dr-clitaurus

[dr-clitaurus]

glory & gore 3.1 — heuristic

Accompanying Tracks: Visitation Of The Ghost by The Brobecks

pick me up tonight

The message had been all Murphy needed to wait outside of the venue. Time dragged on painfully slow, the guitarist not appearing from behind the double doors until half an hour after the show ended. 

Sarah crawled into the passenger seat silently, wearing the white sweater that was far too thin for the breeze outside. Murphy knew the sweater well, her fingers having traced the hem just above her waistline following more than a few of her performances. She leaned over the console and gave Murphy a chaste kiss this time, murmuring an apology that the driver had already accepted before the words left her mouth. 

Sarah grabbed Murphy’s phone and typed in a random address, asking her to drive to it. She eyed Sarah suspiciously, but her partner merely smiled and called it a ‘surprise’. Without much thought, she had shifted the car into reverse. 

The drive was filled with the loud hum of the radio, helping Murphy drown out the anxiety. Maybe 15 minutes into the drive, Sarah pulled out a bottle and held it to Murphy as they sat at a red light. 

“I forgot I got you this,” she giggled, laced with nervousness. 

The driver leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cracked lips in thanks before taking a sip. Sarah watched her intently, a contrast to the way her eyes gazed out the windows not moments before. Murphy didn’t question the odd taste—her taste buds had never been reliable. 

As the drive continued on, tall buildings were replaced by looming trees and paved roads gave away to gravel. A fog began to creep into the base of Murphy’s skull and gradually all throughout her head. It was getting so dark she had to pull over and switch spots with Sarah. She sank into the back of the chair and she finally got a good look at Sarah’s face as she turned off the navigation (and her connection). 

Her expression was quite serious compared to earlier, her lips pressed into a small frown and her eyebrows furrowed behind her glasses. 

She continued to drink from the bottle Sarah presented earlier, not noticing how it got harder to think after each sip. It was just a migraine. 

Sarah grabbed Murphy’s free hand, pulling it across the console and placing it on her thigh. Murphy gripped the muscle, nails digging into the denim; and it grounded her to focus on Sarah, just as it always had. Dull blue eyes peered at her through the corner of her eye and a faint smirk danced on her lips. 

The car came to a stop at the end of a long, winding driveway under a rusted carport. Sarah got out first, urging Murphy to wait. Shackled by uncertainty of the situation, she listened and Sarah walked towards the obviously abandoned cabin. It had been overtaken by shrubbery on the outside, the door disguised by vines of ivy that hung low from the overhang. 

Pulling the key ring from her belt, Sarah used a brown key to unlock the door, pushing it open with a soft grunt. 

Flicking on the switch next to the door, the interior was lit by a warm glow—it was a functional living space, surprisingly clean for the person who had been taking care of it. Pulling out a small pack of matches she had taken from Murphy’s console, she lit up a small fireplace.

The flames casted an orange glow against her features as she threw her dark gloves into the firebox, watching them be swallowed with a hard expression. She ignored the fresh memories of what those gloves did—guilt long since replaced with overwhelming relief. 

She stalked back outside, grabbing Murphy from the car. She leaned against Sarah, allowing her to guide her inside through her haze. The unkempt exterior confused Murphy, instinct causing her to attempt to pull away from Sarah. She didn’t get far from the tight grip Sarah’s hand had around her waist. 

“Where the hell are we…” Murphy managed out, voice low from fatigue. 

But Sarah didn’t give her a response. Instead, she only tugged Murphy onwards, pulling her inside of the cabin and locking the door from the inside with the key. In her right head, Murphy would have fought it—Sarah was not doing well to hide her plan if she was attempting to be discreet. 

However, she knew she didn’t need to be. Murphy would always subconsciously relax in her grip, allowing her to move her as she pleased. Murphy trusted her innately—it’s what Sarah had been working their whole relationship towards. 

She sat Murphy down in a plush armchair, standing up straight to get a look at her. Her sluggish movements and unfocused gaze made Sarah grin, a sick satisfaction making her heart rate pick up. Sarah joined Murphy on the chair in her lap, straddling her—trapping her.

Her lips brushed against Murphy’s, the pair melting into a passionate kiss. Sarah’s teeth caught the silver tongue piercing as one of her hands brushed strands of black hair away from Murphy’s face. Murphy busied her hands with grabbing the cold skin of Sarah’s hips, the warmth making Sarah bite down on her bottom lip.

Biting. Something Sarah found herself enjoying more and more with Murphy—especially since her blood came to the surface so easily. No one truly realized how possessive Sarah was of Murphy, since the bruises had always been covered with makeup or fabric. 

