For Middy's anniversary, because she loves LucyLouis and angst! :)
counting the stars in your eyes
There's a careless smile on a pointed face, a careless shine in spring green eyes, a careless flutter of long curling eyelashes, a careless laugh from swollen, shiny-wet lips, a careless endearing incongruous tilt of the head, a careless flip of curling damp gold hair.
The wall is white, so white, whiter than anything. He screams her name, arches towards the ceiling, hands and feet jerking against ropes. The pain hits his chest and he slumps back into the mattress, shakes in his blood unable to be expressed by his paralysed body, the longing cry of her name trapped like ice in his throat.
She is careless, a dancing light in a garden bathed in moonlight, writhing and swirling, bare feet beating out an unhurried, luxurious metronome on the dew-damp grass. He smiles, wraps a hand around her ankle, tugs her down with laughter echoing on the summer breeze caressing naked, sated bodies like a returning lover.
He cries silently, tears slipping down his cheeks and into the disinfectant scented pillow. A wand rolls across the table and drops with a clatter. He reaches for a quill and writes into the wall, writes and writes until there is nowhere else to ink her name and he presses the quill into his skin.
She giggles, light and clear as a bell in the midsummer night, ducks her head and presses a kiss to his forehead before darting away like a minnow, flitting through the garden, picking up great handfuls of freshly-mown grass and scattering them down until green strands cling to the sweat on her skin. A fairy, clothed all in green, dances before him, hair flying hypnotically against the black sky, stars scattering silver across her pale skin.
He is dragged from the room with a thin stream of blood carving a scarlet line into his ashen skin, screaming and kicking. A voice tries to soothe him, female and musical, but not the bell-like tone he longs to hear and he screams, writhing against the arms holding him in a vice-like grip.
She bends down, kisses him, covers his body with her own, warm and soft and supple, holding him into the grass, keeping him down. He smiles against her lips and she smiles too, until they're both smiling too much to keep their lips connected and drift apart, still hovering close as she gazes at him from beneath lowered lashes, smiling seductively.
She visits him in the white walls and the white bed. Her eyes are filled with disgust, her mouth twisted in a sneer. She calls him wrong, disgusting, wrong, disgusting, until the words fill his head and beat in his ears like a pulse. She leaves in a swirl of golden hair, and he remembers her dancing for him in the moonlight.
She dissolves on the wind, and he falls back into a white bed with the white sheets and stares blindly at the white wall, tears blurring his vision and dripping onto his shaking hands, stinging his split, bloodied knuckles. He clenches his fists until the wounds rip open again and start to bleed. He watches the scarlet stain mar the white with a considering fascination. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts anymore.