|I Am Nothing Now
Author: october lies PM
prose. "That night, she snuck off to the bathroom and stole one, two, three of his razors and spent ten minutes removing all twelve blades, inventing and reinventing hiding places, teaching herself new "swiping" techniques."Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Angst - Words: 806 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Published: 10-17-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2584976
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
i am nothing, now
by: october lies(october 15th, 2008, 3:45pm)
"sometimes, we don't need to be loved. we just need to love someone else. it makes life easier."
I'm nothing now.
They slept beneath the covers with wandering, virgin fingers and sharp nails. Welts formed and grew on the insides of their thighs, their skins prickling as if pressed against needles and pine. Her fingernail polish chipped off, onto the floor and dusted the tan carpet with red. Together, they traded v-cards with all the other "1st"s attached, trailing. A bruise formed on her right hip, below her ankle, the fire screamed at the pit of her stomach. This wasn't enough.
That night, she snuck off to the bathroom ("piss-run; I'll be back, handsome") and stole one, two, three of his razors and spent ten minutes removing all twelve blades and inventing and reinventing hiding places, teaching herself new swiping techniques. She counted the drops (26) that fell to the floor and made it a point to remember how many squares of toilet paper she needed for all of them (9) and just how many minutes (12) she was in there before he knocked, suspicious, worried, curious.
Originally, she was convinced that he was too tired out, too exhausted, too uninterested to go out of his way. His fingers never floated across her skin in the most intimate way and his eyes never held a look meant for only her. She knew he never thought twice about her except when she was nearby but that didn't stop her from loving him. She loved him in the way that she needed to be loved by someone she couldn't be loved by. Her heart was set on him because his was not set on her, his heart had no eyes for another and certainly not her.
So when he knocked, her heart leapt to her throat, shocked, confused, and oh-so very hopeful.
She recalled it vividly: there were five short, hesitant knocks, the fourth and fifth significantly quieter, softer, unsure. Three of her heartbeats went by before he said anything, the door sounding hollow, but unbreakable. There was one thud - she assumed it was his head coming to a non-too-gentle rest against the door - and he repeated her name, once, twice, three times.
The fourth time he said her name, she opened her mouth at the same moment, fully intent on revealing herself and lying her way out the door, into his arms, and through another session. But the alarm in his voice stopped her, barred whatever volition she had, and her eyes widened in fascination at the door and what lay behind it. One. Two. Three. Four. Fie. Six heartbeats, three breaths.
The doorknob rattled and as it shook, so did she, moved out of her transfixed state and shaking her body physically. Panic flooded her body as she scooped up the razors, hid one in a pill bottle cap, one in the cabinet hinge, one in the crack of the door, noting it took one heartbeat for it to find the bottom with a barely noticeable pop.
She swallowed. Her name was said four more times. Then he said, after two heartbeats of silence, dead silence, "Look--" his voice was heavy, guilty and everything in her heart seemed to suddenly burn in shame, hurt, pain...did he regret her? A wave of heat moved over her body, consuming her entirely in a blind fit of fire, "--if you, you know, didn't want to, all you had to say was no. I would have waited, I promise."
His nails scratched at the door in a slow, retreating manner.
With one final tug, she pulled her pants up while his nails fell slowly, diminishing and felt the sharp, crisp pain on her legs give her satisfaction no one else could offer. Two heartbeats, three. She unlocked the door. One heartbeat. She swallowed and turned. Two more heartbeats. "I'm sorry," she croaked, as he stood a few feet from the door, as if he were poisonous, "I don't feel good."
Relief flooded his face and soaked for almost ten minutes before it ebbed away into lust and desire, consuming him in a hot fire that threatened to kill her if she didn't nest herself in the middle, on an island in a pond. So when he stuck a finger into the waistband of her pants and pulled her closer, she gave him an encouraging smile and wide naive eyes. As he unbuttoned her jeans and teased her skin, she let the tingles take over again and followed his lead.
Her heart broke like glass when he paid no interest to the bleeding on her thighs.
I am nothing now.