Slow Burn:
With trepidation and a wary eye, she took his bleeding sharpened hand into hers. Marie was careful not to touch the blades. Certain as she was that her own skin could be deadly, Mare knew something so beautiful couldn’t be touched without a price to be paid.
She was sober as a babe, clear minded and calculating when she reached out to spin his collar around. She positioned it so that part of his leather collar was wedged between the metal and his skin. Carefully and quickly, aware that her sense of self was vanishing she gripped his hand with her own.
She met his eyes briefly over their joined hands; her gaze scorched a path along his jaw to his eyes. “Marie.”
Without any further thought of the slow agonizing invasion of the voices that sneak in and claim her sanity, she forced her hands to guide his toward the collar. It was a delicate and awkward procedure that made a clean slice through the metal hinge of his collar, the tough leather of his uniform, and the soft dirty white flesh of her skin.
She ignored the pain as she watched him remove the remains of the collar. Still barely clinging to the last few strings of her sanity, she stared in amazement when his wounds closed before her eyes and marveled at how enjoyable it would be to just heal.
She reached out slowly, so slowly, and touched the smooth skin between his knuckles where the metal knives had appeared. She stared at her own hand, her fingers making contact with someone or the first time in a long time without causing pain and ripping and tearing and sucking and… pretty yellow trim. It pulled her attention to it while she focused another part of her brain on calming the voices, locked it up tight with the rest of her psyche, to keep her safe from herself.
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