When you first meet her, she’s charming and colorful. She delights you with intelligence and wit. You become entranced and crave her attention. Her conversations ramble but you can’t help rambling along with her. Nuggets of significance hold you, making you envision possibilities. These possibilities sustain you, like water and blood.
You begin to strip her clothes and her outward persona slips a bit as well. There is damage under her charm and her skirt. The sex becomes addicting even as her shell cracks.
The wit becomes snark and suddenly a perfuse apology erupts but she distracts you with her tongue. The snark lingers long after her tongue leaves your skin.
She slips again and again. You begin to notice her flaws slowly. One by one they stack up. She isn’t graceful or poised. She isn’t charming and sweet. Her insecurities outweigh her intelligence and you are simply tired at how needy she really is.
The sex traps you because the exquisite pleasures she gives you is unlike anything else. You have a freedom you’ve never had before, but it comes at a high high price.
She can’t hide from you anymore. She can’t pretend, and sadly you can’t unsee.
You know the truth. Everyone thinks she is sexy, sweet, charming, witty, funny… colorful.
But you have inadvertently uncovered her layers. You’ve dealt with her insecurities. At first, you admit that it was fun and interesting and entertaining. But then you realize once you uncover a layer, that you can’t cover it back up. Another layer falls off. Another is peeled away. Another rips.
She can’t fake it and you see the shame in her eyes as you realize all of those things she promised you back when she was charming won’t come true. She pushes you away.
The last layers rot away and her soul is staring you in the face. It is the most vile, grotesque monstrous thing you have ever seen.
None of her holes can save her.