Becoming

The ocean was angry that day; so was I. It was an irrational type
of anger, it hits you like a bullet train or a ton of bricks. An
unstoppable ache in your heart, red clouding your vision, jittery
shaking and before you know it the bitter tang of salt. Your tears.
The hand that wipes them away is sticky and leaves a warm trail
of red on your face. The coppery taste assaults your nose and
your mouth until you feel inherently evil. You cannot smell the
calm sea breeze but you can hear the violent surf hit the rocks, a
sound that has the power to take you back an hour earlier to
when you felt indestructible; almost god-like. Nasty and
beautiful. Ethereal and hellish. Your hand hurts from the effort,
your back too. You're so young but your body seems old. Your
head pounds, you can't identify if it's from guilt or adrenaline. It's
been a tiring day. A hand reaches for you, also sticky and red.
Long, lithe fingers attached to a delicate, transparent hand. It is
spiritual. The fingers wiggle playfully as they meet with your hand
halfway. In your peripheral you can see a head tilt toward you, the
glint of teeth bared. Animalistic and primal. The waves crash
against the jagged rocks on the shore, a soundtrack to the
ultimate crescendo. Heavy breaths and tilted bodies. Red at your
feet, your heart slows down and you begin to realise that this is
all you've ever wanted, you've ever needed. The hand in yours
drifts down to your waist, holding you loosely. The hesitancy of a
question, waiting for an answer. You grab the arms that hold you

and pull them tightly around you, an anchor. Heavy breathing
hitches ever so slightly and your foreheads meet each other in
the middle. Your breath mingles and smells like love and
protection, tears and blood. They look down at you through their
lashes, a small smile paints their red mouth. You retreat into their
neck, a contented sound out of your loose mouth. They hold you
closer, humming contentedly. 
A kiss is placed to the top of your head, this is almost domestic, a
bond only caused by the cataclysmic event that just unfolded.
Now you see them for what they are. He's beautiful in his fury, his
indignation. Hazy and unfiltered. He's gorgeous. Blood drips
down his face from the crown of his head and his smile is
hysterical and euphoric because of you. Maybe the body on the
floor. The smell of blood has subsided despite the fact you are
covered in it, instead a smell of hope and salty sea breeze
permeates your lungs.