I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right
Time is moving in slow motion, and she can’t stop it. She can’t stop the pain ripping through her—the bones in her legs feeling as if they had shattered, but the ache in her heart hurting so much worse. Her eyes are raw, pink, shiny with tears both shed and unshed. Everything she has ever wanted to say, and that which she has said but shouldn’t, stretches before her, and she knows (know) that if she makes him choose, she will lose. The truth of it stabs her in the heart, and she gasps again, struggling for breath.
She will lose the only thing that has ever been her own.
“Contagion,” she says this time, softer, her tongue breaking on it. “I should have said it sooner,” although she knows that wouldn’t have made a difference. They had both known—had always known. They were born together, twisted around a corrupt love that moved like poison through their veins. The only love they had ever known was that of the butterfly-mother and orange-eyed father. Love that had led them both to the bottom of the ocean in the name of it. Love that killed was the only thing that made sense.
Her pink eyes flash to Tyrna, and while she should feel mercy for the other soul they have ensnared in their toxic lives, she only feels hate. It is a completely foreign emotion for her. She looks back to her brother, and every cell in her body begs for her to move toward him, but she stays still, her legs crumpled beneath her. “You can’t love her,” she says quietly, the steel beneath them becoming stronger with each breath. “She will kill you. She’s dangerous.” What she doesn’t say: She is killing me. She is dangerous.
in the darkness, I will meet my creators
and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator
