Knife

A short drabble. Based off of "Knife Going In" by Tegan and Sara. Hope you enjoy. :)

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Cuts in my hands. They're so small compared to--

The ladder nearly tumbled moments ago. Weak and fragile. My heart -- yes, it's still existent somewhere in this -- pounded as my feet teetered on the strips of rotten wood. You'll see it outside in the morning, I'm sure.

My breath is shaken. The tips of my hair are frosted with ice. My cheeks and ears burn. These eyes that you once--

No.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Under the thick leather of my boots, my toes are still pallid and frozen. They twitch uncontrollably. Like they remember--

Remember what?

Oh, they remember. The silk blankets of our bed. The thin sheets tangling around us. The heavy covers surrounding your skin, absorbing your curves when my lips couldn't.

Oh, they remember.

I drift slowly across the iced-over surface of our roof. My heels dig into the snow but don't cling enough. I fall. I scream. Yours, though, is louder.

Getting to my feet again, I see the cinnamon-scented candles glowing. The orange melts and the white flame creates a silhouette.

Fuck her, then.

I stand. I watch.

Through the fog of my breath on the glass, I see your chest first. Your breasts jutting upward to the ceiling as you arch. Your nipples are ever-so pink. Erect. Wet.

You continue to arch heavenward -- the beautiful angel that you are -- and your ribs are etched beneath your skin. Kiss them each, I long--

On your side, your left arm is limp. I see the bruise of a handprint along your wrist. It was violent purple; now it's subtle brown.

Stop, you're hurting me!

Your hand clenches the sheets underneath you -- they've changed, too, I can see. An angelic white. You told me once you hated white. The Christmas you bought me that black sweater because you hated white.

The covers, however, have not changed. They're the same ocean blue that reminds me of your eyes.

The covers fail to cover your torso, but I don't mind. Though, at your waist, the ocean begins as a large mass that is still at first. I see your hand tighten the sheets and the mass moves.

I grab the pocket of my jacket.

You arch your back another time. Through the haze, I follow the curves up past your neck to your face. You wear your make-up in winter colors -- whites, blues, greys, blacks. It's expertly done, as always. Your cheeks, unpainted by hand, are pink in the white light. I long to see your eyes hidden underneath the whites, blues, greys and blacks, but the mass has you trapped in brief euphoria.

Oh... Oh, please...

I feel it in my palm.

I bet it's a girl under there. I bet she's eating you out. I bet she's licking your clit. I bet she's prepping you for her fingers by getting you wet. Wetter. Wetter.

I bet her name's exotic. Jasmine. Cassandra. Lilah. Anette. Something beautiful.

And I bet she's tan and thin and has soft lips and luscious dark hair and manicured nails and no flaws or blemishes or scars or mental disabilities.

She's perfect.

You're perfect.

You fall to the bed. Your chest bounces, begs for breath. You open your eyes, stare up at the ceiling. I can see the dark blue orbs surrounded by snow. Your mouth opens and you look down the valley between your glistening breasts.

A hand crawls out from the mass and covers your left breast. Thin, tan, hairless arm. Smooth, shiny nails. She squeezes. The rest of her remains hidden.

The squeeze brings your eyelids back down. Brings your chest back up. Into the palm.

My face is colder than it used to be. Something tickles my lip. I wish it was--

I hiss a breath and grasp it tighter in my hand.

Why are you so dramatic?!

My skin itches. I scratch and scratch at my forehead.

Your mouth is agape still. I want to see your eyes.

I take it out of my pocket.

It shines in the moonlight.

You shine in the candlelight.

Her hand crawls back into the mass. She's bringing you closer to the edge. I can tell by how your eyebrows are drawing closer. How you bite your bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed -- you remember doing that once, right?

The mass moves more. Shaking. Thrusting. Licking. Sucking.

Your hand holds onto the sheets for dear life. You can barely hang on. I see your mouth form the lyrics of my favorite lullaby:

"I'm cumming..."

You move upward towards the roof again. Your head rolls to the side as she takes your breath away.

I see you.

Your eyes open. You stare at me. Your eyes are wide like your mouth.

I push it in.

My breath is gone, too.

In an instant, I remember.

I remember ripping your blouse off your body and the buttons flying everywhere. I remember breaking my clavicle rock climbing with you on our sixth date. I remember jumping off the swings at the park with you like we were both children again. I remember getting down on one knee on our vacation in Vermont. I remember being denied. I remember crying in your lap one month later. I remember you saying yes.

I remember the mistake I made two days before saying my vow that I would love you and cherish you for the rest of my life. I remember. I remember it well.

I remember the pain in your confrontation, the slap across my face, the ring down the toilet, the sobs from your chest, the tears from your oceans, the slam of our door.

I love you.

I remember that, too.

It's starting to numb now. You pull your legs out from under the mass. She peers out and over at the window. She's pretty.

Oh God, she is pretty.

Oh, it hurts again.

Are you on your way now?

My legs are gone beneath me. I can't feel them anymore.

I... I think I hear your voice.

The snow comforts me on the ground. It's... not as cold anymore.

Are you there, baby? Don't climb the ladder. It'll break soon...

My eyelids are heavy. Worn.

I manage to look down. The black sticks out of my stomach. It's sticky. Sticky...

I pull up my hands. There's darkness. Slashes. Cuts.

Cuts in my hands. They're so small compared to...