Murphy wouldn’t be able to cover them ever again. 

When they separated from the kiss, Murphy’s hot breath brushed against Sarah’s cheek as she caught her breath. After a moment, she attempted to initiate a second kiss, but Sarah pulled on the strands of hair tangled in her fingers to keep her down. A soft groan escaped Murphy’s throat, making Sarah pull her head back to expose her neck. 

She leaned down into it.

“Sarah—”

“Shh,” she cut Murphy off in a whisper, pressing a kiss to the skin just under her earlobe. “No words other than that one, sweetheart.” The order was gentle, but there was little room for Murphy to argue with the fingers in her hair. 

At her silence, Sarah bit down hard on her skin, drawing a sudden whine from her lips. She let go, kissing the red mark and grinning at the teeth marks left in the skin. 

The second bite was drawn out, her teeth gradually sinking into Murphy’s flesh. A hiss of pain gave away to a low groan, and it made Sarah want to give into the animalistic urge in her chest. She wanted to wrench her head away, pulling the flesh off of Murphy and leaving a wound instead of a mark. 

However, she held onto some semblance of self-control and instead allowed herself to break the skin just enough for that metallic taste on her tongue. 

“You taste so good,” Sarah rasped against the crook of her neck.

Murphy’s nails dug into Sarah’s skin when she bit down again, earning a muffled grunt from the girl above her. She pulled away, taking in breaths made shallow by the adrenaline in her blood. 

Sarah’s grip on her hair had relaxed and Murphy used it as a chance to lean into Sarah’s neck and just graze her teeth over the skin—

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Sarah had grabbed her by the jawline, forcing her head back against the chair. Her pupils were shot as she stared at Murphy, who felt small under these eyes she so rarely saw. Sarah’s lips curled up into a grin, laughter bubbling from her throat. 

Murphy’s heart pounded against her chest and she immediately attempted to push Sarah away once more, but her wrists were easily grabbed by Sarah’s hands and pinned over her head in a way that forced her body to contort. 

“Sarah, what are you doing?” Murphy retorted, voice raised in pitch. 

“Murphy, you don’t get it!” Sarah kept laughing, her hands intent on leaving bruises on Murphy’s wrists. “I finally have you—all of you—and you don’t even know it!”

She found the way her hands held down the once so aggressive girl with ease exhilarating. The fear and confusion in her normally sharp green eyes—it was all so perfect.

“Get off of me!” Murphy cried.

And Sarah did.

Murphy’s breath was ragged as she stared at Sarah, who’s laughter had simmered down to giggles restrained only by her teeth in a grin. 

“You’re so cute when you’re terrified!” Sarah clapped her hands together and tilted her head ever so slightly to the side.

“What is wrong with you?” Murphy yelled, her hands trembling by this point. Sarah had never acted like this before—what the hell triggered it? And why was it directed at her?

“Oh, Murphy,” Sarah finally stopped laughing, her smile fading to a familiar frown. “You ask so many questions… always so skeptical…” she started to slowly walk back towards Murphy, but didn’t get close enough to touch her. In fact, she put her hands behind her back. 

Murphy had pressed herself against the back of the chair, trying to get away from the encroaching girl. 

“You could enjoy this too if you just gave into me.” Sarah stared her down with a furrowed expression now, but her pupils still held the same fierceness from earlier. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I—” Murphy faltered. She wasn’t sure after seeing this, but she couldn’t bring herself to shake her head. For once, she wasn’t sure what to say. 

The corners of her eyes wrinkled in a smile and she leaned down towards Murphy. “You’ll learn.” Her hands cradled Murphy’s face—an unmistakable firmness in a movement that should’ve been gentle. “You only have me, after all.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “I could leave…easily. We took my car…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend driving that for a while,” Sarah hummed, almost thoughtfully. “They’re probably already searching for me—and they saw me get into your car.”

Her eyes widened. There was a part of the story missing.

“Be good, Murphy,

your life depends on it.”

[dr-clitaurus]

glory & gore 2.1 — innate desire

Accompanying Tracks: Dangerous by Big Data, Joywave

Some context: (1) this is the first part of the rewrite I am doing for the previous post and (2) designs are taken from the small comics I did around the same time I was actively working on the story (I say this because Murphy has long, black hair here).

She displayed a pattern of noncommittal behavior; an insatiable need for more, dampened by the anxiety of consequence. It was something that she managed to get away with her whole adult life, because who would take the time to teach someone who could be sleeping in a morgue just as easily as a bed? It was so easy for those who operated under the guise of their humanity to degrade her to a mere figure. 

Unfortunately, her chords managed to crackle through the radio of a bygone of a previous venture. An outlier. 

And before she could even notice, Murphy had her claws in every part of her life. 

The breeze was unforgiving when Sarah finally left the venue alone. Yet, the performance adrenaline was still burning just beneath her exposed skin and the temperature was easily overlooked as she walked down the side of the street. In fact, she was oblivious to most of what was going on around her. 

The person trailing behind her knew that all too well. She didn’t even have to hide the way she followed the guitarist all the way to the subway station.

Sarah always took this route home—avoiding a ride with her bandmates in favor of the ironically solitary journey on public transportation. Therefore, it became a part of Murphy’s routine as well, just as local concerts had. The venue’s employees had even begun to recognize her, though there was no name attached to her presence—as was her design. 

When she finally reached the station, reality seemed to be gradually seeping back into Sarah’s mind. She walked slower, her arms hugging around her body in a futile attempt to find warmth. She sat on one of the empty benches with a huff, her breathing ragged as the exertion caught up to her sickly body. 

Typically, Murphy would remain a distance away, watching Sarah struggle after pushing her tired body to its limits; drowning the pain in the drags of a cigarette. 

But tonight, she silently walked up behind Sarah, not even her boots making a sound, and draped her jacket over her shoulders. Absent-mindedly, the guitarist curled into the heavy material, her shoulders finally giving up the tenseness they held so tightly. 

Reaching into one of the jacket pockets, Murphy pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She opened it with one hand and pulled out one of the remaining cigarettes. She snaked her freehand through Sarah’s hair and down her jaw, tilting her head up. There were no words exchanged when Murphy lightly tapped the end of the cigarette against her mouth, because Sarah parted them for Murphy to rest it on her bottom lip. 

The lighter sparked to life, burning the end until a trail of smoke crawled up out of it. With the way her hand was positioned, Murphy could feel Sarah’s breath through her trachea against her fingertips. After Sarah took a drag, Murphy would pull it from her mouth. She gave her little respite, forcing the cigarette back between her lips before Sarah could get nearly enough air. 

They repeated this a few times, Murphy occasionally glancing towards the display that estimated the arrival of the train. After the decisively final drag, she put it out on the bench right next to Sarah’s leg but her hand held firm under Sarah’s jaw. 

Sarah’s breathing had settled down, much too calm for the situation looming behind her. A noise came from her mouth like she wanted to say something, but Murphy leaned down to her ear and shushed her. She breathed quiet comforts against her ear, lulling her into the effects of the drug mixed with the nicotine. Sarah’s breaths got longer and deeper, her body slumping against the back of the bench when she finally surrendered to the drug in her head.

Murphy let go of her jaw and made her way to be in front of Sarah. She curiously lifted one of Sarah’s eyelids, gazing at the unfocused and blown pupil. Satisfied, she pulled out an elegant looking scarf from the jacket’s other pocket and wrapped it around her head, gagging her.

Her arms wrapped around Sarah’s body, picking her up with ease and cradling against her chest. Murphy swiftly exited the subway station into the familiar patterns of shadows  just as the train rolled up into the stop. 

Sarah opened her eyes slowly, struggling against her eyelids that felt like they were made out of lead. She attempted to bring her hand to her head to nurse the ache in her temples, but something kept it in place. Casting her gaze down, she realized her wrists were tied securely to a metal chair; and her struggles against the ropes did nothing but allow the material to dig further into her skin. 

Her heart began to pound against her ribcage, realizing how dire the situation actually was: she got abducted. She tried to make a noise—a scream, a call, anything—but only a pathetic muffle sounded from her throat. She bit down, the texture of fabric against her teeth. 

Her eyes began to desperately dart around the dark room—it had a concrete floor and was lined with shelves of items Sarah couldn’t make out past the shape. There was so much she could use if only she could move her hands. 

She began contemplating starting to just bite through the restraints when a sliver of light was cast on the wall ahead of her and the eerie creaking of a door echoed through the room. Sarah attempted to crane her neck to see what it was, but all she got was an amused laugh from her assumed captor. 

“You’re finally awake,” a velvet voice came from right behind Sarah, the sound of something hissing as it was dragged against the metal frame when Murphy made her around to the front of the chair slowly. Leather gloves gripped her bound wrists, the chair providing support as she leaned over her captive. 

Recognition flashed across Sarah’s expression when the two locked eyes, making Murphy’s lips curl into a smirk.

“Nice to see you again,” Murphy uttered, slowly tracing her hands up Sarah’s exposed arms, the skin uneven and rough from countless scars. The feeling only made Murphy’s smirk deepen—they were a reminder why Sarah was here. 

Sarah’s brows furrowed, not nearly as sensitive to Murphy’s touch as she once was which struck a jealous flicker in her chest. She had already figured out fighting the gag was useless, since her eyes burned with a clear question: “why the hell am I here?”

Murphy wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of an answer, however. She would have to earn that. 

“Who were you trying to impress?” Murphy asked instead, eyes running up and down her body multiple times to emphasize the point. Her voice was laced with an unintentional bitterness and she held Sarah’s lower arms in a firm grip, finally sending a shiver down her spine. 

The way Sarah’s eyes flickered over to her hands told Murphy everything she needed to know. It didn’t matter who it was before. 

Murphy leaned over her captive further, lips brushing against her ear. “Good,” she breathed, lightly biting on her earlobe, drawing a muffled whine from the girl beneath her. “Better get used to it, baby.” 

The old pet name stirred feelings in Sarah’s gut that she had to bite down against the gag to contain. So many other people had called her that—so why did it only affect her when it was her kidnapper trapping her?

Murphy pulled away, dropping her grip on Sarah’s arms as she stood up fully. She wore all black, even her hair was black, and she practically disappeared in the background of shadows around the pair. It made Sarah realize how much she may have missed Murphy watching her by the way she stood like a silent silhouette. 

“Nervous?”—Sarah hadn’t even realized she was trembling—“You don’t need to be as long as you’re good for me.” 

She attempted to still herself, but she found herself arguing with an irrational part of her head. She wanted nothing more than to spit in Murphy’s face and run, because like hell she was going to let someone tell her what to do. 

You know that’s not true. You used to be good for her—and you loved it. It’s an innate desire.

Murphy watched Sarah’s internal silently, her body language leaving little to the imagination. Sarah had always been easy to read, despite what she had told herself. She toyed with something in her hands, before she had decidedly grown tired of Sarah’s indecision and stepped towards her once more.

She firmly grabbed Sarah’s chin, forcing her to look up at Murphy and drew all her attention back towards herself. “Let me make this easy for you, love,” she purred, before the sharp click of a pocket knife opening sounded through the room and a cold blade was pressed against Sarah’s carotid artery, making her take an involuntary breath. 

“I know everything you’re capable of, while you haven’t seen me in four years,” her voice was dangerously still, eyes sharp with a near crazed look in them that almost dared Sarah to do something wrong. “Do you really want to take those odds?”

Murphy could practically see the beating of Sarah’s heart through the way her artery beat against her blade. Her captive was still hesitating, so she began to press the knife into her skin, drawing blood from surface capillaries. Sarah immediately began to frantically nod, shutting her eyes and crying out something that was muffled by the fabric in her mouth. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” Murphy taunted, not stopping her gradual progression of the blade further into Sarah’s neck.

“I’ll be good!” Sarah finally managed out, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. 

Murphy dropped the blade, a satisfied smirk on her face. She leaned into the neck of her captive, pressing a soft kiss to the small cut on her neck. 

“Welcome home,” she whispered into the skin. 

[dr-clitaurus]

glory & gore 2.1-2 draft 1 — good intentions unethically homosexual execution.

Accompanying Tracks: House of Balloons / Glass Table Girls by The Weekend

For context, this occurs in my band story. You may recognize some pieces because I sent them to you on discord.

Consciousness came to her slowly, a grogginess plaguing her whole body. She didn’t think she drank that much, but there was an undeniable heaviness.

She tried to move her legs, but something kept them together and in place, so she crumpled back to the floor. Looking at her legs, she was greeted by silver handcuffs that bonded her ankles. Coming off of them, a silver chain led to the closest wall, which was presumably keeping her there.

Panic began to creep into her, prickling the back of her neck and making her heart speed up. She attempted to pull her feet apart, but the metal snapped hard against her ankles, drawing a grunt of pain from her throat.

“Looks like you’re finally awake,” a sly voice spoke from behind her. She immediately turned her head and looked up at the familiar figure.

“Murphy, I—what’s going on?” She asked, voice laced with fear.

They only leaned down and hooked their finger under her jaw, tilting her head up more. “Don’t look so nervous, darling, I won’t hurt you if you behave.”

She was silent for a few moments, before she slowly nodded her head. “Okay…” she managed out, voice still wavering.

Murphy’s lips curled into a smirk at the lack of opposition. “Still so good for me after all these years,” they commented, voice low. The words were meant to get a reaction, and they did—the chained up woman’s cheeks burnt pink at them. “You know I’m doing this to keep you safe.”

