The Ink In-Between: An Anthology

Love Me (Not)

CW(s): characters swearing, smoking, drinking alcohol and pointing a loaded gun at someone; depiction of a toxic relationship.

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I won't save you

Won't indulge your little fantasy 

Won't let you cling to my sympathy  

Your obsession is not poetry 

It's your travesty, life turned tragedy 

And you won't save me

"What a cruel song."

That was Isisa's voice, heavy and loud and much too close, speaking over her singing one. The contrast was downright jarring, just enough to jolt Nandi out of her transe.

Blinking herself awake, Nandi let her gaze drop to her side, drinking in the figure sitting on the bar stool next to her.

Isisa was pretty much draped over the countertop at that point, cheek pressed down against the varnished wood, eyes half-shut, one hand buried wrist deep in a full mane of glossy coils.

Tearing her gaze away from the other woman's lips, Nandi took a slow drag of her cigarette. She made a show of blowing out the smoke through her nose, savouring the feeling of a certain pair of eyes on her as she did.

"It's your song," she pointed out, fighting off a smile.

"No, it's not," Isisa argued, head lifting off the countertop.

Her entire body followed suit, moving as if pulled by strings, forcing itself into a, mostly, upright position on the stool. One of the straps of her yellow dress slid down her shoulder in the process, and Nandi's fingers twitched with the sudden urge to reach out and put it back in place.

"Haven't you heard?" the singer drawled on, "I'm a hack. I don't write any of my songs."

Isisa managed to keep a serious look on her face for a record two seconds before she broke into a fit of giggles, body shaking and swaying like she'd just said the funniest shit ever.

Nandi supposed it was, for her. Like her own twisted private joke. So she let the singer laugh it all out of her system, watched her slump over the countertop with a pleased sigh, black coils spilling everywhere, like a drink from a tipped glass.

When she spoke again, her voice came out muffled. "What do you think?"

"About the song?" Nandi took a sip of her whiskey, a grin forming around the rim. "Or about you being a hack?"

"Both? Neither? Maybe I just want to hear your voice." Isisa mirrored her grin, made it better, slyer, and suddenly there was a hand crawling up Nandi's neck, thumb pressed up against her larynx. "I'm so thirsty for it."

On the countertop, Isisa's other hand had found hers, fingers worming their way between the hot sweaty skin of her palm and the cool glass of whiskey in a soft attempt to pry the drink away.

Nandi moved fast.

She dropped the glass and snatched up Isisa's thieving hand by the wrist. Isisa immediately tried to wrench it back, so Nandi tightened her grip. With a sudden tug, she yanked Isisa towards her, stopping just short of smashing their noses together, but still close enough for their breaths to mingle.