Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Something about the words – about Jack knowing well before her – churned a vile semblance of bitterness in her throat. She swallowed it down, not wanting to ruin anything, but it was still acrid and biting, saying so much more about her place in the world, in theirs than she’d realized. The ache didn’t solidify, but rested and pulsed, like a proportion to rip apart later.
But with nothing needed, with her not required, the youth had little else to give. Her spirit and mettle could only go so far. Her drive and willpower couldn’t streak across through veins and vestiges. Nor could her vehemence. “What about my bat? Then you can have two Barts again,” muffled and mumbled within the fabric of his shirt, meant to be a joke, to be something funny and akin to amusements, rather than these broken, stranded things. “Or a couple of nice rocks.” Mementos and keepsakes of her ramblings and journeys.
Nate’s sincerity wasn’t lost on her either, but for a moment her mind drew blank. The space would be so empty without the constant, unfurling noise, without the cacophony of chaos. It’d be completely different – obscure. Just the sound of the waves rushing against rocks outside. “I can’t think of anything now – but you can surprise me.”
But with nothing needed, with her not required, the youth had little else to give. Her spirit and mettle could only go so far. Her drive and willpower couldn’t streak across through veins and vestiges. Nor could her vehemence. “What about my bat? Then you can have two Barts again,” muffled and mumbled within the fabric of his shirt, meant to be a joke, to be something funny and akin to amusements, rather than these broken, stranded things. “Or a couple of nice rocks.” Mementos and keepsakes of her ramblings and journeys.
Nate’s sincerity wasn’t lost on her either, but for a moment her mind drew blank. The space would be so empty without the constant, unfurling noise, without the cacophony of chaos. It’d be completely different – obscure. Just the sound of the waves rushing against rocks outside. “I can’t think of anything now – but you can surprise me.”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
