God, I am so fuckin’ sad.
She thinks this as her chest rises and falls, as the world seems to pass around her in slow motion. A lady of the fall: broken and naked amongst her ruins, ash fluttering around her like gentle snow. There is nothing beautiful about the way her teeth sharpen her words into knives, nothing endearing about such a callous attitude.
“Perhaps I was always a shell . . .” she whispers, eyes eons away from her cool afternoon in the meadow. Vadar is no longer there, as far as she is concerned.
That is, he is but a wayward crack in her windshield, a tiny spider-like breaking of glass. One day she notices him, not sure when or how he got there, and then the next it is as if he was always there (just a crack). Jude hardly sees him, hardly hears him. When did he get there? Perhaps tomorrow she will remember; perhaps she will be able to visualize the exact pebble that crashed into her view. Perhaps -
The glass shatters.
Finally, his lips against her skin register. Each brush of his body along hers sends another waver through her barrier. Like a rock at just the right speed and density, Vadar crashes right through the middle of her. Jude gasps, breath lodged in her throat, chest tightening against the feeling of his words at her neck. Her eyes are wide, vacant for a moment and then flooding with thousands of unprocessed emotions.
What the fuck do you want from me? There are hundreds of tiny Judes screaming in her mind, all desperate for something different - something she has never felt before - she cannot even begin to describe it. Half of them beg her to fold into Vadar and the other half want her to rip the flesh from his neck. Their cacophony is too loud, too overwhelming, too belligerent and ugly and useless -
“Stop.”
One would think Jude’s command would be a yell, but it is not. It is a word she does not mean to utter aloud; and yet, it fits into the air so nicely, like the last puzzle piece one accidentally knocked under the couch. All of the imagined Judes dissipate. Her mind falls silent.
The pegasus leans into her companion’s touch, eyes squeezed shut against all of the confusion.
“I do not want to shelter you,” she whispers, once saccharine accent now melancholy. Her mouth finds the bare skin of his shoulder; her teeth wrap around his bone. “I don’t want to fuckin’ shelter you, Vadar.”
She wants to be whole. She wants so fiercely to shake the sadness from her voice.
Now, she bites down, tearing in as deeply as Vadar will allow. She pulls away, the metallic taste of blood on her lips, then leans in to press her mouth to his. Her kiss is messy, her aim shaky. She smears the crimson across his maw.
@[Vadar] sorry she is being a total weirdo....