AURELIA
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
Aurelia's steps have begun to falter every now and then, but she pushes on anyway, lurching forward with Rigby's arm across her broadened shoulders. Her hand squeezes around his wrist with a subconsciously vicelike grip.
Her anger has not dissipated with time and expelled energy. It continues to pulse through her, renewed with every step that takes her towards the safety of Milo's loft. She hasn't said anything to Rigby, not by way of apologies or further explanation, not by way of much at all.
They hobble onto the porch and Aurelia practically strikes the doorknob, realizing that it's unlocked and that would mean Milo is home. She pauses, but there's a bloody bum clinging to her for help so she doesn't waste much more time on being relieved or regretting. How she feels doesn't really matter now.
The front door swings open and Aurelia heaves Rigby inside, grunting with the effort. Milo is, indeed, home; he's right at the front of the shop, working on something or other. Aurelia can't really tell what; it's hard to pay attention to the details at the current moment.
"Heyy, Milo! You're home. Good," she manages, strained voice taking on a lighter tone that's ill-placed, "I brought ya somethin'." She then manhandles Rigby into the nearest chair, as if in emphasis.
Her anger has not dissipated with time and expelled energy. It continues to pulse through her, renewed with every step that takes her towards the safety of Milo's loft. She hasn't said anything to Rigby, not by way of apologies or further explanation, not by way of much at all.
They hobble onto the porch and Aurelia practically strikes the doorknob, realizing that it's unlocked and that would mean Milo is home. She pauses, but there's a bloody bum clinging to her for help so she doesn't waste much more time on being relieved or regretting. How she feels doesn't really matter now.
The front door swings open and Aurelia heaves Rigby inside, grunting with the effort. Milo is, indeed, home; he's right at the front of the shop, working on something or other. Aurelia can't really tell what; it's hard to pay attention to the details at the current moment.
"Heyy, Milo! You're home. Good," she manages, strained voice taking on a lighter tone that's ill-placed, "I brought ya somethin'." She then manhandles Rigby into the nearest chair, as if in emphasis.
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
