Fan Fiction

    This story has been set to a rating of . Age verification is required to proceed.

    Age Verification

    I am years of age as of today, May 17, 2024

    Enter your current age into the field provide above. Stories with a rating of R or NC-17 may contain material not suitable for children. LesFan requires that all individuals wishing to read these stories confirm they are of at least 17 years of age. LesFan uses the MPAA rating labeling system for all stories.

    LesFan will also make a best attempt to filter profane words in stories that are not rated R or NC-17 unless the individual confirms they are of at least 17 years of age.

    LesFan uses the following rating scale for stories.






    Submit

    Fragmented – (Chapter: ~v~ – ~viii~)

    I love her. I taste them, roll their shape across a tongue unused to talking about such things. I love her. I love Spencer. I try to get used to their heaviness in my mouth, to rub down the sharp edges of their meaning. Say it, Ashley. I open my mouth. I lick my lips. I have been rendered mute. It’s a new virus, this mutation burning into my cells with every beat of my heart, a disease I thought myself inoculated against. Love. Love has rendered me mute. Love, still, wants to be spoken of.

    I love her. I can’t stop the thought, this inner mantra, any more than I could stop the rush of blood in my veins. How could a truth so self-evident escape me for so long? Was it there all along, a familiar graffiti on the wall directly in front of me, unintelligible to the untrained eye? I am learning a new language. I grasp the meaning. I cannot shape the words yet.

    I love her. This love has rendered me mute. The rules change when you move from the sidelines and join the game, Ash. Very well. I have been rendered mute. The words crowd my throat, fighting to get out. I cannot use them.

    I look at my hands. So steady now. Very well. My speech has failed me? I will learn the language of signs. I will shape the letters with my hands, write out sentences with my fingers. If she can’t understand me, I will teach her the Braille of my love. We will learn the shape of the new language together.

    I love her. I let the fever take me.

    ~vi~

    I can’t do this.

    ~vii~

    When I look at her, I know what weakness is. I can feel it in my bones, this lack of strength to look away, to resist, this dearth of determination to walk away from her. They taught us this in biology, a lesson I was bored enough to pay attention to, the self-preservation instinct. We all have it hard-wired in our brains, to flee in front of danger, all impulse, no thought. And here I am, paralyzed with fear. Immobile with want. A sequined tight-rope walker caught between what she wants and what she fears, wire sharp and slippery underneath the balls of her feet, seeing no comfort on either end of the rope.

    Page 2 of 3123

    Comments

    Leave a Reply