“Imitation Martyr”

R.M. Sanders 041708

Summary: (one-shot, fxf, mentions of cutting) I want to save you, baby… I just don’t know how…

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I’m running my hands through her soft brown hair, watching the strands pull taut, then slip through my fingers like sand. Over and over, I watch the motion, captivated by how long the beautiful locks are. I could never keep my hair that long… that lovely. It fascinates me. Still.

Her breathing falters for a second, and my eyes are torn from the sight before me. Trailing down and down, I notice that she’s at it again… Making ugly red marks on her perfect skin. She says it calms her. I’ve been there. I know the calming sensation that washes over you… But the pain doesn’t go away…

“If you had to choose someone to die for you, who would it be?” The question is deep. One of the things I like about us just sitting here. I can ask her whatever I feel like, and she’ll answer… once she’s done hacking herself, that is. It’s a nightly ritual. We sit, watch the sun set, she hacks, I watch, I ask, she answers. Then we sleep, her wrapped up safely in my arms. I cry myself to sleep, but she’ll never know that.

She looks up and I’m taken aback by her gaze, “Nobody should die for me.”

“But if you had to choose, baby.”

“I wouldn’t.”

She’s so stubborn and I realize that I’m in love with that part of her as well. I’m in love with every part of her. From her stunning almost-green-but-not-quite eyes to her sexy-and-cute-all-in-one limbs. Her hair. Her smile. Her touch. Her taste. I love it all, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The only part I don’t love is the part that’s out now… The part that makes her smooth hands bring the razor to her skin. Her eyes watch in dull intrigue as the blood bubbles and bursts. The red seeps down across her pale skin to mingle with the top of her pants. Her eyes glaze as she just… watches.

Part of me can’t help but be disgusted. She mars her pretty self. She thinks of it as body decoration. “No,” I’ve told her, “body decoration is my lip piercing, or the tattoos on your arms. Cutting isn’t a decoration. It’s degeneration.”

I don’t know how I got so wise.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been there. I’ve watched with enchantment as my blood appears before me. I’ve hid the marks from the people I’ve grown attached to over the many, many years. I’ve sat by silently as others have marred their skin permanently. I’ve been there.

And I don’t care to go back.

“Do you need a napkin or something?” Instead of telling her to quit, ripping the razor from her precious hands, I tend to her. Help her. Enable her. I can’t help it. I don’t want to hinder us. I bend down to brush my lips across her neck, feeling distant emotionally and trying to fill that void physically.

Her head tilts back and she mutters a “no” before I tickle her lips with my own, just barely brushing across the soft skin. She smirks under me, and I press firmly down, charged by the electric spark that’s animating my limbs. I can feel my blood being transported through my veins, my heart beating against my ribs. I’m aware of every inch of skin that coats me as I kiss her as I’ve kissed her for years.

The sun is setting in front of us, casting everything in a weird, reddish glow. How fitting.

But I’m not really paying attention. She’s pulling me closer to her, want-needing me to reassure her that everything’s okay. I want-need some of that, too, and I oblige, tangling our hair together beside us as we relax, content in our own little space. No one will bother us here.

“I want you to,” I pause, allowing her to explore the tender flesh of mine and nudge me to let me know that she’s listening, “I want you to give me everything…”

“I do, Bird,” she whispers and I shudder, feeling every movement of hers. But I’m not talking about physical want-need. Nor even mental.

“I’m talking about your machines, baby.” She’s stopped lavishing attention on the concave dip in my collarbone. “I want your razors, your safety pins, your credit cards…”

Her beautiful blood is making a spot on my shirt, mixing with the rest of the dots and splatters that have already made their homes there. She’s looking up at me expectantly. Like I’m going to just forget about everything I just said and go back to pleasing her. But I’m not. I’m determined this time. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t enable her.

“Credit cards?”

Her eyes shine below me and my salty drops are already collecting on her sharp cheekbones. “I’ve heard that they have sharp edges.”

“You’re silly, Bird,” she reaches up and touches her lips to the tear lines that’re marring my face just like her hips.

“I can’t keep this up,” I’m closing my eyes, and slowly losing the battle. As long as her lips are on me, I have no resistance, the wall falls. “I can’t keep pretending you’re still the pleasant wind you once were. I’m worried about you, baby.”

“You’re silly,” she repeats, winding her sweet arms around me, pulling me to her. We’ve done a few things on this swing in the middle of nature before, but now is not the time. She crashes her lips with mine and the world comes to a grinding halt. She’s encouraging me now, spiraling my thoughts downward, and before I know it, my thoughts can wait.

I am silly.

This can wait…

Yeah… it can wait… I can wait to be her martyr…

AN: This is why I shouldn't be allowed to stay up past midnight. xD

Ugh. I was reading over some past works. Trying to reconnect. With my writing. Myself in general. Her.

I've almost forgotten how hard it is for me to write femmeslash. But how oh-so yummy. :9

I was also listening to Luna Sea. So blame whatever doesn't make sense on their wonderful music. I guess...