flora
She swallows hard at the unexpected gentleness in his voice, her own head moving in a faint mirror of his. "Of course I couldn’t let go," she murmurs, because how could she, when everything in her life had been stitched through with him in one way or another? But the words barely leave her before the rest hits—other names in her head—and she has to move, has to make space for what is inevitably coming, because she can’t breathe without every shift of her hips pressing skin against skin into him.
Sliding to the side, she drags herself against the wall, fingers fumbling for the sheets shoved to the foot of the bed. She pulls them up roughly, over her own bare skin and tossed halfway across him as well. Knees drawn tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them, she feels suddenly small, stripped raw, one wrong word away from tears.
Her voice comes out low, almost mumbled against the curtain of curls falling around her face. "I know you know I slept with Kai." She stops there, biting the inside of her cheek until it stings. It’s not how she ever thought she'd say it—honestly never thought it would come up—but at the mention of other names in her mind, there's only one Jack could be talking about.
Her eyes flick sideways to him, bright and glassy. "But nothing’s changed since the House of Midnight." The words scrape out of her, because she feels that heartbreak all over again, the tenderness of it, the devastation of looking inside his mind and seeing how it worked, how there could never be space for her. His thoughts had been a spider’s web she could never untangle, sticky and intricate and full of threads that weren’t hers, that he both couldn't and wouldn't ever clip.
A tear slips down her cheek as she squeezes her knees tighter. "You called us impossible, Jack," she whispers, her voice trembling like it might break apart. "And now you fuck me a few times and suddenly everything has changed?" But had it? Because here they were, failing at yet another hard conversation with Jack gesturing toward the door and Flora in tears.
Sliding to the side, she drags herself against the wall, fingers fumbling for the sheets shoved to the foot of the bed. She pulls them up roughly, over her own bare skin and tossed halfway across him as well. Knees drawn tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them, she feels suddenly small, stripped raw, one wrong word away from tears.
Her voice comes out low, almost mumbled against the curtain of curls falling around her face. "I know you know I slept with Kai." She stops there, biting the inside of her cheek until it stings. It’s not how she ever thought she'd say it—honestly never thought it would come up—but at the mention of other names in her mind, there's only one Jack could be talking about.
Her eyes flick sideways to him, bright and glassy. "But nothing’s changed since the House of Midnight." The words scrape out of her, because she feels that heartbreak all over again, the tenderness of it, the devastation of looking inside his mind and seeing how it worked, how there could never be space for her. His thoughts had been a spider’s web she could never untangle, sticky and intricate and full of threads that weren’t hers, that he both couldn't and wouldn't ever clip.
A tear slips down her cheek as she squeezes her knees tighter. "You called us impossible, Jack," she whispers, her voice trembling like it might break apart. "And now you fuck me a few times and suddenly everything has changed?" But had it? Because here they were, failing at yet another hard conversation with Jack gesturing toward the door and Flora in tears.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
