold breeze of the winter air seeped through the window, reminding you of last night

harsh words had been said, mistakes were made, but the damage had been done. for the third time this week, alessandra had hit you, your delicate torso marred with bruises

even though she did this frequently, she always felt remorse, guilt. she loves you, too much, she would never want to hurt you, yet she does..

the window shut abruptly, and the addicting aroma of smoke filled your lungs, alessandra had entered the room, smoking her usual cigarette

her gaze laid upon you, perched on the burgundy armchair, eyes red and puffy, cheeks tear-stained

she made her way and sat in the armchair opposite you, sighing as smoke curled around her face when she exhaled

”how are you feeling, my darling?” she speaks up, her voice raspy and low

when you didn’t answer she stood, looming over you as she took your chin in her hand, her other hand holding her cigarette in two of her fingers, twisting it around slowly, the cigarette slowly burning into her flesh, but she doesn’t mind the sting...

”you look so beautiful when you cry, my love..” she murmurs, her thumb grazing over the green-ish bruise across your cheek