Caverns
It was only a matter of time. Pain speaks to pain, broken soul calls to broken soul.
There's a hollowness so deep inside him that he thinks he could break in two. A deep, cavernous hollow, the creation of years of swallowed away, stuffed down pain that drips down, leaving a canyon in its wake. The damn that he'd built, brick by brick since he was nine, shattered with the first shovel of dirt tossed on top of him. And he wonders how he can be so full of pain and yet still so empty.
He recognizes something in her eyes he never saw before; a familiar sameness that beckons him, a lifetime of her suppressed screams echo his. He sees that in her now, now that his hurting overflows as much as hers and he knows it's always been there, invisible to the others, the spotless, the unsoiled by ache.
It started innocently enough. As innocent as this particular city can be. As innocent as these two particular people can be. These two who've seen human waste, and the waste of humans. These two who stand above ground, speak for the dead, witness. It was simply the fulfillment of desire. A craving to feel alive, to prove to themselves they still breathe, their hearts still beat. It was a want to feel something besides empty. To fill the cavern in their souls.
The city is full as they are empty. Overflowing with bright lights, swells of laughter, music with throbbing beats. Their veins swallow the beats; electricity pulses through them, resurrecting their hearts.
They collide with each otherlike strangers on the crowded dance floor, letting their bodies move without the restraints they've shackled on themselves for to long now. Sweat trickles down their spines in salty streams; their bodies vibrating with the music. The air between them is thick with the sweat that steams off them and budding thoughts. Their hips make awkward sporadic contact within the rhythm of the dance, fatal momentum carries her closer to him, and he can smell the whisky on her breath, a moment later, taste it on her lips and tongue.
It's a clashing of fingertips on skin. Clumsy, erratic movements of arms and legs. Clutching hands, gripping and tearing. Watering eyes, ravenous mouths and lashing tongues. Raw and naked psyches, jagged wounds begging to be healed. A feast of human contact for the starving spirit. Losing themselves in the hope of being found.
And so, much later,she finds herself staring at the same ceiling she's stared at during all those sleepless hours, his damp forehead resting on her shoulder. Warm, heavy breaths moving against her collarbone. He smells of heady spice, of roots and clay, and she wonders if the earth is finally bleeding out of him. Her arms fold tightly around him, as if she could pull him into her, let him melt and seep into her though her skin. And maybe, just maybe, fill the cavern.