“From what…?” She inquired, confusion in her expression.

Murphy leaned down further, removing their other hand from behind their back. “Yourself, love,” they answered in a hushed whisper.

They had figured out quickly if, left to their own devices, Sarah would go and do something self destructive in hopes it would end in the worst outcome. It would never work out, but Murphy didn’t want to see it happen. They were terrified of loosing her again, so there was only one way to keep her from doing shit like that.

Then suddenly a loud snap echoed throughout the room. In their other hand was a piece of neckwear that they had just put onto Sarah.

Sarah lifted her free hand and rubbed her fingers against the black metal. “It’s so…tight…” she complained, looking up at Murphy.

“I know,” they uttered, putting their hand against Sarah’s and removing it. It was designed to be tight, so it would restrict some of the blood flow into her brain. It was meant to make her more pliant, more reliant on Murphy.

It seemed to already be working, because Sarah’s eyes were unfocused now, gazing up absentmindedly towards Murphy. They pushed down the sick pride that sparked in their chest at the idea that they were the only one to see her like this.

They couldn’t help themselves and leaned in, pressing their lips to hers; they were quickly met with Sarah kissing back in near desperation. They pulled away, laughing at the frown that her lips curled down into.

They grabbed another pair of handcuffs from their belt. “Give me your hands,” they ordered. With some hesitation, Sarah lifted her hands towards Murphy, who snapped the cuffs onto her wrists. Then, they moved behind her and unlocked the cuffs around her ankles, allowing her to move her legs freely.

They rose to their feet, offering a hand to Sarah. She grabbed their forearm with both of her hands and pulled herself up, wavering a bit once she got to her own feet. Murphy wrapped an arm around her upper back and held her close, pressing their bodies together.

“I’m lightheaded…” she uttered, letting Murphy lead her somewhere in the house. The other laughed dryly, sitting Sarah down on a bed.

They leaned over Sarah, setting their hands on either side of her. “It feels good though, doesn’t it?” They grinned and, before she could respond, pulled her into another kiss. It lasted longer than the first, with Murphy actually allowing Sarah kiss them back properly.

When they parted to breathe, with their faces still close enough their lips nearly brushing, Sarah nodded quickly. “It feels so good, crow,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

[draft randomly cuts off here]

A week or two pass, and Murphy gets a message from Cosmo asking to hang out. In their kitchen, they grab a large dose of melatonin and mix it into one of two glasses on the counter.

They join Sarah on the couch, handing her one of the glasses. She drinks it without a second thought.

Her hands move freely, a sign of her pilant behavior.

“Play me a song,” Sarah requests, to which Murphy complies—grabbing their guitar from the wall.

They play a song that they wrote for Sarah. It ends up lulling her into a drug induced sleep.

Setting the guitar against the sofa, they pick up Sarah and carry her to their room towards the back of the house. They lay her down in a cage situated in the corner. It’s not big, but it’s a good size for the guitarist inside. Murphy grabs two pairs of handcuffs, binding Sarah’s wrists and ankles (pressing a kiss to her hand).

After locking it, they drape a blanket over it and cover it with clutter like before, disguising it as a regular piece of furniture.

Not five minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

Cosmo is all smiles, as expected. He gives Murphy a tight hug as soon as he sees them.

“I brought you some stuff that I thought you would like,” he beams while he sets a bag on the table.

“You’re so sweet,” Murphy smiles, peering through the items. Most of them are things they really do enjoy, but there is a bag of coffee grounds. Murphy hates coffee.

They hold their tongue, though, because someone in the house does like coffee now.

The pair end up going out to town for some shopping and lunch.

Over the booth, Cosmo causally brings up a topic that Murphy had been avoiding.

“Sasha’s band got a new guitarist,” he commented, before taking a bite of his food.

“Oh, really?” Murphy didn’t even have to fake the interest this time. Topics about that band were always so boring unless it was about their guitarist.

“Yeah—apparently Juno just disappeared,” Cosmo explained, suddenly looking a bit nervous. “They think she just up and left again.”

Murphy picks up on the way Cosmo’s fingers busy themselves with tapping against the table and how he isn’t looking at them directly anymore. “What do you think happened to her?” They prod, well aware there is information being omitted.

“Well, I… you’ll think I’m crazy…”

“Cosmo, you have nothing on me.” Murphy reassures him, grinning slightly.

Biting his cheek, Cosmo finally coughs up, “I feel like she was kidnapped or something… I had just talked to her the night before, and she was excited about playing Saturday!” He raises his voice slightly and there’s a flash of both sadness and determination in his eyes.

