flora
Upstairs, Flora sets her tea down on the nightstand with a quiet clink, rubbing at her eyes as she sits at the edge of the bed. She exhales, long and slow, trying to let go of the weight sitting heavy in her chest, but it lingers stubbornly, curling in her ribs like smoke that refuses to dissipate. Stupid Jack and his stupid dress. She almost convinces herself to just climb under the covers and let whatever’s happening downstairs sort itself out—until she hears his voice.
Remi.
Her stomach twists; she’s not in the mood for this. Not for whatever well-intentioned but ultimately exhausting and offensive concern her father might have decided to bring to her doorstep tonight. Not when she’s already raw, not when she’s barely managed to shove her feelings down far enough to function.
Mateo is more than capable of handling whatever this is, but still—she doesn’t want him caught in the crossfire of something that has nothing to do with him, or worse still, to be the target of whatever is on their dad's mind.
"Mateeeeooo," she calls out in a voice that's a touch needy, hoping to cut short whatever conversation is happening downstairs.
Remi.
Her stomach twists; she’s not in the mood for this. Not for whatever well-intentioned but ultimately exhausting and offensive concern her father might have decided to bring to her doorstep tonight. Not when she’s already raw, not when she’s barely managed to shove her feelings down far enough to function.
Mateo is more than capable of handling whatever this is, but still—she doesn’t want him caught in the crossfire of something that has nothing to do with him, or worse still, to be the target of whatever is on their dad's mind.
"Mateeeeooo," she calls out in a voice that's a touch needy, hoping to cut short whatever conversation is happening downstairs.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
