"What are you doing here Theo?" Damien's cold voice asked, sending a chilling feeling down the spines of those present in the room.   Theo smirked. "Is that the way to greet your brother, little Bobo"   Mystique nearly laughed out loud at the nickname. Little Bobo? No grown man would love to be addressed that way.   "Don't call me that!" Damien clenched his teeth, he took slow breaths to calm his rising temper. He couldn't allow Mystique to see him in that state. "And you didn't answer my question" his frosty eyes met the warmer ones of his brother.   "Your wife is admitted to the hospital I work in, I can't ignore that. I have to greet my sister-in-law. Now, am I not allowed little Bobo" Theo continued his tease, wanting to see what he would do in the presence of his beloved wife.   It was fun teasing this soul most of the time, but his temper seemed higher and bigger than his e

Standing in front of the door she was more than familiar with, she stretched her hand out and knocked loudly on the door. Knowing Bell, she was probably still snoring at such time in the morning. But Mystique wouldn’t blame the lady, she now was working hard to make ends meet and now that she had moved out, Bell would have a hard time trying to pay the rent all by herself.    Mystique lowered her gaze suddenly feeling melancholic at thought of burdening her friend. She sighed overthrown but, her streams of thoughts were interrupted when the door unclasped to reveal a wretched and half-asleep Bell, with messy hair and an oversized shirt that was below her thighs.   “What!” Bell snarled at her friend who had a blank face. She rolled her eyes and went back inside, leaving Mystique stagnated at the door. It wasn’t like She needed an invite anyway.    Mystique shook her head and followed after her friend but She fou

"Frasier?" Mystique stared gapely at one of her worse nightmares while in college.    The man name Frasier only smirked seeing the other's shocked demeanor "Hey babe, what are you doing here?" he asked in a silly voice, annoying the crap out of Mystique with his presence as she frowned instead.    After so many years, the bastard still looked the same. Dark-colored eyes, matching his dark hair, tan skill, and a stupid smirk that Mystique loathed so much. she eyed him, feeling nauseated.    Frasier was one of the few mistakes Mystique made while in college. They attended the same college together where one could say they dated. Mystique only went out with the asshole because she wanted to be among the crowd but it ended badly for her when she found out the idiot only wanted to get between her legs. That night, Frasier invited her out to a club to hang out with his friends. That was the first time Mystique e

Stimulating the next morning, Mystique tried to stretch only to ascertain an arm snaked tightly around her waist, making it arduous for her to move her body. Opening her eyes slowly, the first thing that came into sight was the snoozing face of Damien Martinez, who had his arms encircled securely around her while Mystique had her head rested against his unclothed chest, listening to his tranquilized heartbeats.   Mystique beamed as she recalled the past events as she gazed exuberantly at the grim man a blurry vision with her glasses. She couldn't explain the feeling of adrenaline that rushed through her body like a wave. Shifting her body forward slowly, she pecked Damien's cheek lightly, her cheek turning like that of crimson as she went back to her position, resting her head against Damien's chest, where it rightfully belonged enjoying the smallest sensation of warmth.   "I want a future with you too" she whispered. As she recalled the lov

To kill a monster, you must become one yourself   *~*   Cracking of bones, screams of anguish and agony, reddish liquid spread all over, the sound of lugubrious cries, taste of salty tears.    All were like a melodious sound to his ears, and a blissful scene in his eyes. His lips curved into a smile, his smile was sadistic, atrocious, inhumane, and fiendish, a complete display of the man he was, the real rapscallion in our closet, the nightmares that stalked the weak, languid, and even the vigorous of mind.    He was he.   Advancing, he held the man’s hand, who was tied to a hand chair, his face badly wounded, his clothes tattered and smudge, his body deficiently bludgeoned, and lastly, a dagger was buried in his left thigh, emanating with reddish liquid as his breaths were slackened and wimpish. One could say the man was barely alive. The monster smirked in gratificati