Lawrence was gentle, he was a sweetheart.
Lawrence, his name still tastes sweet in my mouth. When I smell chocolate it reminds me of his scent, when I touch a peppermint I think of his gentle touch, when I see cotton candy I am reminded of his eyes, the sound of a hard candy wrap reminds me of his laugh. But what pleases me the most was the memory of him becoming a bitter and feared man, all because of me.
Call me a bitch, call me a nightmare, call me a witch I am all of them, every single curse a woman could be called, that is me. So why get offended by those? What if you were called a muse?
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Lawrence, oh gentle Lawrence, I met him in Tennessee, in a small bar on the corner of a busy street. I remember meeting his eyes across the room, I was dancing and there he was, watching me with awe, not hungrily as if he wanted to take me home but gentle as if looking at an emotional treasure. I was sitting on a stool flirting with the bartender, he was going to be my next pick, I was extending my hand to touch him when somebody cleared their throat.
"May I buy you a drink?" asked Lawrence and I smiled signaling the bartender to stay where he was, I wanted him to be my next pick.
"Buy me a plate of cheese fries and I will consider you," I responded, most men would get angry and walk away, maybe even try to attack but a few moody men in a bar did not scare me, I had dealt with worse.
"Sounds perfect," Lawrence answered, calling a nearby waiter, I felt interested, this guy was going to be worth it.
I flicked the bartender off interested in this guy, this guy who had rolled on with my weird request. Lawrence made sure to keep up the conversation, making it interesting enough and steering away from uncomfortable topics. At the end of the night he shyly asked for my number, he didn't even offer me to go to his place. I remember as I was giving him my number how he softly caressed my arm in a gentle and caring way, I smiled knowing getting him hooked was going to be satisfactory.
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What I loved the most about Lawrence was his gentleness, he never screamed when I was around, he never fought or complained, he did not force me to do anything and he always treated me like some treasure, a crystal so pure it cannot be even looked at. But he was the crystal in this situation, gentle and sweet. People want a project, somebody that has been so broken down they do not feel human at all, they do not even let emotions in, terrified of being hurt. But not in the Muse way, we do not feel or are human but we are predators, we have a purpose in this life deeper than our will, a purpose that forces us to feed, to take and accumulate, and we enjoy it, we enjoy the power we have.
I became his little project, the girl with a broken-down family, the girl who was bullied unmercifully at school, the girl who never had the opportunity to go to college. As soon as he saw this he opened up to me in a way that would almost be humanly impossible, but I had seen it before with more men, more guys who picked the wrong girl to conquer.
Lawrence was a motivator, he pushed the girl I had created to move forward, to keep going and give her all. I tried to act human, but there is a bit of a barrier between me and humans, I would never understand how emotions are. I would not feel their pain or in Lawrence's case, their empathy.
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"You are a survivor,"
That was his way, I still remember how it happened, we were sitting on his couch and then he started tickling me, I ended up screaming at him to stop as I entered a fake episode of anxiety. It ended in an extremely sad story about my unimaginable past. I let those practiced tears flow and he hugged me whispering gentle reassuring words in my ear, and with those four words, a wisp of sweetness entered me. I swear I could taste the honey on my tongue. Anniversary presents, impromptu candy, casual compliments, gentle and consented touches. He was the perfect boyfriend. Oh, who knows what girl would've been the queen in his realm.
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"I will always protect you,"
Sugar rush, that is the description of my life after those words, each compliment was a different flavor, each hug or kiss was feeling angels touching my ever-feeding soul. My life became a swirl of colors and energy, each wave stronger than the last. His rose-tinted thoughts seeped into my mind with new words and new ways to conquer. His licorice and minty smiles flowed inside of me changing my laugh, all of his sweetness invaded me and in return, I gave him bitterness and century-old scrapes. It wasn't until the bitterness started overcoming the sweetness that he changed, his gentle touch left purple marks, his sweet words left poison behind, his sweet smiles became sneers, his memories turned sour and painful. He started taking out his pain in others, I was in danger but I did not care, I wanted all of his sweetness, up to the last drop of syrup.
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As soon as his last sweet wink left him I ran, I left him with no explanation and left him alone with the acid aftertaste of my kiss and pain he needed to let out. He became a monster, I may not feel it right now but I used to, I still shiver at the thought of being at the will of a monster. Funny, considering I was a monster myself. I truly wonder how many humans can be so cruel without a supernatural force acting over them.
He became an assaulter, various girls were his victims, until he raped one and was beaten to death by the victim's boyfriend.
His Sweets Are Mine.