Another mindless movement, desperation feeding their desire. Tongues clashing, blood pumping wildly in tune with their hearts. Teeth meeting skin, hard enough to bruise. Licking at the tender red marks that appeared with each bite. Gripping the sheets when the pain got too much to handle. A single cry marked the end of the furious movements, and he moved off to the side, allowing her to catch her breath.
Of course, he was gone within the span of a few minutes, leaving her in her room while he went and showered. Her eyes narrowed on the slim slit of light coming into the room from the hall. She bent her knees and sat up, wrinkling her nose at the sensation settling between her thighs. A sigh slipped from swollen lips, and blood slipped down from her shoulder. Stained pale skin shone in the moonlight.
Droite brought her knees to her chest, her breathing coming to a slowed-down pace. Dull orange eyes stared at the floor, at the clothing that lay on the carpeted floor. Her white suit had stains on it, from when it had been roughly pulled off in a drunken haste. The alcohol had long ago left her system, but she still felt hazed, her mind full of the moments before, when that man had been on top of her. She flipped over her arms and stared at the faint scars on her smooth skin, wondering how she had become such a broken butterfly.
Her wings had been torn from her ever since that day. Staring with dead eyes at a picture sitting on the dresser across the room, she dared to stand and approach the photograph. She picked it up in slim, dry fingers and gazed over it. Her face remained expressionless as she touched a face on the photo, tracing the golden lines with her fingertips. Her reflection in the mirror on the wall above caught her attention and she met eyes with the stranger in the shiny surface.
Dark hair hung to her shoulders, disheveled and framing a hollow face. Her cheekbones stood out, her jawline more pronounce, eyes sunken and dark. Her ribs were visible, her breasts having lost some of their fullness. Her hipbones stood out alarmingly and her legs were so thin a gap rested between her thighs. Her lips were set in a thin line.
"You've grown quite thin, Droite," spoke the muscular man behind her. She turned and stared at him as if he weren't even there.
"You know full well as to why," she said flatly. Without batting an eye, she lowered and grabbed her panties from the floor. "Leave. I don't need you anymore."
He was obviously hurt, but he retracted from the room, frowning. Droite just blinked, sitting down on the bed. She was fully awake, and there was no sleeping for her, even though it was passed two in the morning.
"He's dead," she spoke to nobody in particular. "He's dead and you know why we're like this."
This was their current status. Again, and again, they would do this. Every night, they would get drunk. Every night, they would attempt to fill the space in their hearts. He wanted her. But she was gone. She was dead.
Dominoes of indiscretions down
Falling all around
In cycles
In circles
Constantly consuming
Conquer and devour