Just got back from a night of vibes & late-night coffee—this seat’s got my name on it. 😘

“I” – The Blood-Soaked Confession

My lips part—not to speak—but to breathe out what I’ve been holding since he walked into that bar like he owned it.

He didn’t even look at me when he sat down. Just slid his coat off, dropped it over the back of the booth… then leaned forward so close, my skin prickled under that knitted beanie, the one with its little holes where light gets in just enough to make me feel exposed.

And then he said: “You’re gonna die if you don't tell him who you really are.”

The words hit like glass shards through velvet — slow, deliberate, cruel. My breath hitched as I stared into those eyes, not mine anymore but someone else’s — cold, calculating, hungry for something I hadn’t known was missing from my life until now.

That's why I wore this bra tonight — black lace studded with sequins meant only for nights where secrets come alive. Why I chose denim shorts ripped right above my hips? Because they reminded me of how low we'd go before anyone could see us fall apart again.

Behind me were posters screaming names like "Lolita Mae" or "JZMAS"—a reminder that here, people weren’t supposed to know their own identities; instead, everyone lived pretending while hiding behind masks made of plastic smiles and false bravado.

But today?

Today I let myself believe... maybe there’s truth beneath all these layers—even if no one would ever dare ask questions about them unless forced by some stranger wearing too much gold around his neck.

Because underneath everything—the tight corset-like fit against my chest, the softness between thighs tucked neatly inside broken jeans—I felt something new growing stronger than fear:

A desire to fight back.

To scream louder than any man has dared to say aloud…

Even though I knew already—he wasn’t trying to save me. He wanted more than anything to break me open wide enough to watch every inch bleed free.

When the lights dimmed after midnight, leaving shadows pooling across our table like spilled ink,

It occurred to me suddenly—

Maybe I’d rather drown in blood than walk away empty-handed.

Not because I'm brave...

But because sometimes love doesn't mean staying safe—it means letting yourself burn brighter still knowing your flames might turn others’ bones brittle long before they reach ash.

Now I’m sitting here alone—or perhaps not quite—that way she watches me quietly without blinking

Waiting.

For whatever comes next.

Whatever waits beyond tomorrow night.

Whether it kills me or makes me whole.

Either way—

This isn't goodbye.

It's the beginning of another chapter written entirely in red pen—and nobody else will get to read it first.

Only me.

Who knows whether I’ll survive till dawn?

Or whether I'll become legend whispered among ghosts who never saw daylight yet dreamt dreams filled with fireflies dancing near dying stars.

Still—

I am ready.

Blood-drenched, trembling fingers gripping the edge of the chair beside me —

I won’t stop fighting.

No matter whose name ends up carved onto my grave.

Because I refuse to forget who I used to be.

Before being lost somewhere along the path toward becoming nothing less than mythic.

If necessary—we’ll end together.

With tears streaming silently down cheeks smeared thick with glittering sweat mixed with saltwater kissed gently upon each other's skin during moments neither remembered nor forgot forevermore.

Until then—

Let the game begin anew.

Again.

Always bleeding.

Never stopping.

Forever burning bright—in spite of darkness closing in fast.

[End Scene.]

(P.S.: This version blends gritty noir tones with emotional intensity typical of ‘soap opera-noir’, using visceral metaphors (“blood-soaked,” “burning”) paired with poetic imagery ("fireflies," "ghosts") to create tension built on vulnerability and self-discovery within intimate settings full of danger.)

Would you like variations based on different genres (e.g., romantic thriller vs sci-fi noir)? Or explore deeper character arcs later? Let me know! 🎬🖤