Goth face

(Writing) Brigit's Flame: Loathing Eternal

Topic: Loathing
Brigit's Flame: February - Week 1
Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 328


This is my entry for Week 1 of the Brigit's Flame challenge for February. It's short and rather stream of consciousness but I'm thinking it might be a good starting point for something more.




She stared at him with contempt, her heart beating fast and hard.

It had been several years since Alia had seen Julian and she had not expected to have such an intense reaction to him. He hadn’t noticed her. As usual, he was deeply absorbed in himself, expounding on whatever topic was keeping him at the centre of attention.

Her stomach lurched as she watched him from a far corner of the room. The way he laughed without care, his overwhelming self-confidence and his obvious pretentiousness caused the old emotions to bubble to the surface. Could no one else see it? Alia looked at each of the people who were held captive by his manipulative genius. They were all laughing along, caught in the weave of his story.

Her sense of loathing mixed with intense attraction, the two feelings struggling against each other.

Alia moved closer, trying to hear what he was saying.

She hated herself for feeling anything for him.

She hated herself for allowing him to make her feel.

She watched his hands move as he talked and felt her body responding to the memory of his touch. He’d been gentle at first, coaxing her into a sense of security. Her body had burned for him, igniting every nerve, every synapse.

And then there'd been pain.

Julian had gripped her in an inhuman embrace. Her mind spun as waver after wave of pain mixed with the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever experienced. She struggled against him, but she knew in that moment that she was completely helpless. She gave in to him, relinquishing her last morsel of control. Slowly, her mind descended into darkness.

Alia’s hand went to her throat just as Julian looked up from the crowd of people he’d entranced. Anger flashed in her eyes and mirth flickered in his. She hated him for what he’d done to her, what he’d made her. But she hated herself more for loving what she’d become.