Empty: Book 2

43 : Dreaming is a Mistake

Content Warning: CANNIBALISM

JOAS

"...He's here. The sick doctor is with me"

We're made as a perpetual partner, a crazy kind.

She's busy gazing at me, I'm gazing at our future— contaminated and lost from one step closer back home in just one vocalized betrayal. And here I'm expecting she won't go. Trust issues, at the edges of every human thinking brain, will make any approach uglier regardless if the result is full of nothing but love on the best it can be.

Those broken stares she's laying upon me are unblameable. But I'm bold to say I hated this woman in her constant idiocy for who she was born, hate her as much as I wanna jail her mouth for her mistrust to apologize inside mine.

We hide together, and she's chosen to be an ornery traitor like there's nothing better she could be. She ends everything in the surrender of death, unresolvable for caring too much, too unreasonable to sue, even.

"How about, you wait?" my fierce question gave her reason to attack me with a vengeful slap surprisingly broad in energy she dispersed across my face into stinging, nearly dislocated my jaw out of my blazing cheek despite the mark of her palm is my favorite pattern I had in mine. For a moment, I can't hear into deafness where the silence is left with a high-pitch sound with my face spun to the side. Painful, yes. But like a moth's fixation with the flame, she's the danger I'm fixated to indulge this burning. So I must take a stand for the type of lady I chose to love and foul me up to the fullest.

"You hated me 'cause I deserved living more than you do" The way she sounds those phrases are romantically insulting, 'cause I understand the history in the most detailed form, "...you'll always be so unfair" She felt used, I didn't mean that, but she's acting like her mind's already discarded. And there's nothing I hated more than the unaffection on her face looking like the woman who'll never return, as how she's been saving her tears beyond the fact she knew she's dying.

But I love us, losing our minds like this.

Residing her way into an indicative direction— where her fury switched to pour over the briefcase sitting innocently inside the car containing a huge piece of our life, "...what are these? Another poison to turn everything dead as you can't get enough?" knacking back to my front, but this time, with my possession in her hand to send me the most horrible risk I must stop for the future or now. We can't die.

"Pana, please, don't--"

But too much foolishness is how she tumbles the briefcase derailing my head into hysteria— too much ruthlessness is how she won it on her clutch against my nab but unbelievably a death she justify. Obstruction of breath I fetch as she swayed it out of my hand proving she's every wrongness in my world as my liquid possessions plunge all the way into the ground in the rain of disaster— dropping altogether she maltreated as toys with a briefcase she emptied dunk down to the ocean water as a total abandonment of the insane. A little too stronger.