Now I know there's no one I can trust - I used to think there was
you can tell me that I'm cutthroat but I think you've got your eyes closed
you can tell me that I'm cutthroat but I think you've got your eyes closed
Now Bart is usually better at realizing when he’s being tailed, but he deserves a little forgiveness here aight? He’s not exactly accustomed to pouring rain and sand and weird tropical paradises that look more like they came out of the devil’s mocking imagination. There isn’t even a damn car in sight. So when the shoot registers, his narrow shoulders rise and he casts a sharp look over one, looking like a hunted creature willing to snap at the closest appendage that comes his way.
Except there’s no other soul on this forsaken beach. Bartholomew supposes he can play nice for two seconds to figure out what the hell is going on.
Spinning around to face the other man, he juts his chin out, teeth gritted even as he helps diminish the space between them. It might be a telling sign of abuse, but Bartie doesn’t like to shout even when the rain practically invites it. "Hey yourself. Where th’fuck am I?" Cut to the chase why don’t we?
Except there’s no other soul on this forsaken beach. Bartholomew supposes he can play nice for two seconds to figure out what the hell is going on.
Spinning around to face the other man, he juts his chin out, teeth gritted even as he helps diminish the space between them. It might be a telling sign of abuse, but Bartie doesn’t like to shout even when the rain practically invites it. "Hey yourself. Where th’fuck am I?" Cut to the chase why don’t we?
Feel the fear and swallow back the tears
let weakness disappear
let weakness disappear
BARTHOLOMEW
