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“Bite me.”
Obsidian is almost surprised enough to set down the half-eaten human leg she clutches between dirtied nails like a lifeline. (In her defense, none of the meat she’s eaten in the past month has been even half as fresh. She’s beginning to theorize you finally got the sense to stick a knife in that irritating employer of yours and put her porcelain flesh to much better use as an entrée. What? Can’t a girl dream?) But alas, she wouldn’t put many audacious statements past you anymore.
Once finished chewing, Obsidian swallows what remains of the calf and turns to look at you—still hidden behind the wall of glass that surrounds her enclosure. You might be insane, but you’ve clearly thought this out, she’ll give you that.
“And why should I do that?”
“Because I’m asking you to.”
Blood continues to ooze out from the carcass onto the white tiled floor in the stillness, fluorescent lights unrelenting. Several moments pass before Obsidian finally blinks.
“How convincing.”
“I didn’t exactly think you’d need convincing,” you continue, still not setting down your clipboard or even meeting her eyes. Come to think of it, now that she’s paying attention, yours look a lot more watery than usual, and your tone is only so flat and faintly bitter to mask its own slight tremble. “Don’t you want to?”
“Of course I want to,” she says offhandedly, averting her gaze from you to focus on licking vital fluid off her palms now. “For obvious reasons I needn’t reiterate. But what do you have to gain from it? Don’t tell me you’ve finally lost the will to live like the rest of us.”
Something in her last sentence seems to strike you, as the room becomes quiet again until Obsidian voices the thought that’s been lingering in the back of her mind for weeks—every day since you brought her here, every hour since she had that first needle stuck in her, every minute since her life has been confined to a single room, every second she’d had to tolerate your pitying gaze and live with the fact she can’t find a way to hate it.
“If you’re truly sure of this, it wouldn’t hurt to let me out first.”
A beat.
“No, it wouldn’t.”
Her eyes widen as you start to punch numbers into the keypad, exactly six digits in when the door to the decontamination chamber hisses in annoyance before giving way. Another six digits, and the last door standing between her and the whole world slides open in turn.
She drops the carcass.
Why isn’t she running? Why isn’t she running? Why is she still sitting? Why is she stuck in place? Stupid stupid stupid stupid—HOW CAN YOU BE THIS STUPID? GET UP GET UP GET UP MOVE RUN RUN RUN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY WON’T YOU FUCKING RUN—
It takes longer than she thought it would to stand.
S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀WE ALREADY ATE.
Even longer to shut her brain up long enough to start walking instead of running. There’s still a chance you’ll start having second thoughts if she starts acting like the animal a half of her mind wants her to be.
Obsidian doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that you don’t flinch in the slightest when she gets too close—as though politely playing dumb to her deteriorating appearance. The darkness under her nails not acquired but earned from half a hundred bodies, the tangled pieces of her far too long hair she hasn’t been able to work out yet with just her fingers, the grayish skin and the dark circles under her eyes, the reddish tint to the raised lines on exposed skin she can’t stop scratching at with all ten nails long overdue for a cut.
You look at her as though none of that exists, like she’s another person and not some kind of oddity. Like something someone no one in their right mind would be afraid to touch. Like anything about her—about this—is characteristic of the word “normal” the way she knew it before the infection started.
But she can’t ignore how much that gaze has dulled since the first time it graced her. You don’t look well in any sense of the word but physical. A little ironic coming from her of all people, but then again, doesn’t it take one to know one? No, no, wait—why is she worrying about something as trivial as this? All you asked for was for her to infect you. That’s all she should be thinking about right now—apart from escaping, but that won’t be much trouble soon.
By the time Obsidian finishes her thought, you’re tugging down the high collar of your shirt to expose more of your neck—flesh unmarked by wounds, clearly alive with the way she can just barely make out a running vein down the length of it. She considers reminding you how insane of a request this is, but determines it futile seeing as how much she doubts it would deter you—after all, you know better than anyone that there’s no going back after the pathogen finds it’s way into the bloodstream.
