AURELIA
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
She doesn't care anymore, does she mean the threat she's just made? Not even in the fucking slightest, but the problem here is that they still both think she'll do it. She can't blame them for that, she has only herself to blame. So when Rigby shrugs his agreement, looking like a cornered, feral animal, offering no smartass remark, she doesn't feel triumphant. It doesn't feel like she's finally won some sort of uphill battle with him. She feels nothing but defeated misery.
"Then it's settled. And for the record?" Her voice... well, it doesn't soften, because she's still angry, but it takes on a much less aggravated tone at least, and there's something there just beneath the surface. Beneath this façade of intimidating anger, she's done for. She's still looking Milo, though her gaze doesn't really meet his anymore, and then it's swooping across to the street rat in front of her, "I don't want to hurt you, or anyone, but clearly-" she cuts herself off, stops the rant of how clearly she'll end up doing it anyway, clearly she's not so good at being good. "Just don't give me a reason, Rigby."
At that, she can finally leave. There's nothing else she can say. She moves past Milo, not even looking at him or pausing to meet his bronze gaze, not wanting to see what he thinks of her in this moment of clear weakness. She snatches up the pack of cigarettes into her bloody hand and disappears up the ladder to the second story of the building.
Upstairs, she sinks into a newly-lit cigarette and starts a shower. She's not ready to wipe the slate clean again, though, doesn't feel as though she should even try. Nobody asked her to, after all. In fact, she believes wholeheartedly there are far more people that don't want her to then there are who do.
She rests on the floor with her back against the wall as she waits for the water to warm up, slowly unfastening her stained gloves while the cigarette dangles from her teeth. Exhaustion starts to creep in. With it, with the sound of nothing but running water, she can feel her strength crumbling. Her lips contort into a grimace as she tries to hold back years' worth of silent, sorry tears.
"Then it's settled. And for the record?" Her voice... well, it doesn't soften, because she's still angry, but it takes on a much less aggravated tone at least, and there's something there just beneath the surface. Beneath this façade of intimidating anger, she's done for. She's still looking Milo, though her gaze doesn't really meet his anymore, and then it's swooping across to the street rat in front of her, "I don't want to hurt you, or anyone, but clearly-" she cuts herself off, stops the rant of how clearly she'll end up doing it anyway, clearly she's not so good at being good. "Just don't give me a reason, Rigby."
At that, she can finally leave. There's nothing else she can say. She moves past Milo, not even looking at him or pausing to meet his bronze gaze, not wanting to see what he thinks of her in this moment of clear weakness. She snatches up the pack of cigarettes into her bloody hand and disappears up the ladder to the second story of the building.
Upstairs, she sinks into a newly-lit cigarette and starts a shower. She's not ready to wipe the slate clean again, though, doesn't feel as though she should even try. Nobody asked her to, after all. In fact, she believes wholeheartedly there are far more people that don't want her to then there are who do.
She rests on the floor with her back against the wall as she waits for the water to warm up, slowly unfastening her stained gloves while the cigarette dangles from her teeth. Exhaustion starts to creep in. With it, with the sound of nothing but running water, she can feel her strength crumbling. Her lips contort into a grimace as she tries to hold back years' worth of silent, sorry tears.
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
