LOCKE
Driving faster in my car
Falling farther from just what we are
Falling farther from just what we are
To say he's confused would be an understatement. He honestly thought he was being pathetic, a dog begging for a bone he'd never get. But then sandy hands are slipping into his hair and pulling him back down. The kiss tastes like booze and anger and sadness, a finality he's suddenly very afraid of. There had been some security in knowing she didn't feel for him the way he felt for her. Some kind of safety in not totally having to be there, be known. But it's too late now, they've said their words and made their choices.
She chose him. She's an idiot. She doesn't know what kind of person he is. He's been lying, playing a game he never thought he'd actually have a chance at. He takes a shaky breath as he looks down at her, searching for some kind of rejection, some kind of push back. But he doesn't find it. She's serious. She wants him. His heart is racing as the nerves bubble up in him again. The vacuum of anger is only filled by the need to get away.
His fingers dig into the sand as he forces himself to stay. It takes him a minute to gulp down the urge to run but he manages, just barely. He leans down to press another kiss to her lips, soft, proper. "I don't care if you love someone else, if you fuck someone else. Just don't let them hurt you like he has. Don't let me hurt you like he has." It's a plea, a warning, something, he's not sure.
Another breath passes and he rolls off of her, flopping into the sand before finding her hand. He laces their fingers together, trying to find some kind of connection, some kind of tether. They keep breaking everything down and rebuilding it. It might be stronger but he wonders if the cracks are growing bigger. How long before it's all just dust?
She chose him. She's an idiot. She doesn't know what kind of person he is. He's been lying, playing a game he never thought he'd actually have a chance at. He takes a shaky breath as he looks down at her, searching for some kind of rejection, some kind of push back. But he doesn't find it. She's serious. She wants him. His heart is racing as the nerves bubble up in him again. The vacuum of anger is only filled by the need to get away.
His fingers dig into the sand as he forces himself to stay. It takes him a minute to gulp down the urge to run but he manages, just barely. He leans down to press another kiss to her lips, soft, proper. "I don't care if you love someone else, if you fuck someone else. Just don't let them hurt you like he has. Don't let me hurt you like he has." It's a plea, a warning, something, he's not sure.
Another breath passes and he rolls off of her, flopping into the sand before finding her hand. He laces their fingers together, trying to find some kind of connection, some kind of tether. They keep breaking everything down and rebuilding it. It might be stronger but he wonders if the cracks are growing bigger. How long before it's all just dust?
Smoke a cigarette and lie some more
These conversations kill
These conversations kill
