Love Me Or Loathe Me

Nata Gold and Zazie Skymm share a house and little else. One takes what she wants. The other watches, seethes, wants anyway. One night Zazie crosses the hall wearing nothing but Nata’s shirt; by morning the shirt lies on the floor and their mouths are locked hard enough to bruise. They fuck like they fight—Nata pins Zazie’s wrists above her head, grinds down until the smaller girl writhes and spits curses that turn to moans. Later they trade places, Zazie kneeling between Nata’s spread thighs, licking with deliberate spite until Nata’s hips jerk and her fist knots in blonde hair. The rhythm never softens. When Zazie finds the packed suitcase under the bed she slaps Nata across the mouth, then drags her down to the floor, fingers shoved knuckle-deep while she whispers that leaving is not allowed. Nata comes with teeth sunk in Zazie’s shoulder; Zazie follows with tears on her cheeks and three fingers still buried inside. Afterward the room stinks of sweat and the copper tang of bitten lips. They stay tangled, neither speaking, because speaking would force them to name what keeps pulling them back together.