𝖔𝖍, 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑

— and these are the snapshots of kit sloane: a sucker cut to a heart knocking against teeth, petals lingering on depart, the hem of a past lover’s tee grazing the swell of thighs, befriending that which goes bump in the night, wildflowers overcoming a lawn, nocturn a leftover kiss of violet beneath bottom lashes

Kit is unaware of her missing part until she passes a window and peers at the girl reflected back, one sans wings, prompting her mouth to slip to an involuntary gape; the alcohol she had tipped back that night coaxing her more upset than she ought to be. She turns to her company, digits reaching out to coil around a bicep, a bottom lip jutting out to a pout, and she speaks as though it were a limb: “Rain, please tell me you’ve seen my wings? They were here,” a chin tilts to peer behind her, “and poof, they’re gone.” 

.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒  𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐋  in  stella’s  vision  despite  the  lack  of  light  in  the  hallway  .  a  little  pill  long  dissolved  on  her  tongue  brings  forth  a  different  party  of  its  own  nature  ––––  she  welcomes  the  high  ,  the  way  it  tickles  sunkissed  skin  as  a  melodic  voice  fills  the  hall  .  stella  turns  to  who  it  belongs  ,  ruby  lips  curling  into  a  smile  at  the  description  of  the  home’s  occupants  .  “  maybe  if  we’re  lucky  ,  ”  she  whispers  back  with  an  arm  interlocking  through  the  fellow  brunettes  .  stella  doesn’t  question  the  guidance  away  from  the  spot  as  she  floats  on  air  now  set  on  a  new  adventure  .  though  she  shifts  to  lower  her  hand  and  lace  fingers  between  the  other’s  ,  two  temptations  interlocked  and  weaving  their  way  through  the  guests  celebrating  len’s  birthday  .  “  i’ll  be  a  little  disappointed  if  we  don’t  at  least  get  some  type  of  show  tonight  .  ”

.

A moment is all it takes for her heart to plummet to the depths of her stomach, recognition strumming at the sight of the other girl, truly the other girl - the one Kit had watched with envy coating her tongue acidic as Gabe’s hands roamed the girl’s lissome silhouette (in public, without hesitation) with a silken tenderness she had assumed he was not capable of. The girls syllables tug her from the sunken depths of her thoughts, and Kit wished feverishly that her newfound company had been sourness taken ethereal form. “We’ll just have to make sure it happens - we can shove a bunch of them together and hope some confuse it with fate,” it’s an idea sugar-spun, punctuated with a rogue grin at the thought of a game, “who could play cupid better than a saint and a sinner, anyways?” The mirroring sides of the same coin, the pair bound together by the thread of digits elicit the involuntary twist of necks of those they pass, as though magpies coveting that which gleams. Kit leads them down the length of stairs to the main floor where most of those in attendance loitered, “ready to play match maker?” features tilt so her syllables are shared with the raven-haired beauty at her side, though it was unlikely anyone else was listening, or cared enough to. The curve of her chin juts outwards, motioning towards a familiar set of features from across the room, Gabe, unaware, a fetching form of bait, “he’s cute, seems like he’d be into some freaky shit,” liquor bunches her cadence together, illuminates her idea to get to the bottom of what ties he had with the girl at her side as a good one, “see anyone here to set him up with?”   

While she forgets the name of the boy pressing her to the wall shortly after he offers it, she enjoys the rays of his attention nonetheless; against the shell of an ear he calls her an angel, tells her how good she’ll look knowing sin. Irises sweep over the crook of a broad shoulder and stall abruptly on a silhouette she knows best in the dark, and the pace of her pulse lifts to something erratic as he turns. Kit meets a gaze of molten hue and holds it - holds it as a heated mouth of another descends the length of her neck, as digits skim over the bare flesh of her waist. The weight of Gabe’s attention is embers against her skin, and she watches him through heavy lids, amusement tilting her lips to a phantom simper.  

At some point she is hoisted to a table’s surface, and so it is there a willowy frame twists to the music’s pulse; half avoiding the solo cups that litter the surface, some already tipped over and prompting the marble slick. Lashes flutter open and familiarity blooms at the first set of features irises land on: “Luca,” its a saccharine holler, and full lips peel back to a wolfish grin as heat blooms crimson to the curve of cheeks at the sight of him, at the images that briefly muddy her thoughts: the ascent of his touch beneath a sundress, the bend of her silhouette over a counter, how she sends him off with an arrangement for his wife. Kit moves to the tables edge, palms extending to reach towards him, “dance with me!”

. 

