Maea
I feel it in the wind, my dear
The sun is gonna reappear
The sun is gonna reappear
Her eyes stung with the lingering salt of her tears. Swollen and puffy eyelids felt sticky whenever she remembered to blink. She should go wash her face. Moving didn't happen though. Her body was numb and disobedient to the sluggish trickle of thoughts; her insides were raw and bruised, but whether those innards were the physical guts and muscles and working organs, or the halting machinery of her mind was hard to know. A bit of both, likely. It was not often that she cried like this. Tearing up, sure - it was almost commonplace these days, where getting in touch with her emotions was growing easier. But not this. This was a purge, a lancing of wounds, the result of bottling up and holding back for years.
Numb, listless, Maea sat with the dark and childish parts of herself that so rarely were allowed room to play. The part that relished in her own misery. That cried for the attention of the woman she had asked for help, and took savage pleasure in being willful and difficult and unresponsive. Part of her stubbornly refused to react when the door creaked open, and huffed in offended indignation when Thalassa immediately left again. Was that it, then? She would just roll through like a wrecking ball, then leave to let Maea pick up the pieces of her life on her own, all over again?
Fine. That was fine. She'd just stay alone. Everyone could just fuck off and do whatever; she was done caring. Done trying. If it was her fate to be alone then she'd fucking stay alone too!
Of course, she had asked her to go. So it really should annoy her more that the woman had lingered at all. Had she heard her, through the door? Gods, that was embarrassing. So humiliating!
By the time she returned, Maea had all but decided that she was done reacting to anything ever again. Her awareness of the soft footfalls approaching refused to fall away however. She felt the presence encroach on her space, and the waft of air of the blanket being cast over her, followed by the gentle weight against her skin; it was only her refusal to move that kept her from shrugging the thing off like a sullen child who had just thrown a tantrum.
Quiet clicks of porcelain against stone preceded the floral scent of tea. It teased her senses, taunting her inability to disconnect in the same way that the blanket prevented her from reveling in the cold. Why was she not allowed to remain miserable? Why did she have to accept all this softness, all this sticky, touchy, insufferable kindness?
She didn't want it. Didn't need it. Hadn't asked for it and didn't know what to do with it even if she had.
Slowly, reluctantly, like it was the most insufferably humiliating thing she'd ever had to do, she picked up the mug of tea. Cradled it in her hands, until the prickling heat had seeped deep enough into her digits that she could feel them again.
Maea didn't look at Thalassa. That would be too much. She didn't really do anything but sip at the brew, until she finally found the right, the proper word that summed up exactly what she felt about the pirate and self-proclaimed therapist at that exact moment.
"Cunt." It was heartfelt.
Numb, listless, Maea sat with the dark and childish parts of herself that so rarely were allowed room to play. The part that relished in her own misery. That cried for the attention of the woman she had asked for help, and took savage pleasure in being willful and difficult and unresponsive. Part of her stubbornly refused to react when the door creaked open, and huffed in offended indignation when Thalassa immediately left again. Was that it, then? She would just roll through like a wrecking ball, then leave to let Maea pick up the pieces of her life on her own, all over again?
Fine. That was fine. She'd just stay alone. Everyone could just fuck off and do whatever; she was done caring. Done trying. If it was her fate to be alone then she'd fucking stay alone too!
Of course, she had asked her to go. So it really should annoy her more that the woman had lingered at all. Had she heard her, through the door? Gods, that was embarrassing. So humiliating!
By the time she returned, Maea had all but decided that she was done reacting to anything ever again. Her awareness of the soft footfalls approaching refused to fall away however. She felt the presence encroach on her space, and the waft of air of the blanket being cast over her, followed by the gentle weight against her skin; it was only her refusal to move that kept her from shrugging the thing off like a sullen child who had just thrown a tantrum.
Quiet clicks of porcelain against stone preceded the floral scent of tea. It teased her senses, taunting her inability to disconnect in the same way that the blanket prevented her from reveling in the cold. Why was she not allowed to remain miserable? Why did she have to accept all this softness, all this sticky, touchy, insufferable kindness?
She didn't want it. Didn't need it. Hadn't asked for it and didn't know what to do with it even if she had.
Slowly, reluctantly, like it was the most insufferably humiliating thing she'd ever had to do, she picked up the mug of tea. Cradled it in her hands, until the prickling heat had seeped deep enough into her digits that she could feel them again.
Maea didn't look at Thalassa. That would be too much. She didn't really do anything but sip at the brew, until she finally found the right, the proper word that summed up exactly what she felt about the pirate and self-proclaimed therapist at that exact moment.
"Cunt." It was heartfelt.
Good days are gonna come along
Hold on, hold on!
Hold on, hold on!
