They say that in the moment of a kiss, the entire world holds its breath. She knows that they are wrong for a fact, because in the moment of this particular kiss, the entire world is not holding its breath. It is suffocating—could not breathe even if it wanted to.
Kissing is supposed to be nice. Kissing is supposed to be the closest it comes to magic, makes you feel like you can fly, touch the stars, jump over the moon, and all that other romantic crap. Maybe it is; maybe she's completely and utterly wrong. All she knows is what she feels right now is a heavy-leaden-stone feeling that deadens every nerve, a crawling, burning sensation that eats away at her mouth--thoughit's probably just the vomit about to leap from her lips. His lips move poison against hers, suck the life out of her, and she feels herself growing old, weak, dying, a scattering of dust in the wind, a nothing that leaves no mark behind. Not even a shadow.
She could scream, but she knows he would just suck it right up, just the way he is sucking up her insides right now. So she doesn't scream, lies silent in his cold arms. She could struggle, but she knows that he would just pin her to a wall, twist her hands behind her back, and that would only make things more uncomfortable.
So she lets him do what he does and does not resist. He leaves her quiet, walks out the door and doesn't bother to say good-bye.
She forces herself to make breakfast. This is a normal day. Nothing bad has happened. Nothing, and more beautiful nothing, forever nothing. It's a fresh morning, a glorious morning with sunshine and no clouds and singing birds and—
The waffles are soggy.
She picks at the yellow-grey lumps with a fork, rolls them limply onto their sides,dogs' carcasses. Forces a bite into her mouth; almost gags on the mealy taste. Almost chokes as she tries to swallow the lump.
It sticks in her throat.
She swallows hard. Runs to the bathroom the next moment and throws up in the toilet. Gets the retch all over the toilet seat and throws up again at the sight of it. The sour aftertaste screams on her tongue, seeps into her throat and burns a deadly trickle of green venom.
She'll remember to buy a different brand of waffles next time.
For a brief moment she considers calling in sick today. But then Ino will come and start fussing over her and become suspicious, and that would only be worse. Ino scares her because Ino might find out.
And besides, she isn't sick. Because nothing happened, right? Nothing. Today is a fresh morning, a glorious morning with sunshine and no clouds and singing birds. She stands before the mirror and tries on a smile, forces her lips up, wide, wide, wider damnit no one will believe you! smile, like the Cheshire cat. Perfect.
She looks at herself in the mirror for a moment and then stumbles blindly to the bathroom and throws up again. This time she doesn't get it all over the toilet seat; an improvement.
She rinses her mouth over and over, and then takes a deep breath. The taste is still there.
Talk about utter spammage.
Might develop into something; we'll see. I haven't done a multi-chapter thing in...forever. Need to sharpen my skills (if I even have any). :D