Burning Bitches

*when we finally emerged from the closet, the shutters had gone down and we'd fallen willingly into bed, the argument lost amongst the clothes and the sultry scent of bonding and sex...but there was still a little niggle of something that woke me early with its brilliantly jealous idea. When the shutters rose for the new night, my feet hit cold black tile and my curves were wrapped in the sheet I'd stolen from V's sleeping form, my warrior, sprawled, naked, across the entire bed, only a curved indentation at his side where I'd been. I dont have long. He'll wake when my heartbeat no longer registers in his dreams, or he doesn’t get kicked by our young. Creeping, a pregnant ninja, back into the closet with its newly cracked mirror and aroma of possession and reconciliation, it takes only a moment to find the discarded black book and pad stealthily onto the balcony, glass doors sliding silently closed behind me, concealing my insane urge. 

The bottle of nail polish remover I’d snagged from the bathroom on my way out serving as my napalm alternative…since I didn’t want to blow the entire Penthouse up…set aside to await my bidding, but I cant help but flick through the pages, names, numbers…their limits…a menu designed to cater to every mood, every intensity. I knew…I knew everything but damn, this hurts…and the urge to kill them all only intensifies as the pages turn, tears blotting the different inks. He’d thrown it in my face to make a point…I know…but the mere thought of his fangs sinking into another female, his life flowing in the veins of someone not me…belonging to someone who isn’t me…rips at my heart and catches my breath on a choked growl of fury, the wind whipping my hair in a lashing attack of silk, a physical representation of the storm coiling, lethal in its possession. Dropping the small book to flip a paper rustle in the wind, pages flicking wildly, caught in its anger, the nail polish remover dousing the tome of females, splattering tile, my acetone tears letting go of his past, of my insecurity, of the failure I feel at not being able to satisfy his biological needs…all of it going up in a powerful rush of flames, a ball of gases and flammable liquid consuming the book as the match falls, lit, eating hungrily, starved fiery teeth devouring page after page, names rising up in the smoky haze of my emotions, snatched by the talons of the wind and carried from my sight…eyes stinging in the heat, I watch until nothing remains but ash…my catharsis complete, and the lure of my sleeping male calling me back to bed*