|Nephthys (lady_of_night) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2013-10-21 23:17:00
|Entry tags:||nephthys, set|
WHO: Nephthys & Set
WHEN: Tuesday night
WHERE: Set's hotel room
WHAT: Things are going... okay??
WARNINGS: mentions of sex, tbd
When unusual things were happening around mortals (usually good unusual things), they had a habit of saying it must be signaling the end of the world. Nephthys had found that amusing in them, but now she was wondering if there was any truth to that idea.
She and Set were getting along. They were getting along remarkably well, in fact. It was nearly two months since she'd run into her husband at his hotel and gone to bed with him and since then, neither had managed to do something to completely destroy the other emotionally. They'd had a few arguments, but they'd been small fleeting things that had remained on topic instead of flaring into something else (as usually seemed the way with the two of them).
It felt strange and delicate and Nephthys wanted to keep hold of it. She didn't know how long it would last. Sooner or later, one or both of them would make a mess of it.
Nephthys didn't stay with him in his hotel room, as she felt that all their time together would certainly only speed up the inevitable. She returned to her own apartment, texting him throughout the days about mostly unimportant things, and then making sure to ask whether she could come around when she did. It seemed to be working, but Nephthys was always aware that she and Set were precarious. She tried not to think of what he did when she wasn't there, about the things he didn't tell her. She blocked these images from her mind vigorously. The thought of him with other women drove her to madness; that look of need and desire for anyone but her.
Sometimes when the thoughts were stronger than she was, Nephthys consoled her with the knowledge that they couldn't have him like she did. That only she tied his wrists had to bed posts. Only she pinned him to the bed with hands around his throat. Only she was allowed to use such force against him.
(Sometimes a little voice asked her how she could be sure of that at all. Maybe nothing was really hers alone.)
Tonight Nephthys made up way up in the elevator to her husband's room, a bottle of red wine in her hand and a summery ochre dress. She'd texted to say she would be around tonight, not wanting to surprise him, and hoped he'd made sure to remove any evidence of anyone who wasn't her. Nephthys knew she couldn't handle it, even if she was pretending it wasn't happening.