Streets of Gold

I've been gone. Gone gone far away farther than the rainbow, and I wish I haven't been. I want to wake up on the other side and realize this is just another dream. I dreamt of this before, and I thought it was a lie, I thought it would go away, but no it was real it was real please god make it go away... Executor was kind compared to this. I'm so sorry. I... I need to put a warning on this for anyone reading. If you're faint of heart, or are easily offended, leave now. I won't be able to censor it.

I was leaving... Monday morning? I think? To go to that friend's house I mentioned. I thought if I left for a while, took a vacation, tried to make the stalker go away maybe i wouldn't have to worry.. he'd go away and everyone would leave me alone. oh no. tha'ts never how it works is it? I'd packed an old, ratty bookbag with some clothes, books, and an ipod. I was carrying my laptop on my way to my car when a shadow crossed mine. I looked up to find a nondescript middle aged man humming quietly to himself with a smile on his face. He asked for directions to.. something, god i don't even remember. i was so stupid. i opened the door to put my things down, and i heard him say something about having fun. i tried to turn.

He grabbed me and held a rag over my face. that disgusting smell was the last thing I knew before I panicked and started fighting for all of five seconds. All I knew after that was black. I came to in a basement in the dark, my hands and feet bound together and unable to see much more than the mattress i was laying on. i dazedly looked around and tugged on the ropes, praying that this was another nightmare i'd fallen into. i could hear...rihanna? playing in the background. i think it was rihanna, at least.

i love the way you lie..

footsteps from behind me. circling me, steps in time to the beat. was that singing? why the fuck.. oh shit. no nonononononono. I struggled harder, the rope digging into my skin, my skin breaking the blood falling oh god. a voice behind me, calling my name, talking to me like an old lover. asking me if i knew who he was, why he was there. laughing

"Hello my little dove. It really is good to see you. For a while I was afraid someone was going to get to you first. You seem to have a lot of people after you, don't you? I can see why, though. Intelligent, caring, and yet at the same time.." he takes his left hand and starting at my face runs it down my body until he stops at about my thigh, then removes his hand. "So very vulnerable." He sits down, lights a cigarette, then places a hand on my thigh again. "So tell me dove, do you know why I'm here?" He laughs a bit. "You called Ronan a friend of yours. At the same time you warned others to stay away from him. Perhaps not the wisest idea. At any rate, you have become one of the people keeping him where he is. And I just can't have that. So I decided to visit you, my beautiful little dove."

Suddenly, light everywhere, in my eyes, all i could see. he blinded me. oh god, i wish he hadn't. so much pain, who the fuck uses a switchblade?  his hands are on me, his knife is cutting into me why are they so shallow do you just like the blood? you love the pain... he tells me about his beautiful switchblade inbetween his little cuts, pausing to dip his fingers in the blood. he touches them to his mouth, he makes this awful sound like he's.. he enjoys it. he smiles down at me so serenely, the light making a horrible silohuette around him. "Would you like a taste? I'm surprised. Normally they're so bland... oh, my dear, I'll have so much fun with you. This is only the beginning..."

he forces the fingers into my mouth, i try to bite why was i so stupid he smiles oh so wide and slaps me with that burnt hand of his, switchblade still in his hold. my cheek oh fuck the pain oh god no please make it stop this can't just be the beginning. the cut's blood's dripping so fast now onto my collarbone, rolling down I can't stand that feeling, the copper strong on my tongue as he yanks my head back forward. The entire time he's crooning this sappy love song along with his radio, singing so sweetly just to me, "I don’t need to try to control you, Look into my eyes, And I’ll own you with them!" What a joke. Evil fucking bastard. I hate you so much now. I'll never hear those songs the same way again..

I glare up at him with everything I have, spitting the blood out to the side of me. So much blood was on that mattress already.. I could barely tell the splash of where it landed. He talks so fucking much! Singing and talking and touching touching touching, he never shuts the fuck up.. oh never. He smiles and starts his way down, tearing and cutting my clothes as he went. kissing away the blood and the pain from those shallow little cuts, looking up at me the whole time. that touch god i hate you i hate you so fucking much I want you to burn and------no, please no, stop. cut me again, hit me, i... please please please no god help me i don't want this i don't want you i hate you please mommy please god... NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I fainted.. somewhere at this point. it bleeds together so much, i don't remember, i don't know what happened when all that blood all over me all over him his laughing and joking, god we might as well have been making polite conversation. "Ask me your pretty little questions while I make you scream. It might even make this easier." Stab, screaming so loud. "Oh, now that isn't a question. That's just more music to my ears. Now, start asking or I make the pain worse." he starts pushing his fingers into the wounds, digging and scratching and pulling at them will I ever stop screaming.. he pushes in and starts laughing, telling me how "good I am" and how much he was going to enjoy our little date.

