How could you do this to me?
Look at what I made for you,
Never was enough,
And the world is what I gave to you
"Tell me you don't want me."
Her normally blissful expression is traded for that of a stoic mask: large eyes dimmed and half-lidded as she looks up at me from under butterfly lashes, mouth drawn to a tight line without the slightest tinge of a smile. It's unsettling, the tension through her jaw and throw of shadows about the heart-shaped face, and it causes me to choke on the words building in my throat like bile.
We're standing close – incredibly close – to the point that each breath lets my breast fall lightly to her, strands of my bangs curled between her long fingers as she rolls them between her touch. And Gaia – I can smell her – and she smells of honey and sweat something intoxicating.
"Tifa," her small voice draws my gaze back to her eyes, "tell me."
I want you so bad.
I can feel the words creeping along my tongue – I can taste them – and, truth be told, they taste like salt; bitter and sour as I roll them behind my lips. They sting, gathering the saliva in my mouth, and I swallow once.
"Aeris," her name tastes worse than the words before, burning at the tips, "What's this really about?"
I know what it's really about, but I'd never be the one to say it, and that, that's exactly what it's really about.
Aeris gives a soft – almost painful – sigh, making a dejected sound in the back of her throat before fleeting to the window to give her profile as a silhouette. The late hour has the moon highlight her gorgeously (as usual), and I'm left to trace the line of her face in silence – content to leave it at that.
But she's not.
"Why don't you be honest with me, for once," she asks smartly, turning away to trade all definition for a mass of shadow in the moonlight, "What are you so scared of?"
'Who am I so scared of,' is the correct question – and I know she knows this – so it appears I'm not the only one avoiding the entire sentence; which causes me to remember that with Aeris Gainsborough, it's not what she says, but what she doesn't say.
"Aeris," I try again, getting the same response as she breaks from the window to the closest corner, "Why are you doing this now?"
I don't hide my agitation. I'm tired and beaten; the journey weighing on me heavily in light of the current events and the patience for this game was worn thin weeks ago.
"No, no, no, no, no, no!" she cries, spinning sharply again in quick movements.
She reminds me of a caged bird, the small Gongaga hut holding well at her constant flail.
"Tifa," the name falls heavy from her mouth and it takes a moment to remember it's mine, despite how many times I hear it in her chorus every night. "Don't do this to me."
"I just can't fathom how it matters."
"It's incredibly simple how it matters," she's crying, somewhere between failure and hysterics, and the sound begins a dull throb in the base of my skull and chest. "You either love someone, or you don't."
For a girl so vibrant and wrapped in color, that is a tad monochrome for her.
"If you don't love me-"
"I didn't say that-"
"Exactly! That's the point!" her hands tangle in her hair, obviously frustrated, "You didn't say anything – you never do."
I answer in silence, dropping my eyes to study the sliver of light along the curve of my boot. I can hear her shift her weight along the floorboards, the soft swish of cloth against skin.
"I'm just," she's calmed a bit, but I don't look up, "I'm tired of waiting."
"What are you waiting for?" I say it reflexively, and regret in the same second nature that let it slip.
I can hear the part of her mouth, even as no sound falls from it, I know it's there. I can feel the shift in air in a sense, knowing the look she's giving me – like I'd struck her across the face.
"For you," she finally whispers, "I'm waiting for you."
But I'm not coming.
Despite not being able to see her in the darkness, I turn my head towards the door and fold my arms defensively. I don't care to articulate what she already dreads, it really isn't my fashion to cause problems, or disappointment – at least – not aloud.
"Aeris, I don't know what you're looking for, but I've given all I can."
I lie to her, turned away as I feel her eyes on me.
"Then tell me you don't want me," she's pleading softly, crossing the room to touch slender hands to my collarbone, "break me, Tifa."
Her touch is like fire on my skin, familiar in a sick sense as my body stirs beneath her fingers.
"I'm tired of waiting for you – I've been waiting for years to have this – and if you won't give it, at least just take it."
Her cryptic words are stale - rehearsed to someone not-so forgotten – and something flares in the flame under her fingertips on my heart. I can feel the flush spreading across my neck and into my face.
"It's not mine to give, Aeris," I put as much vileness into the syllables as I can – and still – my heat skips a beat. "I never had it in the first place."
She's shaking her head and laughing sweetly, something so misplaced in the tension between us.
"Sweety," she coos to me, touching her palm to the curve of my cheek, "I love you."
I love you.