Without further ado, Obsidian leans in to kill you. Only, her teeth barely make it an inch from your neck before the noise starts.
E̴͙̻͌̃Ä̴̼̟́̓̾͗̒̄̈́͘͘͜͝T̴̢̹̙̥͔́̽̐̾̊͘
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀No. She just ate. And you didn’t ask for that.
Ê̴̛̦̘̲̪͙͙̥̾͌̓͐͊̂͝A̶̻͐T̸̢̬̤̺͔̟͍̲̐͑̓̂͑̃͘̚̕ͅ ̴̨̛͕̠̮͇͚͚͎̀̐̈̃̍F̴̞̘̭̮̒͒͝Ų̵̧̠͖͙̐͋́̂̈́̔̽C̵̟̗͔̮̹͕̳̓̔̓̈́̋̓͝ͅK̴̝̼͓͔͇͙̼̰̗̀͂̆͊̀͑̂̆ͅÎ̴̠͓̦͓̪͓̯̰͍̄̊̾͆͜N̸̢̡̼̖̜̣̤̭̈̏̽̀͊͊͘͘G̷̨̫̤̾̓̓̍̇̓̇ͅ ̸̧̢̗̣͙͙̦̮̮̫͗̅̔͠E̴̡̥͖̣̞̱͋̔̿̉́͑͝Ạ̷͔̗͓̼̙̪̞̻̍̂T̷̛̟̼̞̯́͛̆͐́̈͂̿ ̵͚̣̘̆̔́̎̀͒͘E̷̺̺̮̪̺̪̒̒͊̃̈͑̚ͅA̶̩͎͇͉͚͔͇̘̯̍
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀No.
S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘J̸̭͔͐͗̇̔̀̾Ǔ̷̫̫̬̋͑̓̾́͌̀̀͝S̶͍̝͋̓́̋̄̂̇̚̚T̶̛̠͈̠̜̭̤̣̱͛̉͒̈́͆͂̓̀͠ͅ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ Ê̴̛̦̘̲̪͙͙̥̾͌̓͐͊̂͝A̶̻͐T̸̢̬̤̺͔̟͍̲̐͑̓̂͑̃͘̚̕ͅ ̴̨̛͕̠̮͇͚͚͎̀̐̈̃̍F̴̞̘̭̮̒͒͝Ų̵̧̠͖͙̐͋́̂̈́̔̽C̵̟̗͔̮̹͕̳̓̔̓̈́̋̓͝ͅK̴̝̼͓͔͇͙̼̰̗̀͂̆͊̀͑̂̆ͅÎ̴̠͓̦͓̪͓̯̰͍̄̊̾͆͜N̸̢̡̼̖̜̣̤̭̈̏̽̀͊͊͘͘G̷̨̫̤̾̓̓̍̇̓̇ͅ ̸̧̢̗̣͙͙̦̮̮̫͗̅̔͠E̴̡̥͖̣̞̱͋̔̿̉́͑͝Ạ̷͔̗͓̼̙̪̞̻̍̂T̷̛̟̼̞̯́͛̆͐́̈͂̿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Obsidian tries—really tries—to sink her teeth in without ripping anything, but it just gets harder to say no the louder the voice gets and the more she gets to look at the flesh up-close, and she can’t do it.
Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠ ̴̡̱͍͒̿̂̀̚̚S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ ̶̢̻̰̰͎͓̦̠̾J̴͇̥̗̦̝̬̪̄̾̓̑̈́̈͋̿̚̕U̸͈̳̼̥̔̉̃́S̴͍͍̖̯̳̞̫̘̖̈͜͝T̷͉͙̣̠͕̈̋̂̾͒̓̾͒͑̑͜ ̵̖̜͎͙̼̳̝͇̻̻̃͒̋̃̑͑͂̀̕F̸̯̤̏͗̋̈́̇͘Ư̸͚̰͖̻͖̩͖̍͒͌̌͆͘C̶̛̣̤͊̑̓̽̚K̵̭̪͈̲͕̎͛̉I̶̬̣̦͓͙͗̀Ṋ̷̱̗̓̅̀̑́͂̐̉͆G̷̺̬̃̓͐̽̏͑̂̈̉̚ ̵̧̦̩̟̖̲̈́̈̾̎J̸̭͔͐͗̇̔̀̾Ǔ̷̫̫̬̋͑̓̾́͌̀̀͝S̶͍̝͋̓́̋̄̂̇̚̚T̶̛̠͈̠̜̭̤̣̱͛̉͒̈́͆͂̓̀͠ͅ ̸̡̳̰̻̯̻͙̃͒̍F̷̮͕̼̳̄͜͝U̴̘̘̲̬̰͊͂͆Ç̴̡͙͙̲͔͓̬͖̌̿̂̄͑K̸̨̢̛̠̰̣̯̤̥͋̿͐͗̐̎̚Ì̶̢̟̦͕̅̇Ņ̵̖̰̦̫̯̈́̈́̀̀̃͋͘͘G̸̻̥̯̙̭̮̊̍͊̂͊͜͝ ̷̧̛̾͝Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀If she bites you now, she won’t be able to stop, and not only will you be dead but she will have given in again to the voice she spends half her time resisting. But it doesn’t care in the slightest for her rationality. It goes on uninterrupted, the volume rising even she attempts to divert her thoughts, making her lightheaded and barely a breath away from the way out. She could just do it. Get it over with. But she still doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to kill and eat you. Part of her hates you, but that’s exactly the problem—it is unsatisfying to consume rotten flesh, no matter how appealing her senses try to tell her it is.
Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ ̶̢̻̰̰͎͓̦̠̾S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽ ̵̖̜͎͙̼̳̝͇̻̻̃͒̋̃̑͑͂̀̕S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́F̸̯̤̏͗̋̈́̇͘Ư̸͚̰͖̻͖̩͖̍͒͌̌͆͘C̶̛̣̤͊̑̓̽̚K̵̭̪͈̲͕̎͛̉I̶̬̣̦͓͙͗̀Ṋ̷̱̗̓̅̀̑́͂̐̉͆G̷̺̬̃̓͐̽̏͑̂̈̉̚ ̵̧̦̩̟̖̲̈́̈̾̎J̸̭͔͐͗̇̔̀̾Ǔ̷̫̫̬̋͑̓̾́͌̀̀͝S̶͍̝͋̓́̋̄̂̇̚̚T̶̛̠͈̠̜̭̤̣̱͛̉͒̈́͆͂̓̀͠ͅ ̸̡̳̰̻̯̻͙̃͒̍F̷̮͕̼̳̄͜͝U̴̘̘̲̬̰͊͂͆Ç̴̡͙͙̲͔͓̬͖̌̿̂̄͑K̸̨̢̛̠̰̣̯̤̥͋̿͐͗̐̎̚Ì̶̢̟̦͕̅̇Ņ̵̖̰̦̫̯̈́̈́̀̀̃͋͘͘G̸̻̥̯̙̭̮̊̍͊̂͊͜͝ ̷̧̛̾͝Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ ̶̢̻̰̰͎͓̦̠̾S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌J̴͇̥̗̦̝̬̪̄̾̓̑̈́̈͋̿̚̕U̸͈̳̼̥̔̉̃́S̴͍͍̖̯̳̞̫̘̖̈͜͝T̷͉͙̣̠͕̈̋̂̾͒̓̾͒͑̑͜Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽ Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽Ë̴̬̻̩͉́̈͌̍Ą̶̯̻͓̯̯̺̪̈́T̶̨̡͕̝̯͕͉̦͚̩̽ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌ ̶̢̻̰̰͎͓̦̠̾S̶̮̼̦̪͘O̵̖̒̍̈͋͝͝ ̴̭̟̫̺͈̀̀̍F̵̨̟͙̦̮͖̰͔̰̏̐̋̐̀̈̇͘Ú̵̻͆̉͒̐̏͒̚͠C̶̛͇̜͎̎̈́̈͑͘K̷̮̩̤͙̘͘͝I̷̡̞̺̊̈́̒̈̀̓ͅŅ̶̗͚͉̹̫͖̞̚G̵̡̺͓͚̥̘͔͖̯̙̋͂́́ ̷̰̺͆̈́̂̃̃̐̋͗͘H̵̹̬̫̊̄̈̍̓̔̂̆͜Ǔ̵̡̢̬͉͓͉̤̎̀́̓͐̆̃̈Ņ̶̛̠͔̰̳̲̪̻̱͈̐͂̊͋̽̎̐̏͝G̴̡̗̼̏̐͠R̷͕̙̐̋́̔͗̄̓̐͐͠Ẏ̸̬̥̤̲̦͇͍͕͙̯̈͌J̴͇̥̗̦̝̬̪̄̾̓̑̈́̈͋̿̚̕U̸͈̳̼̥̔̉̃́S̴͍͍̖̯̳̞̫̘̖̈͜͝T̷͉͙̣̠͕̈̋̂̾͒̓̾͒͑̑͜ ̵̖̜͎͙̼̳̝͇̻̻̃͒̋̃̑͑͂̀̕F̸̯̤̏͗̋̈́̇͘Ư̸͚̰͖̻͖̩͖̍͒͌̌͆͘C̶̛̣̤͊̑̓̽̚K̵̭̪͈̲͕̎͛̉I̶̬̣̦͓͙͗̀Ṋ̷̱̗̓̅̀̑́͂̐̉͆G̷̺̬̃̓͐̽̏͑̂̈̉̚ ̵̧̦̩̟̖̲̈́̈̾̎J̸̭͔͐͗̇̔̀̾Ǔ̷̫̫̬̋͑̓̾́͌̀̀͝S̶͍̝͋̓́̋̄̂̇̚̚T̶̛̠͈̠̜̭̤̣̱͛̉͒̈́͆͂̓̀͠ͅ ̸̡̳̰̻̯̻͙̃͒̍F̷̮͕̼̳̄͜͝U̴̘̘̲̬̰͊͂͆Ç̴̡͙͙̲͔͓̬͖̌̿̂̄͑K̸̨̢̛̠̰̣̯̤̥͋̿͐͗̐̎̚Ì̶̢̟̦͕̅̇Ņ̵̖̰̦̫̯̈́̈́̀̀̃͋͘͘G̸̻̥̯̙̭̮̊̍͊̂͊͜͝ ̷̧̛̾͝Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠Ȅ̷͖̩͔̲̺͂́͂̉͒̿Ǎ̷͉̌̍̍T̵̼͇̰͒̇̀̽̎̈́̚͠
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She can’t bite. She can’t run away. She can’t pull her brain together long enough to distract it. You apparently have a death wish and no problem with Obsidian standing an inch from an anatomically vulnerable point for what’s surely been over a minute. What the fuck is she supposed to do now?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Give in. No. No, no, no, no. She won’t grant it the satisfaction. Not a second time. Not with you, not with you. Anything else would be a suitable alternative.
…no matter how ridiculous.
With that, Obsidian closes her mouth and buries her face in the crook of your neck.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.
The silence is jarring after so much screaming. So jarring, in fact, that Obsidian can’t pull herself away until her lips have been touching your skin for far too long to be considered accidental.
You flinch—finally—and go still at the sudden contact light rather than sharp. Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around the source of it, and that’s all Obsidian needs to become fanged dead weight.
It’s only later, clutching both sides of the sink in front of the faculty bathroom mirror that you notice the tear stains on your shirt.