Empty: Book 2

32 : Sinful Corpses

PANA

A human organ, who would have thought, is better when beautifully preserved in a gem as its home?

Bending my body further closer, an intimate and delicate caress of my finger left glimmers behind my touch on these flawless edges of the glass where a pumping-fist organ is bewitchingly stored; one that is tender, beating even lonesome like an animal out of its prison, celebrating, and unrestrained without a cost. It knows how to grant the greatest sensation to perceive, as great as how it stuns with the worst consequence by merely pursuing its hush... whisper of a curse. A human heart.

It's been six years ago, since the last time I had it inside.

"Your heart; lovely to stare at, but aches to feel. No one can hurt us now, as long as our bodies aren't depending on that thing. We can be human... even with an empty heart" Titus stands in front, heartlessly supposing in every bit of his brain with an exhibition of his sophisticated suit of dark living.

Heart. Not simply the most destructive friend to ever be known. Blindness is one of its beyond, a horrendous weakness, an eye-soring emotional display, and the rest such a human being has suffered and never learned how to play. It's disproportionate, for me, who only seeks to live numbly alive after seeing how beautiful this world can be, seeing the ugliest.

It's possible. Cross their heart— hope they die.

"...Locke, you've grown a right mind" Titus turns his back away, swiveling with a smile.

A heart was never a stupid key— nevermore will be useful, but its absence is my cure.

• • •

Fallen, but my knees were caught by the porcelain floor and mildly sore while my back was comforted by the sprinkling streams of the open streams. It starts again, but I love all the aches when it happens in me for a continuous shortage of breaths, gasping with one hand burying into my naked thighs and one hand drilling into my chest. Although remaining unseen by the order of ache, it is a regular sequence that indicates my nose has blossomed a liquid red.

The hand on my chest weakly fell, and I got to see it again; an added scar caused by the removal of my piece replaced with an empty flesh to fill the space 'cause it's not forbidden. But my worry is weighted in the scar it left, gladly concealing now throughout the time and forgiveness to myself.

Releasing heavy breath out my parted lip, a gloomy woman stares back at me at the reflective wall, glaring her soul and saying 'I'll eat you if you do me wrong'

You'll never have a taste of me, then, Pana.

Through a swift lick of my tongue, I wipe the rusty fluid under my nose as I arrive in this chamber in the surrounding of dead smelly floras, mixed with those fully alive but equally glorious in a perfectionist's eyes. Exposition of classical paintings displayed on this flourished wall with portraits of faces I've never known, no reason to have them removed even so.

A door divulging a blank polished room for my very nature, the house of my dearest life companions I gloriously earned as a walk-in closet that has been remade into a paradise of life-collector playthings put into class— for how they keep loving me as I do, as my crowd, too many of the rest scattered on the counter, under the mattress, and most of the time locked between my breasts. But the most powerful one is always my therapeutic capsules that I daily take. I took a dose and swallowed without needing a stab of water behind my constant agitation thinking it'd lessen the effect, and I would never be better.

"Have you arranged your crime? I guess not yet," Titus' voice arrived alone from a device elsewhere in the room, outweighed by a sudden usual thud on the wall that leaves still as an unknown to my caution, an enemy hidden in my wall. When should we be troubled?