Nemesis places a hand on her stomach where she was penetrated by a tentacle earlier. Her body is all right at present, and yet a feeling of hollowness lingers.
She was being careless and reckless in the encounter, exposing her weakness in purpose, wielding Stygius in a sloppy manner, because she was so fucking bored, and Melinoë didn't come to entertain her.
Lately Melinoë has become more and more pleased with herself; she is all prim and pretentious, and mayhaps this is the reason that everybody likes her. The emptiness in her guts enlarges. She keeps on scratching her belly. Her skin is scraped. Blood emerges.
"Odysseus said you haven't slept well." She tenses when she hears Melinoë's voice coming from the front of her tent. It's too late for her to feign sleep now.
"It's nothing," she sighs as Melinoë crouches beside her.
"You came back surprisingly early this time," Melinoë muses, her mismatched eyes glittering with curiosity.
"Fuck off," Nemesis snarls. From the angle she lies, she can see Melinoë's underwear. The sight irks her. Sometimes she wonders whether Melinoë is aware of how she looks, or how ridiculously short her damn dress is. She rolls over to face the wall.
"Nem," Melinoë begins softly. Her hand comes to rest on Nemesis's back. "Do you remember what we used to do when you had trouble sleeping?"
Nemesis doesn't respond. She doesn't know why Melinoë would bring this up either. They have reached the point where they give up being at each other’s throats whenever they interact; however, that doesn't mean that Melinoë has a right to talk about what they were. She is not oblivious of the looks Melinoë gives her, and it'd be unfair of her to call them anything but affection.
Sure, she can try to love Melinoë back. But love is of no use to them at all. Melinoë loves Hecate, and look how her love has led her. Nemesis loves her mother, and her love does not free Mother Nyx from Chronos. Her love for Melinoë will not make Melinoë stronger.
"Nem?" Melinoë says. "Are you feeling unwell?" Melinoë begins to stroke her back, as if to offer comfort. She thinks of Melinoë's hands: often smelling of wet earth and herbs she is unfamiliar with. She thinks of Melinoë's fingers and nails: always muddy and tiny, compared to hers. Melinoë likes touching her. Melinoë's touch is never cold.
Indeed, she remembers those thick books Melinoë loved to read to her before they fell asleep under the starry sky, and the way Melinoë ran her fingers in her hair while she was dozing off on Melinoë's lap. She also remembers those sleepless nights when they hung out in the woods. She would watch Melinoë perform her silly nerdy dance in the moonlight. Melinoë would dance and dance and dance until her limbs were spent, and then she would fall into Nemesis' arms to have herself held. They would go skinny-dipping in the crystal clear river after they'd been inside each other.
They are at war, nevertheless; some pleasant memories are not going to assure victory. If Melinoë feels like indulging in nostalgia, she can suit herself. What they shared back then hardly matters to Nemesis anymore. She understands that one day Melinoë will be fed up with her shitty attitude and eventually leaves, just like everyone else. It will be entirely her fault, and she is ready to endure.
Melinoë brushes her hair out of her eyes, and then presses a hand on her forehead. Nemesis almost softens at her gesture.
"I'm simply tired," she croaks. "Leave me alone."