My mother was fucked by a demon, what's your excuse?

   The smell dominates every breath, and the flames rise higher like a raging beast consuming a once humble home situated in a quiet suburban street. Fire licks at the paneling walls like it wants to play. The blazing light caresses each picture frame in remembrance for the final time, and it ascends the wall then inches to the roof. The alarms finally sound at the odour of the smoke in the air. What was once a mirage of memories of his mother, has transformed into a maze of flame. Her photographs ignite, and the glass used to preserve her image shatters from the heat. Smiling lips disappear under a black scotch that eats away at the photo print. A jewelry box made of wood whines with a weak crack, like a sigh of defeat. His mother's memory holds up a white flag of surrender to the relentless fire, and Roman watches like a forgotten statue. 

   His neighbors, the picture perfect twats with their stupid barbecues and salon cut hair, file out of their homes to watch the destruction of his house. Appalled by the sight they are. No doubt they're disturbed to discover the charred home because it's presence is going to smear a black mark on their pretty little street. Never mind the well being of the charming young man who lives there. The man who practiced a picture-perfect smile all in the false hope of winning over his appearance obsessed neighbors. And for what? A pathetic attempt at feeling that little bit closer to the woman who brought him into this world, that same woman who gave him up the second he took his very first breath. Because she, much like his neighbors, always saw that dirty black mark on him. The burning house. Is he much different? If he were different, he'd be something worse as opposed to better. 

   Burning his house down was an act of retaliation. Olivier was a Goddamn fucking psychopath if he thought the solution to being rejected by Roman would present itself in the event that he destroyed the only thing the cambion ever cared about. Without a doubt, the cause of the fire was a message from his ex-lover. If he hadn't hesitated to slice Roman's throat, what will stop him from lighting his house on fire too? Boy, he sure knows how to pick 'em. The ash fluttering under the winds in the air reflect the last broken piece in him, eroded away by the trying torment of his fight between humanity and his undying desire to cause havoc.

   Olivier was a snake. Literally and figuratively. Roman knew the disaster he'd tangled himself in when he watched the man beat someone to death over a stupid little ring. Who does that? Who watches someone kill a man with their bare fists and then decides, 'Hey, I'm going to let him take me home.' Mentally unstable people do that. Sweet, charming, boyish and handsome Roman was mentally unstable. There is no other explanation for his willingness to fall into bed with a total psychopathic maniac. He wants to break himself. He wants to be hurt. He wants all the rotten fucking chaos to consume him until there isn't a single piece of himself left that he can recognize. 

   Self destruction isn't beautiful. It's not poetical, nor worthy of glamorization. It's not an aesthetic, not a picture clouded by words printed on the front detailing how lost one feels. Not a fucking piece of artwork to hang on the bedroom wall. It's grit and grime. Filthy hopelessness drenched in the back and forth swing of feeling too much and feeling nothing at all. Wanting everything and wanting nothing at the same time. Looking in the mirror and scowling at his face because he can't tell which of his features are where his mother's end and his father's begin. Unable to face the haunting truth that he can't even stand himself most days, and that he's a walking disaster pulling others into his mess with the gravitational pull of his endearing charm. Roman would say it's not a fucking joke - but it is. His whole life is a big fucking joke, and he's the punchline. 

   For a short time, Azazel was the stars in his sky. He looked up to him as if he were some higher power he couldn't possible be able to connect with. The demon sat pretty and perched upon the pedestal Roman placed him upon, and Roman grew happily entwined in all the overwhelming emotions Azazel drowned him in. Their explosive connection burned out, and all he had left to hang onto was the jealousy that deluded them both into thinking they were right for one another. It was savagery, what they had. A primal instinct to connect with a like-minded soul, forgetting that differences were okay and that they could work through them. Neither were willing to turn their stubborn shoulders to make it work. It fell through, and Roman ended their angered dance - a battle for dominance - in exchange for moving along. He'd spent enough time dragging Azazel into his fucked up little world, it was time to.. what did Azazel call it? Ah, yes. Time to find anothervictim.

   His daddy was an incubus. A disfigured little fuckery of a demon surviving on an illusory human male form to lure in women. His mother, unfortunately, had been the woman who searched for validation and self acceptance in love from men. Coaxing her into bed took a little less than sweet compliments and a hand grazing her inner thigh. His incubus father has been vacant for all of Roman's life, and the cambion has no interest in knowing whose genetic code flows through his veins. It's possible his father is, or had once been, a figure of importance. All the attempted kidnappings, and constant nagging about a prophecy leaves the impression there is an expectation of Roman in the underworld. Unfortunately for them, he has no interest in pursuing that. 

   Blaming his terrible reputation on the incubus influences in his life would be easy. Shoving the responsibility of his actions onto genetic material as a way to escape the consequences for what he does was never his style. He took the insults, the shame and prudish responses to his flamboyant flirtation. Roman knows he struggles to maintain friendships without the subtle underlying indication of a romantic connection. Roman knows the image of himself that he portrays is a poor reflection of the person he is inside his head. Roman knows he makes horrible decisions not only in his romantic life, but financial and working too. Roman knows. He knows. He knows because he's heard it all before.

Fuck boy.

                Play thing.

                                  Asshole.

                                                 Liar.

   Yeah, so what? The real question is, do you admit your faults? 

   There is a lot wrong with Roman, but there is a lot wrong with you too. His mother was fucked by a demon, so what's your excuse?

E-mail me when people leave their comments –

You need to be a member of Writer's Realm - Roleplay to add comments!

Join Writer's Realm - Roleplay

Comments

  • This reply was deleted.
  • I read the title :D *feels proud*

    • Disrespect

  • CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SOOOOOOON~

  • This reply was deleted.
This reply was deleted.