this chick, she'd jack back, then throw up, then inject the rest of the shit.
Her lover said that she'd done, well, y'know, just a quarter, with this chick, and X said, what, just once, no...you did it with the other girl too, didn't you, and her lover said, well, yes, I did it with her too, but it was the same night, so X said, so what, you did, like, a gram or something and her lover said yeah, I guess, about a gram, but it was all in the one night and I felt like shit after, couldn't sleep for two nights.
X thinks it makes her lover lie.
X felt sick as she thought about the girl throwing up, because the thought of jacking back made her stomach clutch, made her want to throw up like the girl.
X felt sick and sexy at the thought of mixing blood with her lover.
X felt sick as she thought of the girls doing it together, the pornographic closeness of it, the naked greed, the intake of breath, familiar gestures with arms and fingers to caress the spot and stem the flow of blood, eyes closing in languid sensate immersion. A necessary seduction. An unspeakable bonding. A fuck. A good steel fuck.
All these things.
X spills five, six, small brown tablets out of a bottle.
The bottle is plastic, utilitarian, with S4 on the label.
She has a prescription for the tablets, and it says she should take six tablets a couple of hours before bedtime, so she won't be hungover in the morning.
She fills up a glass with water from the tap.
She puts the tablets in her mouth and washes them down.
She goes to bed, alone, and waits for sleep to steal her soul once again.
(She used to feel like she was "going to death" rather than "going to sleep" and nightly, waited for some gloriously gothic Angel of Death to bear her away on huge dusty leather wings)
She remembers a never to be replayed scene.
She was in the bath at the time, and suspected nothing. It was a lukewarm bath on a Summer morning, when they were still becoming.
Her lover sat on the edge of the bath and smiled at X. She took X's arm gently and told her what would happen.
X let her lover give her a rush in the warm bath, hot in her pussy, moving to her head. She performed the gestures of receiving as if she knew them.
She doesn't know why, after all this time, it was suddenly alright, in fact unutterably sexy.
Her lover was so tender, because she knew that X was scared, and held her like a baby and fucked her all night and whispered stories of love and filth to her until she became pure sensation.
Now she knows.
She feels sick to her stomach with this knowledge that she can never, now, forget.
And yet she mourns a loss.