Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
She had half a mind to fire something else back, but then his hands were yanking at her lower limbs and she couldn’t quite pivot out of the way fast enough. Even with half an intention to kick him square in the face, her speed and deftness were lose in the incoming shuffle, and down she went, sprawled across his lap in a fit of spitting rage.
She must’ve looked like some kind of hissing cat, the way she reared up automatically. Even in this compromising position though, all that bellowed against her ears were the knots and notes of frustration – the entanglements over the past few meetings, the complete and utter silence around each move and maneuver. This was a game she didn’t quite understand – murky and understated and then nothing at all. So she simply blurted it out on a huff, fingers already reaching for her pillow. “What’re we doing?”
She must’ve looked like some kind of hissing cat, the way she reared up automatically. Even in this compromising position though, all that bellowed against her ears were the knots and notes of frustration – the entanglements over the past few meetings, the complete and utter silence around each move and maneuver. This was a game she didn’t quite understand – murky and understated and then nothing at all. So she simply blurted it out on a huff, fingers already reaching for her pillow. “What’re we doing?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