I ask him everything i can think of, inbetween the screams. god i even know his favorite color... he made me hate him, over and over. he made a mockery of me and everything i knew. His body reminds me of the man from my dreams, god i dreamt of this, of all of it. how did i ever manage to forget? the only thing i missed was the hair, but the voice.. that quiet accent, the beautiful lulling words while i panted and tried to kill him with my eyes. all those scars, those burns... some of them, we even match now, AREN'T WE FUCKING PRETTY NOW?!

He loved it when I called him Azriel. He burned my hands, cackling about my typing while some inane Avril Lavigne song played so motherfucking loud, "Damned, damned, damned, what I'd do to have you here, here here, I wish you were here..." I don't want you here, I don't want to be here. I want to slice pretty little designs in your face, draw the stars and the moon and all of my hatred onto your arms so no one will ever trust you again, no matter what you say or do. I blacked out so many times, always to wake up to that awful face, that awful smile..

During the blackouts, he just kept going. It didn't matter to him whether I was awake. But while I was awake.. he'd just stop. wait for me to stop crying, or just stroke my hair while I bled and cursed him to high heaven.  He was so many people while I was gone, and so many songs were playing.. if one would stop, he'd just put in a new cd. there was so much blood, fingerprints were everywhere, all over us. A good part of the time, he'd just pause in the middle of whatever he was doing and go to sit in a chair he'd pulled up the mattress. He'd tell me stories then, and ask me about my life, my loved ones. these times.. it was like it was all a sick, awful dream and he was the only sanity. we had most of our sane 'interview' while he watched me, while he made me wait for the pain. beg for it to start again, just so i'd know..

The worst part, is when he stops he's so goddamn normal. This is the guy you'd bring to your parents, that would be in your photo albums or hell, be your best friend's father. His eyes were always kind, like he was doing me some kind of fucked up favor. Hell, he even came out and told me while he was watching me. Like he read my mind and just wanted to fuck with me that extra little bit. By the point he told me this... I don't even know how much blood he had spilled. I think we might have been about a day into that... whatever you want to call it. I was half-delirious from the pain and the blood loss, and laughed afterwards.

"The thing is, I'm actually doing you a bit of a favor. I don't mean to be rude about it, but you're a bit of a weakling. Easy to trust and easier to overpower. The thing is, weakness is only partly in the body. I knew a girl about as strong as you, and she was one of the few to ever scar me. A real fighter, that one. Your issue is in the mind and there's only one way to fix that. Pain is a beautiful thing, you know. Give someone enough of it, and they will do one of two things. They will break completely, or they will become stronger than they ever could be without it. I wonder which one will happen to you. It's always hard to tell."

I laughed and laughed and laughed and never called him David again. why would i? Azriel gave me some tiny little bit of power over him by allowing that nickname. in hindsight, i was a complete fucking idiot before all this happened. goddamn, 'everyone can be redeemed' my left fucking foot. he was right, in a way. i was so squishy, so loving, so motherfucking naive. god, after everything I went through BEFORE HIM, i figured i knew it all. god, i was so wrong. have you ever been tortured? your mind pillaged and all your insecurities paraded around in front of you like you mean absolutely nothing to the world? in the middle of it all, if he would have let me go.. i'd have probably killed myself rather than let it keep going. let him kill me, if he had wanted. he was never that nice, why couldn't he have just let me go, given me the knife and ran and let me ended the whole goddamn charade, they'd never touch me again why why why please...

He wanted me alive. he wanted me to enjoy the pain, hurt me til I wanted him to cut me again. he'd give me water, bandage the worst of the wounds and clean me up every few hours, give us a chance to sleep. the motherfucker laid down and held me, and took fucking naps with me. if i moved... he'd make me hurt worse. I learned not to move after the first couple of times.. i didn't want to make it worse, god, why couldn't I have brought a gun? he would sing those awful lullabies in my ear as i went to sleep, he'd keep me up with the pain until I couldn't even scream, and sing to me so goddamn beautifully... why couldn't I just make him kill me?

He made me so weak around him. he made me hate him so much. god i hate him so much. I want to kill him kill me make the thoughts stop get him out of my head make him go away! i think i'll vomit if I talk about all the 'secrets' he told me, all the things he fucking knew about me.  I was awake for my mind's autopsy, no pain killers, just the whispers and the pain and his slowly growing bored with me. He gets creative when he's bored.. i'll never forget his face, his smile, his eyes, that awful glint in his eyes as my blood ran over his hands, down his arms and fell back down onto me. he loved every part of this, the pain was beautiful to him.. i can't.. i just can't talk about everything. i'm so sorry. i can't do it. this was written to help purge the awful memories. i.. i'm going to skip a good chunk of the second day..

