Excuses cursed his fingertips as they approached her. “A friend of a friend.” She bit back with sarcasm, in bitter compliance. She pretended to be bored, but these were her favorite type of games. Mind games.
“Something,” he muttered. That was all that was left; something was everything. He craved nothing, lusted it, desired it, but nothing was something and she was something. And he wanted her something.
Intoxicated, she buried herself beneath the sea of sheets. Vacant eyes followed the curves of her toes as she swallowed, heavy, lifeless. The stranger understood. She hated him for it, but she loved it. Everything was a paradox. Everything was new and immense, yet inconsequential and numbing. Beautifully ugly. Wrong, but right.
There was something, and it was good.
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