Two women lie in bed, exhausted but awake.
Both hearts feel full yet empty. Heavy yet light.
Is that even possible? Eve thought and then turned her head to the woman beside her.
Of course, it is possible.
Love is complex. It is a lot of things, all rolled up into one, always too much but never enough.
Her gaze fell on a pair of bloodied hands, one clutching a knife.
And then to a face, her smirky, annoying pretty face now brimming with panic. There’s a bit of blood on it too, not hers.
There are too many questions in Eve’s mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask them, words fail her.
Ask me, Eve! Villanelle screams in her head . Why are my hands bloody? Who did I kill? Why did I kill?
Villanelle turns to look at her and is met with an unfathomable gaze. Fear creeps in, what if she doesn’t want me anymore?
Too many thoughts between them but no words were spoken.
Hearts full yet empty.
Maybe their hearts feel full because of the weight of the words they couldn’t say.
Maybe their hearts feel empty because of the words they long to hear but never spoken.
But this is love.
This is their love.
It’s like a human body, tender in some parts and rough with jagged edges in some, but perfect, nevertheless.
This is how they love.
A chaos of contradictions, twice as destructive, yes, but they have always been able to handle each other’s crisis.
But to what extent?
I just killed someone, Eve. Tell me you will still love me.
She’d perfectly understand it if Eve walked away after this. She’d perfectly understand but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt. She’s going to be beyond broken.
It scares her, the thought of existing in this world without Eve.
Eve stares at Villanelle. She notices the fear in her eyes.
She wants to say something, but she doesn't know what to say.
Instead, she reaches for her face and wipe the blood on it with the pad of her thumb.
Words may fail her, words may betray her, but Eve knows, actions will never betray both of them.
She reaches for Villanelle’s bloodied hands. She holds her, tight, warm, and loved.
Like telling her this is mine too, this sin, this kill, this is mine too.
She handles Villanelle’s darkness in her hands, now both their hands are stained with it.
The unspoken assurance that it is okay, I accept you, I love you fills the room.
Your monsters are mine as much as it is yours.
Words unsaid but heard.
If this isn’t love, then who cares?
This is how they love.