did goodbye mean letting go?
The soil clinging to his hands doesn’t deter her in the least, the blood caked and itchy on her own skin mixing with it in poetic symbolism as he takes her hand in his and pulls her away from the shallow grave.
Nobody bothers them on their way up the stairs to the House, though the door is held for them by the man who had run for Sunjata on Hotaru’s urgent command. Ru doesn’t let her eyes divert from the path directly in front of her, willfully blinding herself to anything but their feet, the stairs, the necessary steps to get them behind closed doors. Even then it’s a bit of a haze until they’re in the bathroom, their snow-drenched, bloodstained, and dirt-smeared clothes crumpling to the floor in wet, shapeless lumps.
Her hands cling to him, pulling him with her into the spray of the shower - hot enough her skin turns pink readily beneath it, needing it just shy of scalding in the vain hopes of scouring the memories from her skin. It stings the cut on her arm and the half-healed stab wound in her side, but it’s merely excess pain to help drown the questions arising through the cotton of shock.
With the water pelting down against her spine and plastering her hair against her skin, she wraps her arms around Sunjata’s waist and huddles between his arms, forehead pressed to his sternum. Here, she can only hear his heartbeat and the steady, rhythmic pour of water over their bodies. She counts the seconds it takes for the water to rinse him clean and make him smell like himself again, free of anything that might inspire recollections of the horror that just transpired. She doesn’t move from there, certain there’s nowhere safer than this small tub, these locked doors, Sunjata’s arms around her. Leaving is an eventuality she can’t even force herself to envision. And all the while, her tongue sticks behind her teeth, feeling robbed of more than just her words.
Nobody bothers them on their way up the stairs to the House, though the door is held for them by the man who had run for Sunjata on Hotaru’s urgent command. Ru doesn’t let her eyes divert from the path directly in front of her, willfully blinding herself to anything but their feet, the stairs, the necessary steps to get them behind closed doors. Even then it’s a bit of a haze until they’re in the bathroom, their snow-drenched, bloodstained, and dirt-smeared clothes crumpling to the floor in wet, shapeless lumps.
Her hands cling to him, pulling him with her into the spray of the shower - hot enough her skin turns pink readily beneath it, needing it just shy of scalding in the vain hopes of scouring the memories from her skin. It stings the cut on her arm and the half-healed stab wound in her side, but it’s merely excess pain to help drown the questions arising through the cotton of shock.
With the water pelting down against her spine and plastering her hair against her skin, she wraps her arms around Sunjata’s waist and huddles between his arms, forehead pressed to his sternum. Here, she can only hear his heartbeat and the steady, rhythmic pour of water over their bodies. She counts the seconds it takes for the water to rinse him clean and make him smell like himself again, free of anything that might inspire recollections of the horror that just transpired. She doesn’t move from there, certain there’s nowhere safer than this small tub, these locked doors, Sunjata’s arms around her. Leaving is an eventuality she can’t even force herself to envision. And all the while, her tongue sticks behind her teeth, feeling robbed of more than just her words.
and did letting go mean forever?
HOTARU
