Chapter Text
You hate me. I know you do. Your eyes glimmer at me as your brow knots into a glare, the dark look casting shadows along your sockets. With irises as black as peat, hungrily swallowing the whites of your eyes, it almost looks as though you have no eyes at all. The fire sputtering in the hearth illuminates your lips, pursed in a slight, immovable grimace. Your hands tighten at your sides, shivering with fragile patience. Travis doesn't notice, but I do. I catch the slight glimmer of your teeth as you tsk, peevish and hungry. Hungry as we all are, but for something more as well. I know that, deep in the recesses of your soul, you are more yourself outside than you will ever be in this cabin. I know that you like the sting of gunmetal clinging to your skin from the cold, the gnaw of the wind in your ears. You are wild and free. A huntress in her winter, as you were always meant to become. Diana, cold and holy. My eyes are drawn to your lips again, still pursed with impatience. They peel away along the edges; dry blood crusted to the corners of your mouth. They look painful, wind-chapped and burned from your long days outside. For a moment, I imagine what your lips would taste like. First, they would taste like ice melting down the windowpane of the cabin, stale and bitter. I like to lick the mildewed rim whenever I'm thirsty and condensation pools at the edges of the moss, and I would lick it from your mouth so slowly, so gently. Once the dew was gone, I would taste your skin. Then, I would bite, bite until your lips cracked, trailing my tongue along the ragged flesh of your lower lip. Hold your lower jaw in my teeth like a dog. I'd scrape my molars against my cheeks, maybe lift a hand to gouge my nail into my gums until hot blood trails down my chin. I would give it to you, nudging it into your mouth with my kiss, my copper tongue guiding yours to lick my wounds as your hands glide across my neck-
"Lottie?" You're looking at me, even more irritated than before, glowering. "Are you going to do it, or are we going stand here and keep wasting daylight?"
"Um..." I stare down at the mug of mold-speckled pine needles and murky water in my hands. "Yes. Of course." I draw the hunting knife from my hip and set it against the soft plump of my fingertip, pressing down with enough force to produce a drop of red. I hold it above the cup, watching as it trickles down my raw knuckle and into the liquid below. It undulates for a moment in the water, moving like infection across the surface of the tea. My hair moves over my face like a curtain as I stand still, watching the blood disappear into orange mist.
"Christ, what's with the extra hocus-pocus shit today?" You click your tongue. "Are you reading my tea leaves?"
"Nat-" Travis mutters.
"She needs to hurry up, Travis." You look at me, less annoyed now, but anxious. "We have to go."
"Alright," I breathe. I hand the cup to you and for a moment our fingers meet; yours tough and calloused, mine torn and cold. Flustered, I have to keep myself from running my thumb over your cuticles, clasping your hand in mine. You take my concoction to your lips and take a deep sip, more enthusiastic now then you were when I first presented the ritual to you. A small bead of tea escapes your mouth and trickles down your face. It's so slow, snaking along the supple curve of your chin and dripping from you to the dip of your exposed collarbone. Without thinking, I reach and brush away a falling droplet, my finger lingering on the space beneath your lips. You lower the cup from your mouth and stare at me. Our eyes lock, and for a moment I see blood leaking into your cheeks as you blush, mouth hanging slightly agape. Nervously, I trail my hand down to your collar in an attempt to wipe away the tea on your chest, but you grip my hand and push me away, averting your eyes.
“Your turn, Travis,” you mutter, turning towards the cabin door. Travis watches you for a moment then looks at me, face unreadable. He takes a deep swig, finishing the mug, and wipes the his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Thanks, Lottie.” Seeing that he's ready, you swing the door open on squeaky hinges. An ugly winter breeze fills the cabin, and snow falls across the threshold, sprinkling across the ground like a field of Queen Anne's Lace. Pulling the gun over your shoulder, you glance back at me once, before taking Travis by the arm and slamming the door shut.
When you return empty handed, cold and bitter, I am the one to greet you. Disappointment hangs over your head as a heavy crown, and my stomach groans, dispirited despite myself. You shove me aside and sit defeated by the fire, cupping your fingers around your lips in order to warm your flushed hands.
"Where is everyone?" Your voice is hoarse, as though you'd been screaming. Screaming at the trees, the woods? The Wilderness? Or screaming at yourself?
"Out gathering firewood. And moss. Mari was complaining about the cold again." Cautiously, I approach you, tentatively kneeling at your side. "Where's Travis?" You laugh bitterly.
"We fought. He's probably out there punching a tree or some shit." To my surprise, you lean your shoulder against mine. You sigh, diaphragm shuddering like old leaves. You are so tired. Nervously, I wrap my arm around your shoulders, pelt still dewy from falling snow. Your hair is growing out black, like your eyes. Such a dark woman you are. Reaching down with my remaining arm, I take your hand in mine, rubbing gently to warm you. You tense but gradually relax as I continue to rub along your knuckles, massaging blood back into your bony fingers. Your head flops to the side, and you sigh, nose crinkled in thought. You aren't here with me now; it's clear your mind is still stuck in the woods, roaming. Stalking your next kill. But I hold you closer nonetheless and hope that one day you'll touch me back.