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We decided unanimously that sex smelled bad.It wasn't bad in the sense that it stunk like slimy banana peels and rotting vegetables, but bad in that it smelled like an in between of everything, yet nothing, desirable. It smelled sweet and intoxicating like black, bitter coffee smoothed out under miniature cartons of milk and cream and chemical-treated sugar. It smelled sour like neglected bath towels, damp and molding, with spores and bacteria burrowing snugly into its looped threads. It smelled heavy.
Like sins. Sins that were committed beneath the canopy of a friend's blankets, with the splinters of your lover's heart driving into your palms with every thrust.
And it smelled like blisters. Blisters that ripped away at the feebly outstretched hand of your wilting trust, with your boney fingers trembling more with every second I hesitate to take it.
X.
You slammed into me, shoulder blades baring and rib cage glowering.
"What were you doing with him, usuratonkachi?"
My knees are knocking, kneecaps, scratched and bruised, quivering. "Who?"
"Don't fucking play dumb with me, dobe. What the fuck were you doing with Neji?"
Your eyes are carving into me, gauging tiny glacial cracks over the rim of my soul. "Nothing."
Explosive: "Is it something you can't tell me?"
My thoughts turn to the place under my thigh, smooth and white, where he would grip with his teeth and tear, ever so slightly. And purple. Ever so lightly. "No."
"You're mine. You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?"
I feel my heart turn off, not quite stop, but off. And I hear the sorrow flood the pockets of my lungs. "Yeah."
X.
I was afraid. Afraid you were going to find out.
And leave me.
Please don't point at my heart anymore.
Because. You. Already have it.
And yet. You. Never will.
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