the curtains draw like a gun from a holster. the dark turns to a bullet against her head. the sun’s a shatter-point: spiderwebbed against her cheekbone, peering through the shade, eating the exterior of her mouth like a moth-bitten thing. her body splays across the mattress. her eyes search for the shape of god. she’s sweat-ridden, shiver-laden, laced with the aftermath of pleasure. still riding the high of powdered lines— where there’s david, there’s drugs. where there’s drugs, there’s mari.
it’s a simple equation. one times two, two times tired, the last slither of light licking at the sides of their face. mari’s throat turns to a half-whimpered sound, animal and keening, while her mouth searches for his. blurry motions of need. “c’mere.” she slurs, her palm flattening across his thigh. “i want—“
[ drink ] sender brings receiver a drink and holds it to their lips, insisting they take a drink. — @intowalls, as david radford.
he presses a bottle to her lips. what it is doesn’t matter. it’s as good as any affection is, as any kiss could be — her eyes meet his, pupils dilated and hazed, — she drinks it down. obedient. willing. pliant in his hands, surrendered to the substances. mari pulls back from the bottle, slumps against his chest, and mouths against his neck sloppily. “th — thanks.”
