Mary Magdalene (gospel_of_mary) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2012-12-21 03:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | mary magdalene |
WHO: Mary Magdalene [Narrative, but OPEN to Judas]
WHEN: Wednesday night
WHERE: Mary's apartment
Mary had spent a couple of days at George and Patrick's place and it had been a nice change to have heat and the company that wasn't antagonistic or depressing, but it was also frustrating. Because Mary felt like crap and wanted to properly wallow. She wanted to lament that the Aztec had ignored her, and that it was Christmas, and that she felt like she'd lost the path she thought she'd finally started to find again. She felt like they couldn't understand any of that.
And of top of that, neither of them would sleep with her. She'd tried crawling into Patrick's bed one night and he'd turned her down with a little panicking, babbling then about how Mary was very attractive, yes, but he was dating the most wonderful woman in the world and- Mary had stopped him because the last thing she wanted to hear about was another woman.
Didn't they understand she just wanted the comfort? That hugs were all well and good but that she wanted sex? She wanted them to just give themselves over to her, to share that experience.
But, honestly, what Mary wanted was Huitzilopochtli. Everything else paled in comparison and she knew that it hadn't been his skill as a lover - although she'd gotten him pretty good at that - but that other more horrible reason. That damned L-word.
She wondered if she just went to his home - even without his permission - and simply begged him. She could do it, Mary knew she could. She could get down on her knees and crawl for him. She could offer up her body and tell him that it was his, that he could break her and hurt her for the way she made him betray himself. If that was what he needed to do, Mary would be happy to become a thing for his aggression if only it meant to still be touched by him.
The Magdalen pulled her coat tighter as she walked the blocks between George's apartment and her own, and furiously berated herself for all of her weaknesses. It was something Mary was very talented at.
At a set of stoplights she waited with a crowd of strangers, closing her eyes and remembering the Hummingbird's hands pinning her down against the bed, remembering his strength and his teeth against her skin. She shivered.
Stop it, Mary told herself firmly. Stop doing this to yourself, you stupid stupid girl!
She forcibly dragged her mind away from the images in her head - both delicious and heartrending - and instead pulled out her phone to text Judas as she walked to tell him she was home. He got wallowing.
She wondered, as she put her phone away, if they were becoming friends? But, no, thinking about him now brought up that familiar contradiction of hate and nostalgia. The man who'd been her best friend. The man who'd took Him away from them. She didn't imagine the two of them would ever be friends again, but he understood guilt and right now that was enough.
At her building, Mary pulled down the ladder on the fire escape and started the climb, her fingers burning with cold against the metal as she did so. She had to be careful climbing in the window now, the broken pane now leaving a sharp piece jutting up into the air. She caught her reflection in it now, cheeks red from the walk in the cold and hair gone redder as well. (She didn't know why that was. Her hair always went red and grew long on her feast day, but a lot of things changed on her feast day. But why red now? The Hummingbird? Christmas? Belief changing?)
She pulled the window open and took that girl away. It was better when she couldn't see herself.
Inside it was cold, and Mary already missed the warmth of George's apartment. But at least this place was her own. A shithole, but her shithole. Under the sink, Mary looked for alcohol but found nothing but a couple of empty bottles. With a sigh she filled a glass with water and went to collapse on the bed, watching the ceiling and trying to consciously slow her body down and deny the cold. Instead she listened to the sound of the city outside: the cars, the people, the thrum of humanity at its best and worst.