of half-bloods and happenings
rainbow
.
The scars on her body are redredred. They mar her skin like a bleeding chessboard, creeping down her arms and up her spine and across her jaw. She covers them up, hides within layers of cloth so the world can't see what a freak show she's become. He tries to help her, but for the longest of times, nothing works. She's a turtle in her shell, a pearl within a clam.
But then. But then.
He peels off her clothing, piece by piece. He kisses the scars on her arms, her stomach, the bald surface of her scalp. He takes the pain away, and when his kiss reaches her lips, all she can see is redredred, but maybe that's not so bad anymore.
Orange is the colour of fall, of bleeding sunsets and walks on the beach with the sand digging into her toes. It's the juice that's always sitting in a glass on her bedside table when she wakes up in the morning, and she doesn't have to be a rocket scientist (although if she wanted to, she probably could) to know who leaves it there. And when she sees him, the smiles they share are secret, and she always tucks his away in her breast pocket for safekeeping, because one never knows when one will need a grin.
They sometimes lie together under the sunshine, feeling the yellow warmth of summer seeping into their bones. He takes her hand and holds it tight, and kisses the top of her head where small tufts of golden curls have begun to spring up.
He holds her and tells her she's beautiful, and for the first time in forever, she believes him, because the yellow heat of love is stirring her insides and the embrace he gives her is real and worth one thousand lies.
His eyes are green and melt her heart and she loves him more with each passing day.
Blinding blue is the shade of the sky when he gets down on one knee. She's in his arms before the question can slip from his lips, and the ring he hands her fits perfectly, like they both knew it would.
They're sitting together on the subway, her head resting against his and the gentle rocking motion soothing them both to sleep. Her dreams are liquid violet, the colour of the night sky, and it's only when she wakes up does she realise they've missed their station, and ridden the train all the way to the end of the line.
And indigo is the bouquet of flowers she holds as she walks down the aisle, with him standing before her, and he holds her gaze as she moves, never once letting go because that was what he promised, so long ago on the edge of the abyss. Together, she'd said, and had meant every word.
Red is his kiss, orange is his gifts, yellow is his love and green is his eyes. Blue is the moment he held her heart in his hands, and violet and indigo are the last pieces of the puzzle, together, forever, until the very end.
.