I like writing you. You don’t give me a hard time for who I am or what I have to say. We get each other. We understand I can’t help myself and unlike Jared we’re strong enough to face Asthma. We’re smart enough to ache with her until she’s over. I am patient with myself, so I fed all day yesterday. The flavor was everything. It filled the black for the first time in a while. We’re getting close. When we’re free…we’ll finally find a new Libby. The warmth hits my throat and reminds me of her. I’m glad she’s dead but I still miss her.
Asthma is a good wife to me. She takes me places no woman has dared to go beyond. She makes me want and helps me remember to forget.
Jarred. Auntie. Mr. Ashley. Libby.
All of them are ashes in the dirt and dust in the air. I don’t walk or breath with Asthma.
We live. Tonight we’re going to drip again. I will fill her until the burning fades and I become numb from the cold.
To My Truest Self,
We did well. Asthma has her sweet relief, when the warmth pulses on us. A warmth so hot it chokes the burn in my chest and numbs my emotions.
“Show me where you want it,” the whisper tickled my cheek. My finger traced along her jaw and across her collarbone. Each button fell apart at every press until the fabric slid off her shoulders. The skin over her rib cage sank deep like lines etched on a wall for the minutes not lived. Scars were painted tallies for attempted escapes.
“I prefer surprises,” I said. Our fingers intertwined then locked as rough and smooth rubbed together. From back to belly and gripping to slamming her nails clawed the paint. My sweat rolled down the nape of her neck. It ran cool on her chest and leaped from her skin upon thrust. We convulsed.
The hot air in her throat turned cold beneath my knuckles. I kept pushing in the cold rawness as she bled on my numbness. I wanted it to hurt but it wouldn’t feel. I sucked her juices from my cuticles but I couldn’t taste. The empty is too deep. Asthma… needs more.