The Final Messenger

25. Undone (NSFW)

A hand thoughtlessly travels down her navel. It's been a long time since she has done this. So long in fact, that she's convinced she doesn't deserve it. The water from the tap pouring in will cover any unwanted whimpers from her mouth, though she has since mastered the art of silent onanism since she was twelve.

She distantly feels the urge, but doesn't know what image to accompany this unholy, lonely act. Fingers dig and curl into her inner walls, as if digging for lost treasure, trying to find some semblance of pleasure in this hollow shell of a body. Not quite fully inside, but enough to be slick with pellucid nectar.

Her mind is as empty as the bathtub. She considers using the gush of the metal valve, but it's too powerful and quick. What she needs is slow and methodical, a release of all the stress and fucked up shit building in her chest, and out from her lower body.

It's too late to think of a proper fantasy. A twain of fingers are already set into motion, unevenly dipping up and down like the tongue of a wild animal lapping water.

Without meaning to, Adria's heaving chest comes to mind. The heat that washes over her stomach is instant and invasive, twitching with pure sunlight. It's so wrong. So wrong. She tries to stop it, but the shot of Adria's lips spreading into an open wound while the bands around her ribs are slowly undone, leaving joss-stick-red marks on hyaline skin, is too graphic to fade away.

She imagines her areolae is pink in colour and soft as peaches in summer. It's one of the more filthy thoughts she's ever had, but nothing could compete with the way she imagines Adria's lower lip being thumbed open, a stranger's fingers cleverly filling her mouth, finding themselves slick with blood dripping down her jaw.

The girl's pearlish eyes staring up at her point of view, as if to say, "More?"

It all becomes too much, and Niryn has to force herself from making a sound with her other hand. Her soaked legs spasm, knocking against the sides of the tub. If there was someone else in the room, they wouldn't be able to tell you if the sounds coming out of her mouth were moans or sobs. In that moment of darkness, it might as well be both.

She stares at the ceiling as if there's an omniscient being waiting to crucify her for the sinful act. Then at the door, which thankfully remains closed and void of noise. The bathtub is full now, a sign that she's taken too long for herself. Her fingers wade through the waters, idly stirring through it.

Are these waters laced with her cum? Well, who has to know? The thought is disgusting. No, she will clean the bathtub and scrub it quickly of its invisible filth. She has already stained her conscience, she doesn't need to stain a physical object too. The steam from the bathtub is making things worse. Her cheeks are flushed and hot with shame. She wishes she could turn off all these feelings like the last drop of water being squeezed out of the cold, metal tap.

Good god. She's spent too long touch-starved and cooped up in this hell of a house.

"I'm so fucked up," she quietly says, staring at her tainted hand.

Bile rises to her throat without cause or reason, making her shoot for the toilet nearby. As she's heaving into the bowl, her throat feels torn up and ragged while her knuckles are white from gripping the rim too hard.

Which doesn't make sense, considering the contents she's thrown up is mostly water. It shouldn't be this difficult. Why is everything so difficult? The last of the vomit could be triggered by using her gag reflex, but the idea seems much less appealing considering where her fingers have been.

Sigh. So begins another day. The towels here are clean and fluffy at least, unlike the last house. As she sloppily dries her too-long hair, she stares at the mirror to check for any signs for the shameful act she's done.

Surprisingly, her face reveals nothing. Or is it surprising? Even when she was done crying in her younger years, her face was a blank mask. It had always been that way.

So how did Adria catch onto her feelings? Oh god, she must've been really obvious. Again, she checks the mirror for this mortifying realisation, but nothing is given away.

Later on, Niryn settles into blue sweater and dove-grey sweatpants. She's never been one to think much of fashion, unlike her brother.

Hmm.

How is he? She should check on Aegean when she has the chance. Though it's not likely, considering she hasn't been called to hunt these past few days.

Neither the Edevanes have been hounding her for their next meal. Maybe they found some other way of getting their supply. Maybe she's just not needed anymore. Either way, she knows that Lydia likely feels guilt on some level and doesn't want to press her too hard for having allowed the lamb to —

Never mind.

When she steps out of the room, she expects silence dotted with chirps outside the house's silver birches. What she does not expect is Adria herself.

"Oh, Niryn. I was looking for you." So guileless and molten with honey. How does she do it? Niryn stammers, one foot stepped back in the room.

"R-r-really? I was — it is — nice to see you too."

The instinct to cover her cheeks with a sleeve is overwhelming. If Adria had some mysterious way of reading her emotions, could she tell the guilt in her eyes as well?

"Aegean and I talked on the phone. He says he can stay over tomorrow night, just to keep you safe."

"Oh."

"Isn't that good news?"

Adria dips her head down a little, staring up with those same eyes that brought Niryn to climax not too long ago.

"... Niryn?"

"Sorry, I just — I have a lot on my mind. But thank you. That is good news." The words stiffly come out.

Niryn shifts her feet around, while Adria circles her wrist with her fingers.

"Niryn," Adria begins, making her head swivel up immediately. Oh no. Is she going to talk about the kiss?

"Did... did something happen in the last few days?"

"Uh."

"I know it hasn't been that long since we met, but I can see you're not like yourself. You're more —" Adria takes a deep breath, as if trying to find the words.

"Impulsive, now. Did something happen? Not just about the plan, but the last few days?"

How did you...?

"No. Nothing changed. I'm just not getting enough sleep, is all." Niryn knows she made a good show out of displaying a cold facade, but Adria remains unconvinced.

"You can tell me anything. I'm always here for you."

You shouldn't. I'm not worth your care. It's all too intimate. She needs to get away from the hand that's wavering close to her own.

"Thank you, but I just need some time. Alone." Maybe that's true. Maybe it's not. She's spent so long being alone that it's what she's used to.

When the door closes, she makes sure it shuts with a soft click. The last thing she wants is Adria thinking she wants her absolutely out of her sight, though her words just now speak otherwise. With a short sprint to the bed, she buries herself into a pillow and silently screams.

I'm such an idiot.

Author's note:

Looks like I finally earned that 'for mature readers only' rating, huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)