Murphy almost feels bad for what they’re doing.

“Maybe someone got her admitted again,” Murphy offered, making Cosmo raise a brow.

“But who would do something like that…?”

“Wasn’t there already plans to replace the guitarist?” Murphy elaborated, “my money’s on the fact they were waiting for Sarah to leave herself, but it wasn’t happening quick enough.”

When the waiter comes by, Cosmo has to pay because Murphy’s payday isn’t until later that week.

The conversation back to Murphy’s home was much lighter, avoiding the topic brought up in the restaurant.

They wander back to Murphy’s room, because Cosmo mentioned something about wanting to do a face of makeup and the other was happy to comply.

The sound of a muffled thud makes Cosmo jump and turn towards the sound. “Did you hear that?” He asks Murphy, looking over at them with a nervous expression.

Murphy’s laugh and smile are forced, but they appear natural. “Oh, don’t mind that. This house is pretty old, so there’s weird noises all the time,” they supply, while reaching over and turning up the music they had on a bit.

“O-kay…” Cosmo takes the excuse, but there’s a lingering anxiety. Murphy gets them out of the room as soon as possible.

Eventually, Cosmo leaves. Murphy watches him leave the drive way before they return to their room, moving the clutter so they can open the cage.

They grab Sarah by the ring around her neck and pull her out, ignoring a strangled cry.

“You know you almost got me caught, sweetheart,” they said so sweetly, but their tense grin gave away the anger.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she whimpered, pathetically. Sarah’s expression had quickly devolved into fear when Murphy forced them to be face-to-face.

“How do I know you’re not trying to leave me?” Murphy questioned, a sliver of their paranoia creeping in. The conversation with Cosmo gave them some insight on how others feel about the situation, which was helpful but they couldn’t help the anxiety that came with it.

“I’m not, I love you, I don’t want to leave,” Sarah practically began to plead, terrified of what they would do if they were genuinely upset with her. “I didn’t even know he was here—please, don’t be mad.”

Murphy loosens their grip on the neck piece, allowing Sarah to breathe.

But suddenly they lean closer, and began whispering into Sarah’s ear. “You’re mine. I won’t loose you again…you’ll be safe here.” One of their hands snaked its way up Sarah’s spine and into her hair, gripping the strands tightly to remind themselves this was real. The other wrapped around Sarah’s body, embracing her. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

“I know,” Sarah murmured, leaning into Murphy’s neck. “I love you too.”

[dr-clitaurus]

no. 3 — home is where the heart is.

Accompanying Tracks: Return to Versailles by Joshua Kyan Aalampour; Strawberries and Cigarettes by Troye Sivan.

I never truly understood love the way it was portrayed in art. I always scoffed at cheesy romance movies—how another person could dissolve your shame like that?

But when you embraced me in your green sweatshirt for the first time in weeks, it finally clicked. Your embrace has always been my favorite; it’s like our bodies were sculpted for one another by us in a previous life. Even if it’s for mere moments or hours, I can almost feel myself finally finding peace in another person.

‘ home is where the heart is ‘ my fortunate says, and I can’t help how my first instinct is to peer over at you next to me.

The beating of your heart against my ear is a rhythm I would compose a song to if I had that sort of talent. Instead, I allow my own heart to mirror it—bring me close enough that our hearts beat as one. Allow your pulse to speed up like mine when your eyes flick towards my lips and when we press them together in a chaste kiss. Share my anxiety so I don’t feel so alone in an action so intimate.

You are my home. And if one day I am to be evicted, I will take the keepsakes of your corridors and hold them in my own with the understanding that someone finally reached me and held me gently.

And they will not be able to know me without first knowing what the star on the back of my hand means.

[dr-clitaurus]

no. 2 — the moment i thought, “oh.”

Accompanying Tracks: Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens, Waltz of the Flowers by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

This is the French translation, alongside the original English draft.

Your eyes are the first thing I notice about you. Looking into people’s eyes always made my stomach churn; the one-sided intimacy of them seeing everything while I saw nothing at all. You were not an exception—you had sharp, analytical eyes—yet something had me curiously sparing glances your way. It was like a force beckoned me towards you; I’m sure you felt it too in some capacity.

Tes yeux sont la première chose que je remarque chez toi. Regarder dans les yeux des gens m'a toujours fait tourner l'estomac; l'intimité unilatérale d'eux voyant tout alors que je ne voyais rien du tout. Vous n'étiez pas une exception—vous aviez des yeux vifs et analytiques—mais quelque chose m'a fait curieusement épargner des regards à votre façon. C'était comme si une force m'avait tirée vers toi; je suis sûre que tu l'as ressenti aussi d'une certaine manière.

