The Pleasure of Nobody by Crystal Fox (books to read in your 20s female txt) 📕

"In the beginning I feared him.

Then I loved him,

and in the end...

I lost him," -Ivy

Ivy 1522


I never mean to kill him....

One moment he stood before me innocently, then the next he became my prey and I indulged in the attack.

His cold stone hand wrapped around my ankle."Please do not leave me here alone.." He said in barely a whisper, "Do not make me die alone," tears swelled in my eyes. "I wont," I said.

The wind blew hard in the night's sky. The air hitting my face, I was smacked so hard my face flew to the side, I can feel the hand print forming, and the leaves dancing around the boy and myself. It felt like the world was watching us. The leaves formed people and they all stood around us. Laughing at me, and yelling, torturing my soul, my mind, my being. "Shut up," I yelled, though they just started laughing even more, harder, the insults came at me faster. The world was a blur, my head was racing my mind was spinning and I was chocking on my own breath, my tears formed puddles at my feet so deep they would drown lost children. Then just as fast as it started, it was over with. The leaves fell like they should, and the world was just as slow as normal.

I cried because I did not know anything better to do. I cry not for the pain and not for the dying. I cry now because of my fear. The underlying fear of the images and the people. The ones who know to much about me though they do not exist. The ones only I can see, the ones who haunt and torture me. The world may age and time may pass, though these people, never change, they are always with me. As the world forgets who I am and people start to die, they will stay, and haunt the next child after the next.

If there was a reason he did not die yet why didn’t I know about it. Any other human would of have been dead minutes ago, but he seemed stronger, more strength than anyone I had ever seen. I tried to pull away from the unbreakable grip that had complete hostage of my ankle, but no use. He did not scream any more but he did look beaten and abused. I barely touch him. Barely bit him. The way his face looked at me was beautiful. I sat down it front of him stroking my right hand across his forehead, wiping away some of the blood that ran down. He looked up at me with painful eyes and a tears racing down. I ran my left hand under his eyes gently; pushing away most of the tears but it did not help much. The liquid came out to quickly and too fast that I could have barely notice I did anything. Though I did. His white shirt was now a reddish, brown color and his black pants had darker spots on them. The hem of my dress was stained with the blood, getting on other parts as well as I sit here. His unbreakable]] grip of his hand that was around my ankle was now holding my hand. The softness of his skin was so smooth against my hands skin. Cold as ice, and hard like stone, his hand was small, a child's hand. Who will never be a man.

I could no longer stand him being in so much pain, I stood up and walked around the tree, looking for the big stone I had seen earlier. I picked it up in my left hand, then walked back to him, he saw the stone, he understood. He swallowed hard and looked at me, tears streaming down his face, he knows there is no hope. Nothing more I could do to save him. He then closed his eyes and nodded his head.


“I am really sorry,” I cried to him. Barely able to speak for the lump in my chest worked its way up to my throat making it extremely hard to talk.


“Its fine,” he coughed, so much blood came out of his mouth choking him to were he can not speak to me any longer. I want to be talked to, to be held. I want to be loved so much that if my charmers last dying breath was the words of I love you, I would know my life was worth living. I am sorry he was never loved. I am sorry, but sorry is never enough.


I held my left hand far above my head, and closed my eyes, I know I did damage to him when I heard a grunt and then a cracking sound. The rock smashed his skull, blood came out of his mouth and ears. He was breathing heavy, grunting even more, he looked at me and closed his eyes. I hit him again. I hit him and hit him over and over far after he was dead and his soul was gone. Blood was every where. All over me and his face no longer looked the same. I robbed him of his soul and life, but worse his identity.

Being dead and alone is better than being alive and afraid.......

His eye lids closed completely and his chest no longer moved, not even a little. More and more tears came out of my eyes as I watch blood ooze out from every cut and tear in his body. Sitting here with a person lying dead on the forest floor, with not a soul in the world really caring why he was dead, I wont ever forget the feeling.The blood off his body came on to my dress, I frantically tried to get the blood off, but it was every where, the more it spread, the more I panicked.

There was a breath in my ear, a sound so soft I could barely it, then a wind passed over me. Around me and under me, it danced through my body, it laughed at my soul, it pushed my head down to his chest with a strong hand that didn't let go.

"Look at him," the air said to me, "Listen to his non-beating heart, know you did that. Know who you are, what you have done," his blood was being pressed all over my face and I could taste it on my lips, "Love that taste, crave the taste of blood that is so sweet, runs so smoothly down your throat, fill your desires. Know who you are Ivy, you belong in the Mafia of Midnight. "

The hand was pulled away from my head, the air settled.


During the moment on earth between light and darkness, all of hell came out from hiding and took whatever human soul noticeable they wanted.

My mother was out in the field one night picking out herbs. She was a midwife, one that was running low on medicine. She could cure almost anything, or, I use to think she could cure everything, that my mother was the reason women could outlive death in child birth. She was beautiful and talented I knew the difference from her and what others see.

She was at the doorstep of my home she could not open the door. It was never difficult to open it either; a push of the wood was enough for it to swing open. There were men on the inside keeping quite so they would not give away there hiding grounds. The people of the village knew what she was and cursed her for it. They barricaded the door on the inside with a table. The sun was rising slower than usual. They thought it was more funny than abusive. Then hell broke lose. My mother went too hide in the barn but the demon, Sebastian, saw her first. He followed her and let her think she was safe for a while, then there eyes met, my mother prayed that he would not hurt her. Though her prayers where not answered, he did hurt her, he hurt her a lot that night. He walked over to her, grasped her long red hair, and dragged her back to the center of forest. Her screams and cries sacred the whole town, everyone could hear it. The screams of the healers cries, the healer that could not heal herself. They went to the center of the woods, only left to find a letter from the kidnappers stating they took only the women with beautiful long red hair. They gave the note to my father. He did not care much he had other affaires to attend to that day to cheer him up. I was eight and powerless. My father remarried when I was nine to a women that has two daughters. Her name is Esmeralda, the oldest by fourteen minuets is Laminate, and the youngest is Rosemary. My father died when I was thirteen, but that was three years ago.