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Blood, scratches and cries of her heart were anything Sara could think about. She could feel a carotid pulse and heartbeat of Nao as she was pressed very close to her. Head to neck, teeth so close to a collarbone, itching to leave a mark. Painful one, no mercy left. Fingers going deep into the skin, she could feel blood under her nails.
Someone cried, Nao or her—or both of them—it didn't matter. There wasn't a day without a tear, from a body and eye. Wound deeper than any painful squeeze of their bodies.
Their relationship wasn't typical. They were too codependent on each other but also so far away at the same time. Even now, when they were pressed in a bone-crushing hug, they both were buried in their own minds. But what connected them was the terribleness of their thoughts.
Their relationship wasn't typical because of what happened months ago. Or maybe it was days or years—nobody was interested in keeping the count of the days in their little and dark rooms, where every space was full of heavy, rotten air, and every corner was covered in abandoned hopes and dreams.
What happened was hidden behind the closed doors, mouths and minds. They didn't want to talk about that. Nao didn't want to talk about that. She knew it would destroy all the progress she made with Sara.
As if the condition Sara was now in was any improvement.
But maybe it was. Her eyes sometimes were full of shine, maybe because they were full of tears and the past, but everything was better than the dead eyes of a breathing person.
Because nobody survived for it to be typical. Nobody else is here to give them their blessings. The rain is always falling down from the broken sky. It won't ever stop.
Nao feels like a bad person sometimes. When she closes her eyes—no matter if to sleep or just to blink—she always sees their faces contorted in disgust, looking away, ready for d–
Nao doesn't need to think about that, shouldn't, can't. Thinking will only make her sicker, and she didn't know if she even ate something today. Or recently.
She felt sick most of the time, it made her not able to hold any food down. It stirred uncomfortably as if her stomach acid was a whirlpool going up.
She closed her fists, thinking that They won't be able to eat forever because of her, and her fingers dug deep into soft skin. She could feel the sharp bones of a skeleton, the skin too thin to cover anything.
If They can't eat, she should. She knew that, she knew she should not waste their.... Sacrifice. But she can't make herself think about surviving. She just exists.
There was a soft moan of pain and Nao wasn't sure if it was her or Sara's voice. Their voices washed out, got muffled, became one with time.
But Nao didn't stop; she dug deeper and she could feel teeth in her neck. It was raw, full of need, twisted love, or maybe hate and disdain. She didn't care as the warm blood left a wet trail on them both.
This wasn't sensual, it wasn't leading to anything lascivious. It was the wild necessity. Full of bites, metallic blood, grounding each other or themselves. Selfish, virulent, pestilential.
Sara didn't even realize what she was doing. She felt like a feral dog, starved and abused by a loved owner. Full of fear of closeness and abandonment.
She wanted Nao to go away, yet she clasped her hands tighter. It was a surprise her skin didn't break under her own pressure.
But Nao's skin broke without any bigger problems or force. As if Sara's teeth were made of steel, her jaw metallic and cold.
She whined, or maybe it was the dog in her.
Blood dripped like juice from a messily opened pomegranate.
Nao had heard about the metaphor about cannibalistic love but never fully understood it until this exact moment. She felt devoured, on a spiritual level. She wanted to run away but also stay in one place and embrace all the attention.
She felt loved in the most sick, twisted way. She wanted more, she needed more, but her mouth was too full of silent screams to say something.
No girl felt any pleasure from those actions, but at the same time they never felt better. It could be said that it was the closest they ever were in those days. They felt like they understood the other more now. No need for words; the body language was enough.
They didn't know how long they stayed like that. A dog and its pomegranate. But when they moved, Sara's jaw was all sore and she couldn't fully close it without it hurting.
She could feel juice on her teeth, tongue, in her throat. It filled her stomach full.
Nao knew she would have the biggest mark and bruise on her neck, but that wouldn't be a problem. It never was. Fruits were known for bruising under the love of hungry fangs.
Their bones ached, fingers were cold and stiff, spines were strained by supporting each others weight for too long. Cheeks tense from tears, eyes rusty, yearning for sleep. Disheveled and exhausted.
One moment they were closer than ever, the next, everything came back to normal.
Gray lives of gray survivors. Sacrifices, dogs and pomegranates.
There were no gods in this room, but it felt like they were stuck in an otherworldly loop of misery. There was a spark of hope, for a moment, that they will get out of it, but... All they could really do was to be stuck in this purgatory of their own doing.