Play with me, Laurie. The words sound sweet on her lips, full and pink though her eyes still weep a blinded green when they meet his.  She wants a distraction, any body to fall into so that a boy made of copper and clay might catch sight and taste the same bitter envy.  Laurence hates to be used but she calls him Laurie and the act becomes only that, his body a ship in the night for soft and pretty things. He smiles down at Kit, meets her eyes and holds that look, accepting with a conspirators charm. 

“When did you learn to stroke a man’s ego like that,” he barks without bite, his hands gliding up the soft of her waist and turning her near. He likes this game, likes angling the lithe frame so that her target of envy sees where Laurie’s fingers drift beneath fabric hems, likes the velvet feel of skin so rarely seen. He leans in where she’s pulled him, dipping so the curve of his nose hugs her ear. “Is he worth the aggravation?” Teeth nip the bottom of her ear playfully in punctuation, drawing back with a hungry smile. 

.

Ebony tresses graze bare shoulders of honey hue as Kit’s head shakes, the tip of a tongue presses to the back of teeth with an audible tsk, “I’m being honest,” and though it’s a facade they spin to something gilded, his touch coaxes a reaction that’s genuine: irises gleam like dawn, lids are something heavy. His question nearly tugs her from the satin of desire back to envy’s chartreuse, if not for the contact of canines against flesh. “Maybe,” she looks back to them, then, as though a wound she can’t help but prod, watches Gabe tuck a tress behind an ear before she turns back, “maybe not.” Perhaps it was what she deserved, too: the ease of Sunday mornings, being loved in the light. But grief births something godless, and Kit is enamoured by that which wears night so well, and so her digits lift from the curve of broad shoulders to the thick of a throat, “do you think he’d mind if you touched me like this?” lips tilt upward at the sight, and a chin lifts so their mouths graze in a manner phantom, “or like this?” Fingers press into the back of his neck, guiding him impossibly closer, “let me be yours for the night, Laurie. That, he’d hate.”

with KIT SLOANE:

where: full moon party who: @kitslcane

The party was as successful as Laurie would have expected with Dom behind the wheel.  Neon lights painted patterns across the beach sand, pulsing with the thudding bass of Leo’s dance set. He’d done his fair share of dancing and drinking in turn, stepping in to make a cocktail or two, turning a blonde girl about the beach before stepping away.  It was quite the party but Laurie’s eyes wandered easily, looking for a partner that might better entertain.

“That’s not a look dripping with subtlety, Kit.” He drops the greeting close to her ear, coming behind the florist and her forlorn stare. The target of the brunette’s glower was tall, lean and lightly banned from Mercy’s, draped like silk over the pretty Stella Monroe. They were a full lipped picture together and, seemingly, the source of Kit’s thinly veiled ire. He has to swallow his laugh at the display, touching her arm instead. “Turn. You don’t want them to see you this shade of green, sweetheart.” 

.

Kit is not unfamiliar with envy, a creature that has grazed the bends of ribs on more than one occasion - in adolescence, as classmates use paper mâché to craft gifts for their mothers; in counselling, at those who have confronted their grief; then, as the boy she knows in harsh angles and darkness tucks his claws in for a girl of raven hue. She watches Gabe’s head tip back, his laughter swallowed by the dj’s spew and Kit hates how she can only imagine it’s sound, how it’d taste on her tongue. She is a phantom, an afterthought, the girl to be fucked out of sight, and something acrid sprawls to her tongue at the sight of his affection being shown in the light, in a crowd. 

A familiar lilt elicits a shiver, and molars collect to a clench at the words; had she so easily shrugged on such a role, the girl on the sidelines stewing in jealousy? Like flora to flare, she twists obediently at his syllables, features tilting as she peers up at Laurie, “don’t tell me it was that obvious.” Digits descend to fit between the spaces of his, and she’s tugging them closer - all it would take is the tilt of a chin, a look over a shoulder, and Gabe would see them tethered together, “play with me, Laurie,” a lithe form sways to lean into his touch, and a grin curves at the full of her mouth; in the lustre of neon hue, she appears something feline, “you’d do it better, anyways.”

Engulfed in the heat of bodies, the sea’s depths are a beckon Kit cannot deny - and thus begins the manoeuvre of a lithe form through the crowd. A set of familiar features has her reaching outward, digits threading as they had so many times prior - “Rain,” she grins something luminous, “the ocean misses us, we have to say hi,” she begins to tug him along, trading a neon glow for stray igneous beams the further they stray from the crowd. A dress is haphazardly shrugged off to pool at the rounds of ankles the moment she nears the water, form left in lace alone, and Kit is a siren returning to seafoam as she peers over a shoulder at her other half, “come on, Rainy. I’ll make sure nothing takes a bite.”