Little Lost Girls

Of all the fucking luck... She was fine yesterday, right? Harls, that is. All chirpy and chipper as hell, waking me up with singing and dancing around. Fucking adorable. And no, no matter what she's posted or going to post, I don't blame her for any of this shit. I chose to go with her. That's not the point though, is it? It's fucking nice to have little moments of happy.

Too bad that got thrown in the crapper today. She's sick as fuck again, coughing up blood, puking, weak as a baby, the works. I had to call her bitch-ass withered-tit cunt of a fucking manager today and tell her she couldn't come in. Contrary to what you might think, I was fucking nice about it, even though she was a bitch. Didn't want to get her fired, after all. Yeah, oh, Darts being nice. Anyone reading this probably thinks I'm a cunt, and I know it.

Well, I am. Anyway, I'm taking care of Harls right now, as best I can. This shit happens. Kind of cycles, though it's been getting worse over the last month or two. And of course it definitely gets worse under certain circumstances.

Treat the symptoms as best we can. I fucking hate seeing her like this. It's not fair that she takes the brunt of this shit. It's not. But it always seems to happen that way. It's always less for me. But I take care of her, and that's what fucking matters. We'll get through this, just like the other times.

It's okay... We'll be fucking fine, at least to an extent. She'll be fine tomorrow or the next day. That's just the way these things go. We've ridden it out before. Until then, I get to be the sexiest fucking nurse in ripped up jeans ever, right?

-Darts

Thunder

It's the spell that I'm under.

 You know Dartsy's not this aggressive, paranoid, angry, defensive bitch all the time. Even though it's really, absofuckinglutely adorable when she is. She's not always up on her haunches with a stick up her bum. I promise. In fact, it's like as not my fault she's all uppity like she is now.

I know, I know. She'd reject that idea outright, but we all know it's me that started this. It's me. (Don't let her denial of the fact confuse you.)

I can recall times when she'd just... when it was just her and me and an empty house that was way too big for just the two of us. It was before... before he'd come back for me. When I was still blissfully unaware of the fact that nightmares can cross over with reality and one uncle's madness can become his niece's in a short amount of time...

But that's something I want to save for another time. I don't have to tell it yet, so I'd really prefer not to. This post is meant for something... softer.

I see lightning crash.


Soft things and soft times - like her fingertips following my skin from forehead to the very tips of my toes, not even taking advantage of the fact that I'm fully exposed for her. Like when our heads were light enough for us to waste time of that sort of physicality.

She waited. She never forced me to do anything I didn't want to. She asked every step of the way. She made sure I was comfortable. She treated me right. She still treats me right. We just don't have... all the time anymore for it.

When she finally took advantage of the fact that I was just bare skin under her touch, it felt like it had been forever. It felt like she'd been worshiping and asking for permission since the beginning of time (or puberty, probably just since the beginning of my hormonal period in puberty).

And you know how people say you're not ready, you're never ready, you can't just give something like that up willy-nilly to the first girl that offers? Well, they lied. I knew damn well that I was ready and that the first girl who'd offered... well she was the one I'd wanted to give it to. And she was there for me. She wasn't there for her, but for me.

Oh how our love flashes.

And you know another thing 'they/the general populous/the ignorance of the earth' says is that I'm still a virgin. That because she's not a man, it doesn't count. But... it was the purest emotion I've ever felt. And it was freedom. I've never been so close to flight... to bliss... as compared to when I'm with my Darcy. She's soft. For me, underneath her prickly porcupine bum, she's as soft as a bed of down feathers.

~Harls