Andylind + 4
#4: ...where it hurts.
At a certain point, maybe it would hurt less if he removed his entrails entirely. He can't even stand by the time she appears on his doorstep; has to crawl to the door to pull the bassinet inside. Has to use the blank, empty wall to hold himself up to fetch the milk. He doesn't even know what day it is, if it's night or light; he feels only the agony in his belly and in his ears when she screams and he doesn't even beg for relief. He begs for numb.
So when she finally cries herself out, when he makes it to the couch, when he closes his eyes, the last thing he expects, the last thing he hopes, is to feel anything at all.
But he does.
Feather-light, almost so gentle he thinks he's hallucinating again. But he can't hallucinate her, she's always been too much for him to do anything but brace himself against her corona.
Right below his hip, right where it burns the most. Lips, soft and gentle. A parting gift. A missive. A message.
A kiss and a ship!
