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RE: been so numb for so many years - Sunjata - 01-24-2021
Is there anything she can do to help? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what would help other than the fact that he’s a second away from falling apart, from curling up in the bed and trying to pretend that nothing had happened, to keep himself from feeling it too intensely as he tries to rationalize what happened despite there not being any way to rationalize it. But he’s silent for too long, the hand slipping up to his face to the bridge of his nose, to his temples to rub at them even if his hair still drips water.
He curls in on himself, because he can’t cry in front of her – he has to be strong, has to pretend to be strong. He has to slide that mask into place, has to keep that stony, numb, cold composure for as long as it takes. The single breath he takes breaks it apart, however, as it hitches and shudders on the inhale, as his voice wavers and cracks with a simple word. “[say]Okay.[/say]” The wing tucks in tighter and he’s thankful for the darkness of it all, for the hand that covers his eyes to hide the tears that well in his eyes and his throat grows tight enough that it feels raw.
Haai trots in from wherever she’d been, hopping up onto the bed to curl around him with low pitched whines, trying her best to keep him together too and despite her attempts, he still starts to fall apart.
RE: been so numb for so many years - Melita - 01-24-2021
A proverbial hand offered, extended, and then not taken. The inquiry turned into silence, and it felt like a slap in the face.
What part did she even have here? It hurt in ways she couldn’t explain or fathom, piercing and slashing down the columns of her chest, intertwining amidst her ribs. And then nothing all over again – and the rudimentary lifelines she’d harpooned didn’t seem strong enough to endure whatever was occurring. He merely curled in amongst himself, and she was left stranded. [say]“Sorry,”[/say] she said quietly; for a myriad of things. For the circumstances he seemed to continually, stupidly, ridiculously mire himself in. For the weight she’d proffered to pick up, that he seemed incapable of relinquishing. Melita had naught else to give, not in this bizarre bedlam, with injured wings, with mysterious facets, with murderous messages, if he wasn’t going to answer. If he couldn’t.
So she and Fangorn strode out, the embers dying and flickering, closing the door behind them, the misgivings starting all over again.
{FIN}