He finally grew tired of his game, two days into the whole goddamn thing. he threw buckets of water around the place, and left his tools just... lying around. he didn't even care. he laughed when i eyed them, told me i could "keep a souvenir" if I liked. i flinched for what must have been the thousandth time, and turned my head away, waiting for it all to continue. the music finally, goddamn FINALLY turned off and there was quiet besides our breathing. he rummaged through the pants he had shredded so many hours ago, pulling a sticky blue, now red, phone from one of the pockets. he shook his head at what i guess was the lack of a password, and sat down, clicking away through my contacts. he found what he was looking for after god knows how long, smiled and put a finger to his lips. he pressed send and i could hear the ringing echoing off the walls.

"Hello. No, this obviously isn't Dia. She can't come to the phone right now, but she needs someone to pick her up. Me? No, believe me you don't want me to take her anywhere. Oh, I'm just a friend of a friend. But you might want to hurry. Don't think Dia can wait long.' He rattled off whatever the fucking address was, and hung up in the middle of their ranting. He grinned and saluted me before he got dressed, acting like he had all the time in the world. He walked up the steps muttering something to himself about a shower, shouting his goodbyes over his shoulder. I was left there for... an hour? Two? There was alot of shouting and hands pulling on me after that, asking random questions. Was I okay, did I know who did this, did I get a look at their face? I just stayed silent, and cried when I was finally free. I would never be free. I'd always know who it was, and telling them what happened would be pointless. How do you tell everyone you just want to wash all of him away?

So I lied, and lied, and lied. I never saw his face, he spoke rarely, the lights were off, he attacked me from behind... etc. etc. etc. They rushed me to the hospital, badgering me with questions and cries of encouragement. I didn't care. I wish they'd shut up. after everything, he's ruined so much for me. Right now.. the last thing I want to hear is anyone's voice. That's it. Show's over. Go away.


  1. This is...just...I'm sorry, Dia. That guy...

    David! I know you'll read this. I want to deliver a message to you. I don't care what Ronan thinks about it...You deserve to die for this.

    And you know how you deserve to die? I'll tell you.

    Quickly. Without a struggle or a note of suspense.

    I WILL make you pay for what you've done to Dia, and every other poor soul you've tortured. I won't bother with elaborate schemes or plots. I will shoot you square in the head.

    That's right, David. That's how you'll die. No dramatic fight to the finish. No soul reaching conflict. Just one shot and you're another murderer lying on the ground.

    And all anyone will remember of you is that you were done in by a kid.

  2. It's a hard thing being grateful to someone who has hurt you, hurt you terribly and purposefully. It's not the good times and joys which shape you; it's the pain and suffering and what you do with it that create your character. When I think of the person I am now and all the horrible things that happened and what Father saved me from, well, it's odd to be grateful to school bullies, an almost rapist, and negligent parents, knowing I'd be a completely different person if not for their casual cruelty.

    At the same time, don't mistake Azriel's actions for a true favor. Trust me... I torture people for Father. He might have intended to make you strong, but it's only so he'll be able to hurt you worse later, and worse later again. The goal of people like him is to tear people down, and there's hardly any fun or challenge in tearing someone down who is already weak. And even if he makes you strong and ultimately beat him, he's still destroying the person you are, the person you value. Either way, he wins.

    You don't have to change who you are to be strong. You just have to change your habits.

  3. I'm checking in, alive and mostly intact. I'm taking a...hiatus of sorts. Typing still hurts, and he didn't break me as much as he would have liked. I've been released, as much as that matters. He... god damn it. I still believe in redemption, even his. I won't be the one guiding him or anyone else.

    At the end, knowing people care helps. Some.

  4. Bastard.

    I'll fucking skin him alive.


  5. hmm....it is things like this that make me truly second guess myself. Ive never met this David. never want to. especially if this is what he does with people... but reading this. this testament, to the way you were made to long for the touch of a blade and god only knows what else.... it makes me wonder how i could possibly NOT judge this man. granted, Ive never seen him, heard him, even felt his presence.
    but Ive read his work. and from the victims mouth at that. and trust me;i do not sympathize with those who decide to hurt the unaware... and mentally scar them.

    but at the same time, i can not give in to ignorance...to stupidity. not to say hating him makes one ignorant or stupid, its actually the rational decision to make.

    but for now, i will reserve my thoughts on him.
    dearest dia. my god. you have done something few have ever.
    you have looked the devil in the eyes and lived. for this, you should be given a medal of fucking honor. i know it doesn't mean much coming from an obscure watcher who speculates from a distance, but you are the STRONGEST individual Ive read of who hasn't at some point completely lost it....stay strong friend. we support you.
    and ill support you, any way i can.

    wishing you plenty of silence to procure your thoughts. -Ike+

  6. Dia, I know that this was a little while back, but I just wanted to say that I understand exactly how it feels, and my inbox is always avaliable.