I lean into her hand and wrap my arms about her slender waist, cursing that I can't ravish in the soft folds of her dress through leather and buckles. She gives in to my weakness a moment, laying her form perfectly against mine and letting me hold her entire weight.
Aeris is patient with me, silent as one of my hands begins to comb through her hair; pulling some stray ringlets behind her ear before I trace the shell of it down to her jaw and over pursed lips. Her cheeks are damp and she softly kisses my finger for me to take back to touch my own lips.
And this had been the extent of our exchange, for a good two months now: a simple kiss of silent words across our hands. And with it, a silent exchange of uncertainties not yet concreted in whispers and soft nothings – superfluous things to me, really.
But she needed them.
"Say it," she pleads again, pressing her lips to my neck so I can feel her form the words, "Gaia, say it, please."
I can't, and really, it's not because I don't want to – because I do, more than anything – but it's because she's strong, and she doesn't need me to say them, pretend as she wants.
She gives me a minute, maybe two, before backing away and shaking her head again. Somewhere, I can hear the soft patter of water on wood.
"You at least owe me an explanation."
I know, Aeris.
"I'm in love with Cloud," it sounds false to my own ears as I say it, but I know it stings even worse than if true.
"And I'm in love with Zack," she retorts, not missing a beat.
My heart aches, and she sighs again.
"Why are we playing this game?"
Her voice is so soft that I question a moment if she really said it, but then as I glance up, I can see the moonlight reflecting in her eyes – emerald irises focused on me in a ghastly glow.
"Because."
It's sufficient enough for me.
Aeris makes some estranged sound and rounds on me fast enough to catch me once on the shoulder with a small fist before I'm able to react to the next blow.
"You're so infuriating!"
She struggles against my hold, striking me once across the face – not hard mind you – but enough to jostle my nerves as I feel the tears start flowing.
"Why aren't I good enough?" she's crying again, her tiny blows striking me again along my shoulders, "Why am I second best to a man that doesn't know you exist? Why pretend to love him?"
I'm sinking to the floor with her now, letting her flail and beat her wings against me in the temper tantrum as I maneuver her gingerly. Her head is in my neck, sobbing wet rolls along my shoulder to follow the crease of my breast down my shirt, her other hand wrapped around the back of my neck and tangled in the small hairs at the base of my skull.
"Why pretend to not love me?"
And I'm cooing to her softly, rubbing her back in lazy patterns.
"I'm not good enough, Aeris," I brush against her ear, "I'm broken."
But she doesn't hear me, her sadness swallowing her as she crumples, wilted, in my arms. I tuck some hairs behind her ear and lightly press my lips to her closed eyes, the lashes fluttering under my mouth a second to tickle along the tip.
A butterfly kiss is our first.
Surely, our mouths meet and I'm engorged on her taste, hungrily kneading into her with teeth and tongue. She's not sweet – as expected - but tastes of some metal and tea; the combination so incredibly complex that I can't help but continue to roll my tongue across her palette several times to take it all in.
This is our second.
Aeris doesn't seem to mind, soft breaths falling on my parted lips as we break, feeling into each other with our eyes. Her fingers are still knotted into my hair while her other hand slowly comes to touch my face.
"Tell me," she begins before I press my mouth to hers again.
I don't want to hear it.
She falls to the floor harder than anticipated under my desire, my weight and body separating her knees as I sprawl along her smaller frame. The noise she makes is of slight pain, coupled with a light hum as I release her mouth and begin along her jaw, her skin warm under my kisses as I follow the curve of her pulse.
"Tifa," she calls, and I have to remember again that it's my name.
I know she wants (needs) an answer, waiting to hear her name fall from my tongue; drawing her eyes to gaze at me from under dark lashes.
I respond by sucking lightly under the base of her jaw, just on the slope of her neck; and the vibrations she makes as her eyes close cause the familiar burning in my body again.
I want you so bad.
Why in the world are there so many buttons? I curse, fumbling normally tactful hands down the slope of her naval, stripping her rose tinge for that of cream flesh as she lays. She's perfectly still - hardly breathing under my hands - as her eyes watch me, glossed over in masked expression; breath hitching ever so slightly as I part the fabric to trace the shell of her belly-button.
Holding her eyes, I slowly lower to kiss her stomach, earning a small smile and flush about her cheeks.
The rest of her attire is torn off under my gauntlets, falling away from her perfect complexion as the window light reflects along her naked frame. She's marvelous, and I know I'm expressing that in my face as Aeris turns to give her profile sharply.
"You're not fair," she says to the floor lightly.
