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Meena lay on the pink bed, the room’s lights as cool as Kiyana’s hands, that were placed beside my neck on sheets, brushing my skin. She sat on my chest, she was so skinny, she barely weighed anything. If Jette was here, it would probably be more of a strain.
I peered into her desperate face, she breathed rhythmically into my face, the way he used to. Her hair fell over me, creating somewhat of a shield from the light from her window. It was long enough that it fell across the bed, her dark hair colour blending into mine.
She inched closer, the gap between our faces closing. She brushed the side of my face, and she looked like she was going to kiss me, but she collapsed and fell with her head beside my neck.
She sobbed. I pity her, but that's not love. That feeling is long gone for her. She came too late, and it's no longer her place. She's not supposed to be here, she will always just be someone I can pretend is him.
‘But that wouldn't stop a slut like me from pretending.’
I shifted my face to her cheek to kiss it softly, a sweet one, the kind you would give to someone you love. Well, it's not like I don't love her, I don't love her the way she loves me.
I stroked her hair, where it perfectly connects to her forehead, and hummed. A tune my mother used to me, on her death bed.
She pulled herself up again, away from my hand, still sprawled across my skin. She placed her hands on my chest, salty tears still dripping onto my face.
And then she kissed me, hard, real, passionate. She missed me stronger than she was.
‘I don't deserve it, all I do is hurt her, so why does she want me so badly?’
Crystalized tears will leave itchy patches on my skin, but I will drink their salt passionately, even if I pretend it's nectar.