Idiot - TG

Pain.

Pain sliding underneath my skin, moving through my flesh like water; it hurts. That's why they call it pain. The idea sounds so ridiculously funny now, I want to laugh, but I can't. If I laugh I think I'll die.

He's standing over me, so I smile at him, soft and sweet. It doesn't hurt so much to smile. The only thing that hurts is the bullet lodged inside my chest, its end wiggling slightly out of my breasts. If I jiggle enough for him, will the lead pop out and drift down below? Will he keep it as a souveneir? Will he care enough to do it?

I don't know; I kept him as a pet. He was a good pet, my human boy. I think I loved him. I just didn't expect to die for him.

"You're crying," he whispers, stroking at my eye. I laugh, then; it hurts, like I thought it would, It makes my chest jiggle, and my breasts wiggle, and my hands tremble and clench, because the bullet is squeezing against me with every move. There's a trickle of blood sliding up, which he needs to be careful of; it'll attract predators soon. He'll die, soon. I want to laugh again at that. He's going to die because of my wound.

"You can't see tears underwater." It's a whisper; a croak. He can't hear it. I don't think he'd want to. It's useless to whisper something like that, right? There's no point to it. I'm going to die. I don't want to die.

"You protected me."

"Idiot." Why am I saying something like this?

Because he's my pet? Because I slammed my tail into him when he talked too much? Because I pinched his cheek when he was being cute? Because he's a human, below me, beneath me, worthy only of being crushed upon? I don't know if I even believe it.

"I just got in the way of the gun, that's all."

Lies. I'm always telling lies. I saw in front of him. I didn't want him to die. But all I could do was get shot, and it almost left my chest to strike him anyway.  I wouldn't even die with a  perfect front, all because I tackled him. I should say that. I should.

"You stink as a pet. Idiot. Go flying back to your world, would you? You're going to get yourself killed down here."

I'm the idiot. I want to hug him. I want to hold him. I won't to stroke that brown hair and kiss that concerned mouth and snuggle myself against those tight hips of his, and oooh, I want to sleep with him so bad. I want to do the immortal, the wrong, the strange.

I want to tell him I love him.

"This is your chance, right? Idiot! You think I'll let you go if I live?"

No. I'd hold him. Hold him forever and never let him go. Hug him tightly and squeeze the life from his bones. Kiss him nightly. Never let him go.

He looks so concerned. I think he's crying, too. That makes no sense. Nothing makes sense.

Why is there a pain in my chest? Why does it hurt like this? Why is there a human above me? Why? I can't remember. I can't remember why it matters. I can't remember why I want to cry.

My chest hurts so bad.

"Idiot," I whisper; I wonder why.
My vision's going funny. There's blood drifting above me. Something bad is going to happen. Something,. Something. Something is sliding across my tail.

There's a human there; or did I just say that? The world is fading away. I don't want my last thought to be "there's a human there." He's pressing his fingers against me, though, and whispering something, and his hands are glowing. "I won't let you die, I won't let you die, I won't let you die."

I don't want to die. But I don't want him to die. I don't want him to die. I don't want him to die. I don't want him to die, but his hands won't stop glowing.

It hurts so much, but I don't want him to die.

"Leave. Idiot. Don't."

"I won't let you die!"

He's glowing. His entire body is glowing. There's hair flowing down his back, and his stomach is collapsing, and his sides are coming in. His chest is distorted, the water fuzzy, his nipples pressing out. There's a drop of red on his chest.

His legs are moving inwards, his manhood falling into the void of them, fading into the flesh as it twists itself together. I recognize the pale gash of womanhood across his tail, and my eyes jerk upwards to the wiggling breasts, and upwards again to the flying hair around a face; it's like my face. But different; and there's a wound in the middle.

"Half your pain for half your genetics," he whispers. "We'll both live now, unless something bad happens…"

But something bad is going to happen. Our blood will attract things, and we'll die. Unless someone comes, we'll both die. Right here. Right now. He's destroyed himself for nothing.

We're both going to die. Oh god, he's going to die.

"…Idiot. I'm not even into girls."