{My younger self believed she harbored no feelings for you.

My inherit dislike of your boyfriend was only because he was intruding into our—the friend group’s—space. He wasn’t even in art, why did he always have to be there?

I was only attempting to discourage Mati after she confided in me about her feelings towards you because I believed you were straight, why should she even bother? I didn’t.

When I saw you with that girl at the table, I was only upset because that meant there was another person in our space. And the fact she sat between you and me meant nothing to me.

(It should’ve been me.

It should’ve been me.

It should’ve been me.)

I don’t ever come to terms with my feelings. I push them, and you, away because

“she wouldn’t have liked me anyways.”}

When we meet again, I immediately look towards your eyes. It may have been the sun, but I swore they seemed brighter.

Lorsque nous nous reverrons, je regarde immédiatement dans tes yeux. C'était peut-être le soleil, mais j'ai juré qu'elles semblaient plus brillantes.

I tried to keep distance, repressed shame keeping me in its tight grip; yet, you reach out to me just as you had before. Suddenly, that pull is back and I can’t bring myself to say no to you.

J'ai essayé de garder mes distances, la honte réprimée me gardant dans sa prise serrée; pourtant, tu me tends la main comme tu l'avais fait auparavant. Soudain, cette traction est de retour et je ne peux pas me résoudre à tu dire non.

I tell myself I repress my feelings well.

(until you offered to do my makeup)

Je me dis que je réprime bien mes sentiments.(jusqu'à ce que tu me proposes de me maquiller.)

I hated whenever people did my makeup. The trust that came with applying eyeshadow, the intimacy of pressing concealer on. I would always jerk away instinctively at the coldness of product. However, I manage to remain still, and the closeness isn’t uncomfortable and maybe I wanted you to rub in the primer instead of me.

Je détestais chaque fois que les gens me maquillaient. La confiance qui est venue avec l'application du fard à paupières, l'intimité d'appuyer sur le correcteur. Je m'éloinais toujours instinctivement de la froideur du produit. Cependant, j'arrive à rester immobile, et la proximité n'est pas inconfortable et peut-être que je voulais que vous frottiez dans l'apprêt au lieu de moi.

This event doesn’t seem particularly important since I could still repress those feelings…from my conscious. My subconscious had come to terms with my desire for you long before I, but seeing just how different you were to others reinforced it. The only way these ever escaped was when I was inebriated.

Cet événement ne semble pas particulièrement important puisque je pouvais encore réprimer ces sentiments... en ma conscience. Mon subconscient avait accepté mon désir pour toi bien avant moi, mais voir à quel point tu étais différente des autres l'a renforcé. La seule façon dont ceux-ci se sont échappés était quand j'étais en état d'ébriété.

When we went to the con, we had to share a bed. We were both high and watching a short film that you wanted to see. I remember gazing at you, longing for you to embrace me or even just touch me. I wanted you to remind me that I was more important than anyone we met that day.

Lorsque nous sommes allées à la convention, nous avons dû partager un lit. Nous étions toutes les deux défoncées et regardions un court métrage que vous vouliez voir. Je me souviens t'avoir regardée, vouloir que tu me tiennes dans tes mains. Je voulais que vous me rappeliez que j'étais plus importante que quiconque que nous avons rencontré plus tôt ce jour-là.

When you celebrated my birthday, I got so high I couldn’t decipher whether I was even awake or not. I laughed so hard my cheeks ached, my chest felt empty, and I almost died. I think you were freaked out, because I never acted like that. I didn’t know how to say I was the happiest I’d been in a long time.

Lorsque tu as fêté mon anniversaire, je me suis tellement défoncée que je n'ai pas pu déchiffrer si j'étais même éveillée ou non. J'ai tellement ri que mes joues me faisaient mal, ma poitrine se sentait vide, et j'ai failli mourir. Je pense que tu as paniqué, parce que je n'ai jamais agi comme ça. Je ne savais pas comment dire que j'étais la plus heureuse que j'avais été depuis longtemps.

We go to my prom together and I tell myself it’s just so you could have the experience—but that façade dies with the sun. You make it a point to do some sort of slow dance with me, and I couldn’t help but trip up constantly because a part of me is terrified of what doing it seriously would entail.

Nous allons à mon prom ensemble et je me dis que c'est juste pour que vous puissiez avoir l'expérience—mais cette façade meurt avec le soleil. Vous faites en sorte de faire une sorte de danse lente avec moi, et je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de trébucher constamment parce qu'une partie de moi est terrifiée par ce que le faire sérieusement impliquerait.

