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Tamara's hands coiled tightly around Tori's throat, pressing her harshly against the ground. Her eyes were wide and frantic, her body shaking with either rage or shame. "Why did you do that...? You weren't supposed to do that!" She screams in her girlfriend's face. The redhead is limp beneath her, neither fighting nor reacting. It makes the empty-eyed woman want to lash out harsher. "Do something!!"
Her hands grip tighter and tighter. Dark colored freckled shoulders hunch forward, shuddering in time with her sobs. It's dramatic, stupid, and utterly useless. She doesn't deserve to lash out like this. Of course Tori would want to see someone else. Tamara's not nearly a good enough person, girlfriend, or even object to keep around singularly.
She lets go, falling to the side to curl up into a ball. Tamara hears the soft cough coming from her lover, raising her head to make sure nothing goes south. Ichor sits deep in her body, making her heavy and awkward. The moment she has something good, of course it acts up. Pretends it's never been trained on how to interact normally. Force her to be insane. Tori should leave her. Should pretend she's going to cut her up like usual and then stab her through the heart. The vision comes in, quick and graphic, and it takes everything in her not to scream at the sight. The redhead sits up, gently rubbing her neck. She looks so normal in comparison to everything around her. "Tammy, let's go out for ice cream."
She hates that name. Tori knows that. "It's fine. You should go out yourself. I need to... I have to stay."
"I know what you'll do if I leave you alone. I also know what you'll do if we stay here and sit in this."
She's much too kind. Tamara doesn't deserve her. Tamara deserves her jaw broken against pavement, the cold barrel of a shotgun against her skull, maybe the feeling of a copious amount of pills sliding down her throat. All the images roll rapidly behind her eyes, and she can feel every single one. "I'm not supposed to hurt you like that. It was so stupid."
The bed dips next to her tightly scrunched body, and a hand graces her back. "Tamara. Don't act like that. I think I liked it." The words feel sick and gross once they reach her ears. Lies. She hates lies. Her stomach churns. Of course she'd be lied to by the redhead, she reasons. She didn't deserve the truth. "I do similar things to you all the time. Why is it only bad when you do it?"
"You're with me all the time. You know what I'm like."
"I do, but what does that have to do with it being okay for me to slap you around but not for you to do the same?"
The brunette hides in her arms again, unable to remain locked in eye contact. She wishes deeply that her lover would read the room and understand at the very least what she means without words. Tamara knows she gets a kick out of this. She should start expecting it. "I'm sorry for bringing it up. It won't happen again."
Tori huffs. She pushes herself off the bed and lingers by the door. "I'm going out for ice cream. Try and get some rest." The door shuts behind her, not harshly. She's not mad. The redhead should be, but she's not.
It's all too much. The image of her talking to someone else, the idea that she'll leave, the feeling that she's going to come back and break up. Rock bottom is hurtling towards the brunette and quickly. She won't have time to brace before her body splatters against the rock.
She's glad her room isn't messy. It'd be a shame for Tori to come back home to her and a dirty room. She's enough of a burden already. The pills on her dresser whisper in the dark, gently coaxing her over. She graciously listens.
The pill bottle is cold in her hands. The lid taunts her with its soft clicks as she absent-mindedly fumbles with it. She stares for a long time. The silence is charged with anticipation, and the longer she waits, the more her hands shake. She hasn't taken these in months under the guise of Tori. In her defense, they made her worse.
After 15 minutes of waiting, she finally opens it. There are about 20 pills left inside. They're small, probably enough to knock back in one go. Tamara reaches for a soda on her nightstand. The intimidating little blue circles sit there, waiting. As her hand raises toward her mouth, the door opens. She forces them down, washing down the sick, dry feeling with the flat cola.
Tori heads over to her side, a small bowl of ice cream from the place downtown. It falls to the floor, spraying everywhere. Her hands grip Tamara's face, eyes wide and frantic.
"What did you just do!?" One palm slaps harshly against her face, causing her to gag slightly. It's too late. The brunette tries to open her mouth, plead for her to leave, plead for sweet release alone. She earns forceful fingers entering her mouth, pushing down against the back of her throat. The redhead's face is the same color as her hair. Through the tears of her lover, it's a beautiful sight. She's a Saint, so all forgiving. It's such a shame she's such a disappointing weight on her back.
Tamara vomits across her chest, the pills splattering across her once pristine clothes. She sobs harder. "No, this isn't fair. It was supposed to be clean... You weren't supposed to come back this soon..."
Her head is forced into a spot where there isn't vomit, uncalloused hands stroking the mess her hair has been left in. "You are just as stupid as my brother. You're not allowed to leave me. I will tie you to this bed and drug you so you can't. Do you understand? I'll spend my every waking moment keeping you here, by my side."
The brunette has never heard her like this before. It's frantic and shakes her to her core. This is a kind of need she's wanted for forever. A desperation she's dreamed about since the first time she was turned away. She crumbles into the arms of her lover.
"Was it the choking? Do you want me to choke you back? You didn't hurt or upset me. I can cut you again. You said you'd quit doing it yourself if I did it for you. Will you keep yourself alive if I try to kill you, too?" The words are spoken into the sickly smelling air, not reaching either of their ears. "You're all that's keeping me tethered. I don't know what I'd do if you left me."
Whatever this arrangement was, it wasn't healthy. It hadn't been for a long time, but that didn't seem to matter anymore.
"I'll stay... I'll be good, I'll be quiet, I'll stop making problems. I can fix this. I can fix me."
"That's my job now. Let me fix you."
The hospital visit is awkward and stinks. It's the same when they return home. Tamara's hospital bag, filled with vomit-covered clothes and pamphlets about mental health, sits on the counter. Ell stands in the doorway to the kitchen.
"I heard something happened. Is it better now?" Her voice is soft, a slight warble hidden under all of her usual calm.
"I'm getting help. I'll be better now." Arms engulf Tamara, tight and warm. A soft chin rests gently on her shoulder, mouth whispering right next to the stud in her ear.
"I'm glad you're not leaving."
Tamara thinks she'll feel the same soon.