that infantile sway of his temperament begins to swing to and fro the emotional extremes like an agitated pendulum. all at once , his countenance is overtaken by tenderness , buried towards indignation , scorned into an emptiness. it is exhausting to witness and even more tiresome to experience , the rapidity of its shift translating into the vulgar language of his own internal afflictions. suddenly , he is full of want. suddenly , he is full of an anger towards it. suddenly , he wants to disappear and leave her here , holding the hem of her body outstretched and unrequited , in indeterminate silence. it would be pleasant , adonis thinks , to drift away from the physical and become attached only through the kiss of melancholy that catches in her throat when he is gone. presently , they are close enough to bite tongues in speech , but , had he fled , the distance would be the same. ( this is the learned death : body born of body and the somber way they die for one another. ) what a soothing thought – to know that god places he , excess , into the arms of a lachrymose sacrifice and allows her absolution through suffering. it reminds him that worship is a blind , senseless sacrilege that they adhere to wordlessly – wordlessly , but never to god. they lay prostate in other ways. [ see : she takes the violence of her heart and sheaths it nocturnal into the abscess of her gullet , praises it for the way it is regurgitated endlessly and digested without conflict. her anger becomes a broth and she lets it boil within the tempest of her throat and fray the edges of her pith in unbridled gore. see : he becomes desolate in a deluge of decay and writhes at the withering of it. his unmaking is unnerving , familiar , and manufactured , as nothing he owns is ever rightfully is. he wishes to be inverted and reverted and inverted again by the lapels of his flesh in some passionate despondency that is without description. on the nights of his return to reprehensibility , he lies at the edge of her bed and keels only for that inversion , only for that horror which he seeks to befall him in a numb smog of elation. she is the only one who can take him apart. she is the only one who can bear to see what is inside of him : the torment of a rabid moon - body as her mortality unhinges from its joints like an unmade doll , furled tight in its rebirth into nothingness. ]
quiet blooms , prenaturally still in the hush of his frame. a benumbing occurs , as it always does when adonis becomes aware of the silence he authors ; as if possessed , he is overcome with a rancorous ferality and cleaves into their minor distance with an open mouth. there is little space to be eaten and yet he still does not finish it , falling short of their union in the gentle tilt of his head as the plush of their lips stare eye - to - eye. in his own belittling way , adonis has become aware that this wilt in his orchard of self - characterization could embolden her beyond comfort , give her the impression ( the correct impression ) that he is desperate and decided and driven to be with her. this means he must coat himself in callousness and turn the mistake of his unmarred affections into a bitter malice , all of which under the guise of a theatrical statement. a caress of cruel timbre into her mind , detestable condescension scrawled within an unsympathetic provocation : ❝ do you know how to make me suffer , alina ? ❞ then : a smile , precipitate palliation of his features meaning to assuage the disquiet of his tone. she cannot see most of it , given the way ivory gleams only to the carmine of her bloodlet lips in such proximity , but he grins regardless , for he is deceptive only in his consistency to evil. nostril curls infinitesimally , figure hunched to catch her immobile below him. i detest you , snarls says. i detest and i adulate you ceaselessly. let me sing veneration into the cavern of your mouth and die there.
the air thins in his exhale and adonis is stifled by a startling urgency , cadence descending in a sudden drop that leaves lilt esurient , bordering wrathful in some inner confusion. it is a wavering charade , he knows , even if he will never admit to needing their closeness as much as he might. he will falter – perhaps already has in this brazen display of sentiment. finally , he speaks :
❝ live. ❞ a pause in their unspeaking , dense swallow nearly heard in the crowded joining. ❝ live after he has died and enjoy it. your depression is kind to me , but vile otherwise. stop painting yourself so sickly and fragile , alina. it is unbecoming. ❞
HE IS SOMETHING beautiful & wretched , like those plants with the tender petals outstretched in an offering . but they seize the heart the moment they trickle into the blood & how wicked indeed ! how vile the truth of them is , how it is a taint , a bile unseen . alina should have learned by now & yet a piece of her bashes itself against his softer parts each time he unearths them . was she fated for such foolishness ? driven to violent ends at the hands of men who wanted to find the light of something more as it died in her eyes . was she fated to carve her heart out & hope the missing piece could be found in the tendon , the bone of another body ? no . she was done with that . she gnashed her teeth in a closed mouth & relished at the eager spring of blood that painted her tongue in a rush . it was warm & grounding & reminded her of who she was & that she would never make a dinner of her heart . now maggots made their home there & nothing but death remained , she was a grave yard that even ghosts feared to wander through . she would remain untouched except for the bugs , they were always hungry . perhaps this time she would be the one to do the taking , he wasn’t real , but he was . alina could take his mouth right now , she could hold him there until the creature wailing inside her fell silent - until the war inside her quieted . she could devour him as he so often threatened to do to her . she could make a prison of her body & keep him there - complacent , perhaps even sweet , visions of his agonized eyes gleaming so pretty filled her with a wild flutter of something she could not pin . ( rage . hatred . they were bread enough to last her a winter without end . there was no need for rationed portions for there was never a shortage , always consumed & reborn more wicked , more ravenous . she woke each morning under the empty dawn more starved , her belly twisting in on itself for more , more . there was never enough & yet it was all too much . let me peel away the layers of him & hold the peach pit of his heart inside my throat . let me taste the rotted corruption of him in my veins , let me devour something equal to my own wickedness . will he taste the same ? ). he is so close , was there any distance between them to halve ? she could taste his breath , could feel it taking root in her lungs like some sort of weed . but she. . she liked it didn’t she ? the realization that she wanted to him to bath her mouth in his baited breath , that she wanted his tongue between her teeth struck her with a violence . physically speaking alina remained immaculate , her expression all of the contained beauty of a painting - a girl at the end of the rope of her want , mouth parted . her eyes must seem so romantic she thinks & it makes her stomach roil with nausea .
❛ I AM CERTAIN I COULD figure it out . ❜ alina looks at him with new eyes , the eyes of spring , he seems almost alien to her . has he always seemed so lovely to her ? or was this some forign emotion creeping to make a home inside her ? she knew this thing , she wanted to crush it , to taste the ruin of its blood & yet she remained terribly helpless at its hands . why must she always make such a martyr of herself for mere sentiment , how useless a heart was - how violently she hated it in that fleeting moment . ❛ IT IS STRANGE hearing that from you of all people . why . . . nevermind . ❜ their conversation had quieted to one unspoken - to one held between the hands of their minds alone . how intimate . curiosity prickles with an insistence at the edges of her mind , wonder makes a beast of itself & it will not be silenced so simply . but alina is aware there is a time for questions & there is a time for silence & she knows adonis will not offer them to her wound in a pretty ribbon . getting anything of stinking of any truth would be like pulling teeth with fingernails .
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