MELITA
If there was anything Melita had learned over the years, it was to take those chances. Snag opportunities. Drag her way towards them with bared teeth and claws if she had to. Soak in everything for what it was worth – whether it be violence or love and all the contorted measures in between. So they could parade around a pool of water and laugh in the darkest of nights, to savor something more than all the pain and torment they’d had to go through to get here. She admired and shook her head, giggled amidst the echoes and throngs as he flexed, clapping along and encouraging the antics until she could step within his threshold and have that too. Perhaps one day she’d be used to the promise of his presence, instead of always thinking she’d have to grab and hold for as long as she could. That inherent fear of loss, after so many, eternally gnawed at the back of her mind, which was why she sometimes grasped too tight or lingered when she should’ve run or bulldozed. “So much confidence,” she wrinkled her nose on a tease, tilting her head to look him in the eye with an air of mischief and other whims, less mercies. “Unless you don’t want to practice anymore?” Meant to invoke or grate or simply taunt for the sake of it, no meaning behind it other than to incite a reaction.
The one she received had been the initial intention though; settling her there in his potential tether like she’d willingly walked into the snare. Which one had set it didn’t particularly matter, not when they were content to stay there – and her brow quirked, watching him from beneath her lashes, waiting to see if he took the opportunity or if they were going to keep up the dance. Her eyes narrowed, catching his, leaving the challenge there for the taking; because if he didn’t do something then surely she would –
Then there was no need. Caught, he claimed her mouth and she smirked into the traces, pressing back with all the confidence mustered, earned, and shared, closing her eyes to relish in the feel, the taste, of him. Only when her teeth dragged across his bottom lip did she pull back slightly, studying, scrutinizing, hands wandering their way from sweatshirt hems and short waistbands to his arms, the back of his neck. “Come swim with me?” deliberately poised as another part of the plan – using these long nights for all manner of indulgences.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