I sit with her words seriously a moment before she pulls at the bottom of my shirt with thin fingers, clarifying her meaning – or at least – quelling my mind over it.
I pause as a sudden self-consciousness shrouds me, peaking Aeris' curiosity to turn back to my form. She begins to rise, letting me sit atop her hips nicely while her hands remove the elastic of my shirt over my head, leaving me bare to her eyes.
Of course she touches it – as I knew someone was bound to do eventually -but still, I'm unprepared, wincing and grimacing. But she's careful and quiet, following the meld of skin across my breastbone with the tip of her thumbnail ever so slowly.
"So," she curves her finger under my breast to find the end of the seam, "this is where you keep your heart."
"Actually," I chuckle darkly, "I had it surgically removed."
"And what's there now?" she plays along coyly, giving a soft smirk from under puffy eyes.
"Ribbons – shrapnel – of it."
She's tracing the scar again with her hand, following the disfigurement back up through the shallow passage between my breasts.
"Do I get to keep it if I tie it back together?"
"No," she downturns her lips slightly at that, "but you can wear it in your hair if you like."
Tugging the pink ribbon from her braid, Aeris lets me coax her curls into soft waves while her hands idly begin to undo my belt. She hesitates a moment, running her hands tentatively across the tops of my thighs and turning emerald to me.
"I want you to have it."
"My heart?" I ask quizzically before she smiles and shakes her head.
"My ribbon."
She takes the strip from my hand and begins to sweep my hair over my shoulder, pulling the soft fold around my neck and tying a light knot to rest against my throat. It hangs limp on my skin, the ends trailing down my collarbone, and from the bemused expression in her eyes, I'm guessing it looks ridiculous.
I can imagine the color would clash with my demeanor, just like she does.
"I look like some stuck up cat, don't I?" I ask sourly.
She kisses my heart, ducking her head and finding the exact spot where the dimpled flesh crosses the forgotten organ; the sensation agitating the area and flaring in pain –and, at the same time – awakening the heart to a painful pace, causing my body to flush, leaning, into her lips.
She is my double-edged sword, and Gaia, does she cut deep.
"You look like mine," she mouths on my skin, and I understand at once the magnitude of what she's tied me in.
I'm tilting her head upwards and tasting her deeply again, her lips bruising into mine as she becomes more frantic; biting, pulling, teasing, tugging, along my mouth as her hands strip away the last articles of clothing, leaving only leather and buckles about my arms.
And we are naked, pressing into each other as the tip of her nipple brushes mine, erecting a high moan from her at the sheer intimacy of the touch. But I don't relent, hands finally feasting on her skin, groping and branding her flesh with small marks.
And I can feel her heat through the metal plates along my gloves, marveling how effortlessly I can run my touch across her body without any hitch of scar tissue or past breaks.
Aeris responds in kind to my antics, breathing soft reassurances into the back of my mouth; my tongue tasting one every so often -and they taste like apples, ripe and rich in crunch and enlightenment.
She's trying to over-turn my weight, nudging and pressing her hips to one side and cueing me to let her have top, which I comply out of politeness. After-all, a medicine hut wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to be having such activities, and I might as well spare her the splintered floor.
She's upright, gazing down at me through lidded eyes again, her hands resting just below my breasts. At this angle, her hair pools over her shoulder, catching the nonexistent light and still managing to glow and freckle in brown highlights.
And all I can hear is her breathing, shallow and soft as her chest rises and falls evenly.
"Do it," I urge delicately, arching my back ever so slightly to pronounce my body to her shyness.
She looks unsure – scared – but complies, dragging her nails down my skin in an maddening sensation till she touches me; and the world melts away as her delicate hands taste me, her image above fading into dahlia.
Aeris doesn't exist, there is only the warmth of someone's touch as my body feasts in the building pleasure, writhing in the throes of something I can't remember to pronounce. Her pace is agonizingly slow, free hand in the socket of my hip, guiding my body in a drawn circle.
And Gaia, it feels amazing.
I'm moaning now, not unabashed to throw my head back and call to the silence in throaty wisps, and I assume she's trying to quiet me, covering my mouth in hers for a few moments.
"Aeris," I manage into her mouth, "Please."
Her pace quickens, removing the pressure from my hip to let me contribute to the building sensation. I begin to rise, using my elbows to support as she tilts her head back to open her neck again, mumbling something softly in response.
I take it viciously, leaving dark bruises in my wake while my abdomen continues to make use of rigorous training in setting another pace – sweat beginning to slick my body for smoother glide against her.
And she's now panting at the sheer speed of her finger fuck.
