Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
Evie notes, distantly, the small touches Wessex allows herself. She is grateful in a similarly distant way that Sam had not been alone even after Evie had left. She had never suspected he would be, but now…now he’s dead, gone, without ever having known why she’d done it. Without hearing all the things she’d discovered about herself. It’s worse than being robbed of a proper goodbye.
There are names and explanations, all the things she’d asked for, and yet when they’re delivered they don’t penetrate the cotton that seems to enshroud her entire being. Her hand feels clammy where it lies over Sam’s, but the rest of her body is too warm.
Loved. He was loved. It’s a sentiment that means more than Wessex likely intends, but it spears through the numbness like a lance. Tears slowly spill over the Evergreen’s lashes, streaking down her cheeks quietly. “That was all he ever wanted,” she whispers, a strangled quality to her voice. Her brow draws tight, pain in the lines of her face, curling forward towards the bed as if she is the one wounded. Everything in her chest burns. She remains that way until she can finally force a breath in, lightheaded with how she can’t seem to manage one as she bites back the noises her grief tries to form into. Almost panting, Evie tries to get herself under some semblance of control, some half-buried conditioning chiding her for being such a mess in front of an acquaintance. “How many more do we have to lose?” she grits out, cheeks ruddy with a rising temper that she’d never outgrown.
There are names and explanations, all the things she’d asked for, and yet when they’re delivered they don’t penetrate the cotton that seems to enshroud her entire being. Her hand feels clammy where it lies over Sam’s, but the rest of her body is too warm.
Loved. He was loved. It’s a sentiment that means more than Wessex likely intends, but it spears through the numbness like a lance. Tears slowly spill over the Evergreen’s lashes, streaking down her cheeks quietly. “That was all he ever wanted,” she whispers, a strangled quality to her voice. Her brow draws tight, pain in the lines of her face, curling forward towards the bed as if she is the one wounded. Everything in her chest burns. She remains that way until she can finally force a breath in, lightheaded with how she can’t seem to manage one as she bites back the noises her grief tries to form into. Almost panting, Evie tries to get herself under some semblance of control, some half-buried conditioning chiding her for being such a mess in front of an acquaintance. “How many more do we have to lose?” she grits out, cheeks ruddy with a rising temper that she’d never outgrown.
Or did you just never want to be alone?
