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Natalya hadn’t expected to have gone this far. She especially did not expect (nor did she want) to get Elise involved. Of course, the younger girl *knew* about her less than savory habits, but it had been previously established that Natalya had quit. That she was better now, and that with her in her life, she had no reason to resort to self-mutilation.
And so, for the first time in a long time, Natalya felt guilty. Not only had she went back on a promise, but she’d ended up pulling her partner into her dejection.
Elise’s hands were soft on her skin, gentle in their movements despite the callouses that graced them. Natalya laid still as she tended to her wounds, wanting to speak but finding herself unable to.
What would she even say? Thank you? Would she apologize? When was the last time she’d done that?
It was humiliating. To be cared for, to be tended to. It was humiliating, in part, to be loved. Natalya had spent so many years, almost her entire everlasting life, trying to discern what love was. She had come to the conclusion that she would never know real love. And now, there seems to be someone who truly loves her. And it’s embarrassing to think about how that makes her feel.
There’s a binding, constricting feeling on her forearm. Elise was wrapping her up.
Natalya hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt Elise’s hand on her cheek, her thumb brushing her tears away. When was the last time she had allowed herself to cry? It took an embarrassing amount of strength, but she finally met her pretty, green eyes and came to the realization that Elise had been crying too. She’d likely been crying the entire time.
And again, Natalya felt guilt strike her, a harsh sting running down her body. A different pain than the one that’s already numbing itself out on account of her bodies regeneration. A pain she does not want to feel, for a myriad of reasons, but a pain she feels she has to face head on before it worsens.
She sits up, opening her mouth to speak, but her vision goes black and fuzzy, and her head feels light.
“Ah, pace yourself…” Elise murmurs, ushering Natalya backwards, back onto the couch. Subtly, she laces the fingers of her other hand together with hers, but her eyes stay focused on her face.
Natalya adjusts herself, leaning forwards. They share a kiss. It’s gentle, and patient. Elise is crying too. But even with their tears, the room feels oddly warm. Comfortable, and whole.