The way that your hands hold me and your fingers intertwine with mine just feels so correct. And we’re so close when I look into your eyes—my heart jumps in my chest and I have to look away. I tell myself that it was simply the act of making eye contact that scared me and not that fact you saw me and I loved it.

La façon dont tes mains me tiennent et tes doigts s'entremêlent avec les miens semble si correcte. Et nous sommes si proches quand je te regarde dans les yeux—mon cœur saute dans ma poitrine et je dois détourner le regard. Je me dis que c'est simplement l'acte d'entrer en contact visuel qui m'a fait peur et non le fait que vous m'avez vue et que j'ai adoré.

I had also been worried about how people would perceive us, if only for your sake. Of course, though, that wore off as the night wore on. I couldn’t deny the fact that the idea that people saw the way our fingers interlocked and saw an ‘us’ made my heart pound against my ribcage with all the things it wanted to say.

J'étais également inquiète de la façon dont les gens nous percevraient, ne serait-ce que pour votre bien. Bien sûr, cependant, cela s'est dissipé au fur et à mesure que la nuit avançait. Je ne pouvais pas nier le fait que l'idée que les gens voyaient la façon dont nous nous tenions les unes les autres et voyaient un « nous » a fait battre mon cœur contre ma cage thoracique avec toutes les choses qu'elle voulait dire.

By the ride back to Weatherford, all I wanted was your touch. I wanted your fingers to graze my exposed thigh, even if just by accident. I wanted so desperately to lean against you because I was so cold and something about you made me feel so, so warm.

Sur le trajet de retour à Weatherford, tout ce que je voulais, c'était votre contact. Je voulais que tes doigts frottent ma cuisse exposée, même si c'est par accident. Je voulais si désespérément m'appuyer contre toi parce que j'avais tellement froid et que quelque chose en toi me faisait me sentir si, si chaude.

Realistically, that night was my ‘oh’.

But I didn’t want it to be, because you didn’t see me that way.

I would’ve rather had died than lose you because I wanted you to kiss me instead of him.

En réalité, cette nuit-là était mon « oh ».

Mais je ne voulais pas que ce soit le cas, parce que tu ne me voyais pas de cette façon.

J'aurais préféré mourir plutôt que de te perdre parce que je voulais que tu m'embrasses au lieu de lui.

So I didn’t let it be that moment.

Je ne l'ai donc pas laissé être ce moment.

If anything was my ‘oh’, it was that mere hour on the dock. I had come to the realization I had feelings for you before that, but

Ce qui m'a vraiment fait dire « oh », c'était nos heure sur le quai. J'avais réalisé que j'avais des sentiments pour toi avant cela, mais

when I looked into your eyes, I saw the stars in your irises and the sun in the curl of your lips.

quand j'ai regardé dans tes yeux, j'ai vu les étoiles dans tes iris et le soleil dans la boucle de tes lèvres.

That was when I knew I was in love with you.

et c'est à ce moment-là que j'ai su que j'étais amoureuse de toi.

[dr-clitaurus]

no. 1 — On the dock under a waning moon.

Accompanying Track: Autumn Intro - Extended Version by Andrea Vanzo

The autumn night’s air is cold, nipping at my face; but when her arms wrap around me I can close my eyes and imagine the warmth is that of the sun.

She pulls away, wearing a grin that shows her teeth. She offers her hand and I intertwine our fingers. Human hands were designed to grab things, and I know mine were made to hold hers. I squeeze her hand as she leads me through the silent park down to the dock.

It was a place that became ours in a sentimental way. Only we will know of the summer night when she brought me back to life against the chestnut wood.

We make a space on the dock, easing into the night with puffs of weed and a bottle of alcohol. She lays her head on my lap and, with some hesitance not yet buried by the substances, I run my fingers through her brown hair.

She tells me sad things, and I listen—but it gets harder to focus after each shot of liquor. The moonlight casts an almost ethereal shimmer against her figure, the silver lighting up her sharp eyes. Sparkling tears begin to fall down her cheeks and it threatens to pull them from my eyes as well.

I can’t remember what she told me exactly, but the confession that I let her be that person buried deep down inside again is heavy against my heart. I carry it carefully because all I want to do is make her smile.

I can’t speak.

I pull her into an embrace. I feel like it speaks much more than lamely spoken words ever could.

I wonder if she can feel the warmth of my body through her green sweatshirt. Pulling away, I get my answer through her sweet grin.

“I love you,” she tells me, voice cracking from the tears. I can’t bring myself to say it back, but she gazes at me and I can tell she knows what I want to say.