We're tangled on the floor in seconds, she sprawled now on her back, arching into my ravishing as I pillage, and rape her body with my tongue and touch. I can tell she's disoriented at my sudden feat, but any protest dies in her mouth as I roughly spread her legs and find her folds.
I'm violent – I won't kid – instantly matching her before pace and bringing my lips to the dusky peak of her nipple to take it between teeth. Aeris tangles her hands along the floor boards, flailing for something to wrap hold of and finds loose strands of onyx to coil her fingers in, tugging sharply as I take a moment to simply breath on her body.
I continue to stab at her, gouging my flesh and the fringe of my gloves into her body as her dampness creeps along the seam and stitch of my weapon, staining my skin beneath.
"Love," she tries the word, fumbling around the letters in her passion and putting more emphasis on the "o" with the face she makes, tensing around my hand.
"Me," she finishes, eyes closed and toes pointed.
Feeling myself relax between her legs, I remove my weapon from her body and sit back on my knees. My eyes trace her erratic breaths, watching the light from the window curve and embrace the glow of her skin.
She's beautiful, and my heart dares me to pretend otherwise; the scar a deeper hue of red then the rest of my flushed body, raised and boiled together across the rotting organ. I love her – I really do – but now is hardly the appropriate time to say it as her fingers weakly tug on the ends of my hair, pulling me down atop her frame to her face.
And I can feel her heart beat against mine, eyes hooded in content, mouth parted ever so slightly as the smell of steel and tea falls across my senses.
She's still with me a moment, lost in the deathly calm of this hiatus where our breathing evens together, chests falling and rising in unison.
"You won't give it to me because you think he needs it more," she finally says, eyes closed and face smoothed from any hidden anger.
No.
"I won't give it to you because I think he needs you more."
"That's not really your choice to make, is it?" she snaps, blissful features beginning to fold at the corner of her eyes.
"But I'm making it."
Her eyes open to mine staring down at her. A silent exchange passes as I dare her to question and defy me, my lips drawn into a tight line.
Aeris inspects my face, pushing my hair away with her hands and running her thumb over my lips. She's thinking, tilting my head to either side for different angles while I obey and give her control, letting my hair drag across her neck as she does so.
Her eyes are gorgeous, vibrant in watercolor dabs of different green hues, blurring together in a glossed finish. But the room does them no justice like natural sunlight, and I strain my vision to count the flecks of moss I know are there, like the soft freckles across her pointed nose.
"You're beautiful," she whispers, causing me to blush and look away into the darkness, "And you do love him."
"I already told you that-"
"No," she hushes me, "You love him in a different way, very different."
I focus on my boot across the small hut, the light again falling in a sliver along the metallic toe.
"And yes," she admits, "it's stronger than your love for me."
Beneath the curve of the sole is mud, tacked and hardened over the tobacco leather, and against the floorboard – just barely visible under the weight of the shoe – is a dark blooming shape.
"But it's different."
It's a flower, native to the village and I can recall the name on my tongue – the Dahlia – the Black Dahlia. Between my boot and Gongaga ground, it blooms heavy and full in many petals, the dark color a beautiful silhouette to my eye.
And the word tastes like copper and honey.
"Aeris," her eyes follow mine to the crumpled flower, "I am yours."
I reach to my left glove, supporting fully on her as I hear a soft sound escape her lungs. Tearing a thin cord of leather from my arm in a quick motion, she watches me quizzically as I draw it around her slender neck, feeling her pulse frantic as I tie the black string in a simple bow.
So that, in the morning, she could easily remove it.
Drawing myself from her heat, she lies there along the ground, stroking the necklace I'd fashioned her with fragile fingers. Dressing is a slow habit, collecting the strewn items of our passion and smoothing them back into place along my frame. It's mere minutes before I begin to reach for the final touch - my boot.
"I don't want you," she says, cracking her voice in a tiny sob.
I freeze, heart beating once before I slide my foot into the boot - applying pressure to the flower beneath - lacing it quickly.
I know she says it because I won't – just like I won't say anything else – and I know it stabs at her deeply, leaving her to bleed internally in a scar that surely matches mine. And I know I hate myself for it - but I pretend that it doesn't matter - glancing over my shoulder at her perfect body.
"Really?" I say softly, "Because that just makes two of us."
I stand, supporting my entire weight to crush and break the flower beneath and head for the door.
And it's true,
I hurt too,
Remember,
I loved you
- Black Dahlia by Hollywood Undead
I will never say goodbye.
Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated.