Kaisel
For a brief moment, he dares to hope that he's imagined what she's doing. There's low-light, maybe she just sleeps on her back with her legs up (and spread), maybe he's asleep right now and ...dreaming about Flora masturbating? Is that better or worse than walking in on her doing it?
Oh, he made her scream.
His name is a jolt through him much like the shelving against his back. The jar of glitter poofs against his cheek like a fart, and somewhere underfoot a pot clatters into shards akin to the sanctity of his mind. "Fuck's sake Flora!" He thunders back at her, pain welling tears behind his lashes as the face mask smeared into them, despite the very specific instructions that said to keep it out of your eyes. Be blinks furiously to rid himself of the afterimage of her bowed shape in the night's haze, the keening of her pleasure as she slipped to the edge of freedom. This image, he fears, has burned into his retina.
The pillow buffets his blinded head and he staggers back out of the room, nearly falling onto his ass, but he catches himself with a desperate hand on the wall, glitter smearing there like the blood of the wounded. Bleary-eyed he strains to find his path back to the bathroom, and hollers down the hall at her, as if this isn't her house, "can't you do that shit in the fucking bathroom!"
He fumbles in the bathroom for the shower again, stepping into the chilly water, as he didn't wait for it to warm, towel still draped around him to wash the face mask from his skin and his eyes. He prays it will take Flora with it.
Oh, he made her scream.
His name is a jolt through him much like the shelving against his back. The jar of glitter poofs against his cheek like a fart, and somewhere underfoot a pot clatters into shards akin to the sanctity of his mind. "Fuck's sake Flora!" He thunders back at her, pain welling tears behind his lashes as the face mask smeared into them, despite the very specific instructions that said to keep it out of your eyes. Be blinks furiously to rid himself of the afterimage of her bowed shape in the night's haze, the keening of her pleasure as she slipped to the edge of freedom. This image, he fears, has burned into his retina.
The pillow buffets his blinded head and he staggers back out of the room, nearly falling onto his ass, but he catches himself with a desperate hand on the wall, glitter smearing there like the blood of the wounded. Bleary-eyed he strains to find his path back to the bathroom, and hollers down the hall at her, as if this isn't her house, "can't you do that shit in the fucking bathroom!"
He fumbles in the bathroom for the shower again, stepping into the chilly water, as he didn't wait for it to warm, towel still draped around him to wash the face mask from his skin and his eyes. He prays it will take Flora with it.
And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
