For Her
It's for her.
The needle is sharper than any imp's claw. Thick black thread weaves its way through his bottom lip. Beads of indigo burn, making the pain almost more than he can handle.
It's for her.
The top lip, now. Searing pain. His eyes shut tight involuntarily. He dare not scream. Someone may hear, and that would be the end of it.
It's for her.
The second stitch isn't as bad. Blood continues to drip from his mouth, and there is pain. But he deserves this. He did this to her and it's time to pay.
Always for her.
Memories replay over and over again in his mind; he is jolted awake by her pleas to stop screaming, please calm down, my ears hurt so bad, Kurloz, so bad. And a few moments after he's finally lucid, he looks upon his matesprit, his soulmate, her hands pressed to ears stained with olive-tinted blood. He remembers apologizing, over and over again.
He remembers the terrified look on her face, the hoarse whisper of "Why can't I hear anything, Kurloz?", and his beloved Meulin breaking, just cracking, throwing herself into his arms as they cry together, him soothingly petting her thick, black, curly hair.
After that night, he remembers vowing never to speak again. He will not hurt her.
And look at just how that turned out.
By now, his lips are numb. He draws the needle one last time, tightening the thick stitches. He stares at himself in the mirror, cracking a bloody smile.
I'll never hurt you again. Everything I do is for you, Meulin.