Thanks for all the reviews so far! Pretty sure this is still T rated. Read and let me know if it should be M...
The bed sheets feel rougher than usual tonight. Perhaps I am just imagining it after sloughing off the top layer of my skin while bathing, or perhaps they have been starched without my realizing it. Or perhaps I am just this new fragile thing delicate enough to be ripped apart by cotton and lace. Or perhaps I'm just mad.
Yes. That's it.
No, not really.
Kartik left earlier. That is, if he had really been there at all. While I saw him, and touched him, and watched him dress again, there is no indication that he had really ever been there. No other witnesses, no blood smeared upon the tiles…
Why must I keep thinking of blood? I am poisoned by it.
By the light of my oil lamp, I examine the small veins in my wrist. They pulsate in faint hues of blue, and purple. There is no red. But there was so much red.
Kartik must be back in his room now, though I am not entirely sure it is safe for him to be there. The Rakshana thinks him dead, but what about the owner of the tavern? Surely he must have heard the gunshot, smelled the blood... That is, if it really happened. It did happen, didn't it?
It doesn't seem plausible, that Kartik could have died, but yet he walks the earth now. Yes, I knew I used the magic, but it doesn't always work the way it should. There is also the problem of him…
He doesn't seem right. There is something wrong with him, but I don't know what. There are times now when I look in his eyes and feel nothing; and then he touches me, and I feel…nothing. But then…it is as if he is back again, and his hands can light me on fire. That is the way it always was, the way it should forever be. But it isn't. He is dead.
No! He isn't dead! Why must I keep thinking that? I saw the gun, I saw the wound, the blood, the fear in his eyes. But then I brought him back. I saw him smile and kiss me and undress right in front of me. I saw his lips curl around the tip of my breast, I saw his hands disappear beneath the bloodied water to slip between my legs… But I didn't feel it. And there was no blood!
There was no Kartik either. Kartik doesn't do things like that. Kartik makes silly jokes and challenges everything I say, and sometimes, when I'm lucky, I get a kiss.
But… I saw him. Was I seeing things? Is it possible to construct such an elaborate fantasy? Should I be taken away to Bethlem? Kartik is dead and I've somehow conjured up a shade of him, one that treats me the way I've always secretly wished to be treated. But now that I have this empty shell, what I thought I wanted, I realize that I never wanted that. I want Kartik, but my Kartik.
But my Kartik was there. I felt him when he told me there was no blood. His lips traced fire on my shoulders, burning away the frigid ice that broke and bled me.
Broke and bled me…
Where have I heard that before?
I am not going mad! Kartik is alive. I saved him myself.
I turn off my lamp and curl up under the rough sheets. They feel like burlap against me. I close my eyes and wish for silk…
I remember the day we laid together, his back pressed up in between my legs so that I felt the heat of him in my most delicate area. We had been talking, lolling idly around, searching for comfort on his bed. He had said something to make me smile…oh, what was it?
"Oh, I could never out-sew the great Gemma Doyle," Kartik said, laughing. "Her embroidery is impeccable. I'd never have thought to give a rabbit three ears!"
"I was distracted," I said, grinning. "You should have seen the look on Grandmama's face!"
"I'll bet she was so proud of her granddaughter. No doubt you'll charm the most eligible bachelors with your talents."
I threw my arms around him and embraced him from behind, not-so-subtly pressing my breasts against his back. "Have I charmed you?" I whispered into his ear.
It was clear that for a moment, he was fighting off some inborn desire that was threatening to emerge. Then he threw himself backwards so that I was trapped under the weight of him. "I'm not sure," he said, fighting a smile while closing his eyes. "I'll have to sleep on it."
And for a moment he pretended to, all while I grew red in the face, resisting the urge to press myself up against him.
These feelings are no longer a stranger to me as they once had been at Spence. I have long since grown used to the touch of a man, well, Kartik at least. I know what they mean. They are the prelude to a night spent gasping, writhing, and moaning, tangled up in a lover's arms. Or at least, that is ideal. I've not yet felt the touch of a lover.
Kartik had touched me like that. I saw him do it. But I didn't feel it.
Can I even feel anything?
I feel the roughness of the sheets, but now it doesn't hurt – it feels…good. I want to feel the heat of Kartik's skin pressed up between my legs again. I want to see his hands roam my body, but I want to feel it. Feel the heat, feel the insatiable throbbing between my legs, feel him satisfy the hunger.
Will he ever do that? Can he? He can if he's alive.
I want him here. I want to make sure. I want to see him, kiss him, feel him.
"Kartik…" I whisper, letting my hand slide to find the source of my longing. I think of him the way he was - my stubborn, moody, playful Kartik. My heart throbs with pain, my lower spot, pleasure.Kartik…I think I loved you.
Loved? Loved? Love. I love him. I love Kartik. Now. In the present.
My finger finds the source of it all and presses upon it shyly. "Oh, Kartik," I murmur aloud. "Please…"
What is wrong with me? My hand is not his. I should not be feeling this way by my own hands!
I withdraw my hand despite the aching protest in my loins. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears slip from my lashes. They feel thicker than normal. My hand swipes at my cheeks, smearing the wetness back into my hair. I examine my hand in the dim light stealing in from the edges of the curtains. My fingers look black, stained with ink, or in this darkness – blood.
My fear causes more tears to well – more blood. I choke back a sob.I'm crying blood. It streams down my cheeks fluidly, a sticky wet mess of red upon my face.
"Why is this happening?" I cry out, staring in horror at my bloodied hands. "What have I done?" The blood glints maniacally in the dark, remind me of the look in Kartik's eyes as he came upon me in the bath. "I did not fire that gun," I whisper to no one. "I saved his life."
The taste of iron and death is strong in my mouth. No…I rinsed him from my mouth, scrubbed him from my skin. Why is there so much blood?
I fall helplessly back into the rough pillows and wince as the lace cuts new wounds into my skin. I'm dying…but why?
What have I done? I saved his life. How could I not? I don't deserve this!
Death presses upon me as the blood drips into my throat, choking me. I close my eyes and accept it.
What is wrong with me?
"There is nothing wrong with you, poppet."
My eyes snap open.
Ahh! Scary! Haha!
Is a bad girl because she should be writing for class,
LunaEquus
PLEASE REVIEW! Next chapter will most likely be M, so put this on your alerts!
