Divorce | Desmond & Mona Libera (itsnotyouitsme) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-08-14 22:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | divorce |
Who: Divorce (itsnotyouitsme) [Narrative]
What: Coming to terms, greeting the day.
When: Backdated to early Tuesday morning.
Where: Here and there on the west coast.
Warnings: Nothin'.
One god, two people, one body. They had done it for centuries. It was their life, their intricate dance, their shared breath.
One god, two people, two bodies. That was new, and as frightening as it was exhilarating. How to handle the change? How to make it work? After sharing life and livelihood for so long, what to do with such blisteringly raw independence? Divorce didn't know. Unsure and aching, each hid their uncertainties as best they could. They were still gods, still the same god. Desmond and Mona were still Desmond and Mona Libera, and they remained Divorce.
Ah, but what of their other halves? There was a sense of something, a faint tickling at the back of their minds which neither was quite willing to explore. As with all things, it wound up being a matter of time.
Desmond waited until the wee hours of the morning, when the sun was just edging over the Californian horizon and threatening the day with hard August heat. Lust -- his Sin, his love -- was curled up in bed and sleeping. There had been supper on the beach, and then she had said his name a certain way, looked at him, smiled, and he couldn't help himself. He couldn't bear to be without contact for long. Desmond threw the shreds of his dignity to the wind when he came before her and begged wordlessly. He had her on the sand, said her name a hundred times over in every language he knew, worshiping outside his own religion even as the New God kissed her bloody lips and tasted sacrament.
When they went back to the villa and latched on to one another like sleepy children, Desmond splayed the fingers of one hand across Lust's belly and wondered silently into the dark. Three hours later, he sat outside on a lounge chair and watched the new day arrive. Tired but unable to rest, he dialed his cell phone without thinking.
Mona was awake when her own phone went off, vibrating its way across the nightstand and nearly to the floor before the goddess caught it. She had spent the past few hours staring at the ceiling of her room, caught up in rumpled sheets with a hand wound through her bedmate's hair. Cautious and quiet, she disentangled herself before padding across the suite and to a window. The Goddess of Divorce answered her phone without a word, listening into the dark as she twitched a curtain aside to examine the dawn.
Neither one of them spoke. They both knew who was on the other end. The silence was, in a way, a comfort unto itself.
Divorce listened to one another breathe, slow and measured. Calm, like their synchronized heartbeats. While Mona pressed her forehead to the glass, free hand balled into a fist and held tight to her chest, Desmond closed his eyes, his palm resting flat just below his throat. Time passed. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to the better part of an hour.
Finally, Mona broke the silence. "I hate you," she murmured. Her voice was chipped ice: hard and cold, deceptively fragile.
"Me, too," Desmond smiled. He said it like normal people confessed to love.
"Later," Divorce promised.
"Later," Divorce agreed.
"Good night, Desmond."
"Good morning, Mona."
Sleep came much easier after that.