Safety and protection, that was what Harper meant to her now. It was the lifeline that she clung to as her emotions overcame her, carrying her away on a tidal wave of grief and sadness and pain. She cared little about the physical pain - her bruises would heal, and the scratches would fade. No, it was the deeper, psychological scars that terrified her and angered her in equal measure.
She'd never been one to hate anything, so to feel something akin to hatred boiling deep within her was something that, coincidentally, made her hate the man all the more. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but above all, she wanted to go back. Back to who she was before this, back to how she'd felt before this.
But there was no going back. There was only forward.
"I don't - want to be angry," she choked out through her sobs. "I just - I just want -" I just want to be me. But what did that mean, now? Who was she, if not kind, and trusting, and excitable? Who was she if all she wanted to do was hide away where the world could no longer hurt her?
She tried to listen to Harper, she really did, but mostly what she did was feel. His emotions through the bond were strong and steady, an outpouring of love and support that she was sure she'd done nothing to deserve but was grateful for all the same. She tried to focus on that - on her own affection and gratefulness, too, on sending that to Harper in all the ways she couldn't find the words to say.
His love, ironically, was what broke her as much as it saved her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been told that she was loved, and to hear it when she was at her most broken, her most vulnerable, her most unlovable - well, it was too much and just enough all at once. Thanks, Dad, she wanted to say, but it felt too strange and foreign on her tongue, too bold and too intimate and too raw. So she settled for just wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing him tight, as though she might never let him go.
She'd never been one to hate anything, so to feel something akin to hatred boiling deep within her was something that, coincidentally, made her hate the man all the more. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but above all, she wanted to go back. Back to who she was before this, back to how she'd felt before this.
But there was no going back. There was only forward.
"I don't - want to be angry," she choked out through her sobs. "I just - I just want -" I just want to be me. But what did that mean, now? Who was she, if not kind, and trusting, and excitable? Who was she if all she wanted to do was hide away where the world could no longer hurt her?
She tried to listen to Harper, she really did, but mostly what she did was feel. His emotions through the bond were strong and steady, an outpouring of love and support that she was sure she'd done nothing to deserve but was grateful for all the same. She tried to focus on that - on her own affection and gratefulness, too, on sending that to Harper in all the ways she couldn't find the words to say.
His love, ironically, was what broke her as much as it saved her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been told that she was loved, and to hear it when she was at her most broken, her most vulnerable, her most unlovable - well, it was too much and just enough all at once. Thanks, Dad, she wanted to say, but it felt too strange and foreign on her tongue, too bold and too intimate and too raw. So she settled for just wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing him tight, as though she might never let him go.
