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Green was an interesting color. It had so many connotations, so many forms. Sometimes it was brilliant in emerald, sometimes muddied and dull. Sometimes green could be so dark it looked black at first glance, or at least like a shade far darker than it was. This dress was the latter. Difficult to place, though in certain rays of light it became intensely obvious; green, definitely green; so green it was incomprehensible that it might be perceived as something else,
Green in the light of an armory. Green against the backdrop of a church. Green over drinks, over cake, over trivialities. Green in his reflection, staring back at her, his fingers penitently wrapped around her calf. The cut of the back was low and sleek, and a bra was out of the question. Underwear probably was, too. When he danced with her, if he danced—she had an odd suspicion he would if she asked him to—then his hands would have no place to rest without finding open skin. She remembered the feel of his fingers tracing patterns on her thigh, some indistinguishable sequence of calculation.
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the little pang of Don’t go, just stay. Settle over me like the tide, cover me like a blanket, wrap around me like the sun.
“doesn’t happiness seem … fake? Like it might be something someone invented. An impossible goal we’ll never reach,” he clarified, “just to keep us all quiet.”
She could pry apart his ribs and leave him there, gutted, doe eyes wide with I didn’t think it’d be so wet.
He kisses her, thinks, Go on, ruin me. Wreck me, please.
