Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Suddenly beating his ass in a pillow fight over something very stupid and mundane was all she craved. Seditious and rebellious around mostly nothing at the best of times, her sour mood contracted and contorted into some vicious little entropy, rampaging over to the couch and taking the remaining cushion, jaw clenched and teeth grinding. “Yeah, I do,” she hissed in response, letting the ire sink in and wash over her like an unsettled flame, trying to find where it could incinerate anything in its path.
He feinted, she stepped within, ducking, and blocked his intended diving tackle (she remembered that shit from the ill-fated dodgeball incidents) with the pillow itself. From there, given how he landed directly in front of her, she pummeled at him with all her might, right at his giant, irksome, irritating skull.
He feinted, she stepped within, ducking, and blocked his intended diving tackle (she remembered that shit from the ill-fated dodgeball incidents) with the pillow itself. From there, given how he landed directly in front of her, she pummeled at him with all her might, right at his giant, irksome, irritating skull.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
