Tattoos, body chains, and dark lipstick.
Ina and Amé are two women who rewrite the game.
Follow them into their never ending world.
Written by Ina Seele and Amé Fengári
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Having him near her, in the same house, within walking distance and somewhere she could so easily search him at, set off alarms in her head.
That's why she wanted him dead, soon. So she wouldn't feed into whatever was happening inside her mind and body that was causing all these disruptive thoughts and emotions she's never felt before.
In her dreams, she was reliving it all, but in the mindset of her twelve-year-old self. Hearing his story, and seeing how easily it blends in with her own, caused her to feel emotional pain for her and in his behalf as well.
Her wrists were at the side of her head, both pinned down by no one but her own mind playing tricks on her as she slept. Sweat dribbled down her neck and forehead, and her head turned side to side, and she kicked at nothing, and when she finally punctured that side between REM sleep and consciousness, she screamed.
Damon hasn't gone to sleep. At all. Specially not after they spent a good three hours together sitting side by side in utter silence. So when he heard a scream, he was wide awake and his bedroom door was open (due to trust issues). He stood up, had the guard stand down, and walked inside her bedroom, no need to turn on the lights.
"Amé," he gently said, trying not to touch her, specially since he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.
But she screamed again, and groaned in pain.
"Amé," and he grabbed her cheeks, "Amé."
It wasn't until he grabbed her face and sat beside her that her eyes snapped open and she was about to fly a punch to his face, but he grabbed her hand, gently. She pouted for fifteen seconds, and then burst into tears.
"Shh," he cooed and sat her up to embrace her. "You're safe. You're safe. I'm here. For you."
"I wanted you dead because it's easier," she admitted, clutching on to his shirt, "it's easier than this." She continued crying, her memory flashing back to their night in the basement, and the pool, and her nightmares. "I wanted you dead."
"Too bad," he laughed, and she swatted him for making her smile through the pain. "What was it?"
"I don't wanna talk about it," she grumbled, cheek still resting on his shoulder and his hand drawing lines on her back.
"Then what do you wanna do?" He whispered, his own cheek resting on the side of her gentle head and mane of hair.
"I want to have sex," she admitted, neither of them fazed by her confession, "because it's the alcohol I've drank as an alcoholic all these years. But... not with you."
"Good."
"Excuse me?" and she leaned back to look at him in the eyes. Neither of them had dropped their arms, so they were still embraced and within a quarter's distance.
"I don't wanna become some alcoholic's alcohol of choice," he frowned, "I want to be... your sobriety."
"I hope you don't expect me to become celibate because you might've stopped seeking vengeance but I am too human to quit sex," she honesty admitted, shrugging a shoulder. "And I don't wanna disappoint you."
