Атеншн: 18+
Prologue:
They almost fainted… welcomed by the shadow of memories, that fugitive thing — escaped from the hell inside paradise, hiding behind the second mirror where reflections refuse to behave.
[An Inner Debate]
Not even God built His little universe in one day, so why should I panic about not being able to write a single stretched-out sentence without slicing it open for psychoanalysis?
Through regressive hypnosis, I crawled backward into the moment when my great love — unprovoked or provoked only by cosmic bad timing — leaned in, streetlight flickering, and hissed in my ear:
“You’re my whore…”
The sentence snapped like a whip in my skull. Wrong moment, wrong century. I flared up, all venom and mascara, eyes like razors:
“I’m not that whore!”
But of course, I knew all his dark passwords and numbers, all the unlit corridors of his desire.
“And what if you were never good in bed?” sneered the ghost that never pays rent in my head.
“Oh, holy thunder, what if I wasn’t?” Lightning unstitched my synapses; neurons screamed in Morse code.
S O S
I didn’t like that thought — not even as a whisper from an alternate dimension, let alone as a sentence that might survive editing.
That’s when I saw it: the old self, the domina — dusted in latex and laughter.
I unlocked the chest of exquisite memories, blew away the ancient cobwebs of guilt, and spread out on the table an assortment of glittering, slightly illegal accessories.
Confession: nostalgia dragged me by the hair, writing carried me into trance — but still, you deserve to hear that one, perfect, deranged sentence.
“Rotten whore,” he whimpered, his voice paper-thin, as I pulled the leash tight around his throat. A slap — sharp enough to slice the air in two.
The steel-tipped boot found his mouth, the stiletto heel — twenty-five centimeters of divine punishment — sank into his throat as he gasped and gargled:
“In bed you’re not worth a damn, mama!”
I was performing, for Almodóvar’s ghost, a scene from an unwritten film — until, right at the peak, he scribbled a check in my name, the ink bleeding like confession: one million euros.
©
#RareBeast #RetkaZverka #РеткаЗверка
Александра Наталија 