#223
He's going to leave, I keep thinking. He's going to leave, and either never return or drag me down with him.
Each time I regret it. Deeply.
And yet I keep moaning, clutching him tightly and letting my sharp nails rake down his exquisite back, so divinely scarred, the weight of the world curving his spine into a delicious 's' shape.
Mello looks like an animal on top of me. Bent back, like a werewolf mid-transformation. He's a monster, everyone knows that, but with me, he's a pathetic creature in need of something akin to love. I can't give him that, but I can try.
And I try my damnedest. I cry louder. His voice is muffled in the sweat stained skin of my neck. He's close. We're close. Closer than ever. We become one person, if that's even possible, and with my brain pumped full of statistics and science I know it's not.
'Mail' escapes his dry cracked lips, soft puff of air, soulful release of what can never see the light of day. Luckily I'm just as part of the darkness as the shadows that shroud our lethargic forms. We breathe in sync, falling in and out of consciousness, tasting sand grains and being teased by languid colorless rainbows behind our eyelids.
It's hard, but I swallow the grudge and the agony in favor of undying loyalty and a toothy smile. I hate him for ensnaring me. I hate him for knowing I cant refuse him.
He's finished. My stomach lurches, and I repress the vomit just aching to come forth from my strangled throat. His hand tantalizingly rests on my chest.
Mello. My only friend, and greatest error.