![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avia
It hurts to be real!
She cries to him in her mind, and she knows he hears, she knows he's always hearing. But she also knows that he won't do anything. There's nothing he can do, and, nothing he wants to.
She twists her fingers behind her back, the only thing that gives her a small relief. The feeling of skin against skin, it's what causes the pain so it's irony, but, if she presses hard enough she can imagine she's pressing the skin into not existing, pulling and twisting until the pain turns to numb and she can imagine they're not longer there.
It's not enough, though. She still feels her blood running under her skin, noisy in her head. Oh, how much she wants it all out, pretty white blood with its flecks of red, like tiny rose petals in milk.
Take it from me, she cries in her mind, take it, take it, and that part he understands, that part he can do.
He holds her, kisses her, distracts her with one fluttering hand on her cheek so she doesn't scream so loud, as the knife slides over her skin.
The pain still shows in her eyes, the eyes that are open with the sudden hurt, the blind slipped down around her throat. She doesn't bother to close them, this time.
She knows he loves to see the pain.
