The hallway felt like it stretched for miles this time around, yet Void took it slow, not because she had to anymore, but because rushing felt wrong. With every floor she descended, the apartment above her felt further away, like it was already receding into memory instead of just being three levels up.
Naturally, she didn't like the feeling at all...
Two weeks was long enough for the body to lie convincingly.
Void had learned that the hard way over the months: how flesh closed ranks, how pain dulled just enough to pass as permission. Her ribs no longer flared white-hot when she breathed in too deep. The bruises that once painted her torso in violent purples and oil-slick blues had faded into those sickly yellow-green shades that made people think "oh, you're better now." Even the headaches had spaced themselves out, arriving less like a hammer and more like a reminder tapped against the inside of her skull.
She didn't trust a second of it...
a cherry drifting in borrowed light,
the band-aids wrapped around her grin.
she's frail as glass but built to fight,
her soft skin hiding spikes within.
sugar blush and spoiled glow,
mascara bleeding truth at night,
everyone wants what she shows,
nobody stays to hold her tight.
silver bites her lower lip,
angel fangs that dare you close,
the halo cracked - but holding grip,
a pretty threat in careful pose.
she laughs out loud, she starves the room,
a shrine of mirrors, pills, and smoke,
her perfumes sweet like early bloom,
but breath of ash when silence broke.
she learned quite young how pain behaves,
and how to flirt with feeling numb,
kept dancing on her private graves,
and waiting for the crash to come.
if love's a fire, then she's the spark,
a blossom glowing in the dark,
a magic burn against the cold,
that's almost too delicate to hold.
Void's body yanked her back into consciousness reminding her rest is something they both have a different opinion on. Her ribs felt wired with barbed tension, every bruise radiating with an ugly, low-frequency ache that pulsed beneath her skin. The room was dark except for the faint spill of a desk lamp, gilding the room in a soft amber haze. She instinctively hissed a breath between her teeth. Her fingers twitched first - then the pain followed like a delayed apology...
The first hit landed like a car crash.
The whole damn door shuddered in its frame, metal ringing out sharp enough that Luxy instinctively grabbed Jules's arm. The second strike came before either of them breathed, a bone-deep WHAM that rattled the dishes in the sink.
Jules whispered, barely a hiss, "That's a... Sledgehammer?!"...