ingenius: (winged)
[personal profile] ingenius
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Original, 300 words
You're the worst thing I never wanted


The light catches the gold chain around her neck, making it impossible to ignore. Davood can just make out the anchor shape of the pendant tucked between her breasts. It’s as wide and his thumb, looks heavy and expensive, but he’s never known her to wear anything otherwise. He can’t help but be curious; this isn’t a show piece, it’s tucked safely away, close to her skin, and he wouldn’t have even been able to see it if he wasn’t being a pervert and staring down her shirt.
Davood would have liked to consider himself to well balanced to suffer from jealousy, but he can’t put another name to the rush of hot sour poison that runs through him. He can’t understand it; he’s never been possessive and Mah’s never belonged to anyone—but Davood can’t see past the sudden need to press his fingers into her skin and leave bruises all over her chest and collar, make marks over the delicate sweep of her neck, cover her in purple smudges that make her forget about the heavy anchor around her neck.

“You didn’t like gold. I remember that,” he says because she used to prefer leather and bright beads.

Mah looks up at him slowly, eyes catching the mid-afternoon sun and shimmering with green and gold. “That’s a silly sort of thing to remember about me.” She says. “And you need to stop looking down my shirt.”

Davood shrugs. If he’d ever suffered from any sort of conscience or guilt he wouldn’t have brought her out here. “I’m only looking at what’s on offer.”

That makes her laugh, short and bitter sound that he wasn’t expecting. “My grand-mother is dead and you’re looking down my shirt.”

“You don’t want me to comfort you.” He says honestly. "You don't want anything."

“No, I don’t,” she agrees and stands up, adjusting imaginary wrinkles on her skirt. “And you might want to think about why that is,” she says, and walks back inside to the huddle of mourners.

---

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ingenius

October 2013

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