my held breath fills the room with blood
hurting in ways I can't describe
If he thinks his pitiful countenance and limp attempts to turn but not stand as she had instructed will endear him to her, he is wrong. She clings to this affront like a shield, wielding it against him like a sword, and yet still finds herself feeling bare and shaken when his eyes meet hers. He looks positively pitiful, and though it tugs on her heartstrings she refuses to let it show on her face. He has nobody to blame but himself for his bad decisions, this meeting already shaping up to be one of them. "You are married to the Dean of the Medical College and still can't bother to take care of whatever is ailing you," she scolds softly, perhaps a tad too softly for the bite she wants to imitate. "You think this is how I want to see you?" Weak? Broken? She wants to see him hurt for what he has made her feel, but this? This only makes her scoff, because she knows he is capable of so much more. So much better. It is easier to feel contemptuous than to feel the urge to draw him into her arms and secret him away from the mess he has made.
Sunjata does not meet her eyes, though his gaze lingers on the bracelet still adorning her wrist. Of course she had not removed it, no matter how he had hurt and vexed her. The Advocates may be under his reign, but she will not abandon their cause so quickly and make herself the paragon of a jilted lover. It would be disgraceful.
She is distracted by his weak smile, the rattle of his lungs, and her face twitches minutely as she tries to reign in her concern. The apology that follows is similarly weak, and she drops his wrist as if it has scalded her, offended by this pitiful excuse for an apology that he has offered her. Lightning flickers in her eyes, and the impartial set of her lips twitches into the shadow of a snarl, the dark sea within her beginning to grow choppy with these childish words. "And are you intending to fix any of these mistakes, or do you simply want to broadcast your self-imposed suffering on any remotely willing audience member?" The crack of her words is harsher than she wanted, and Hotaru clings to her composure, forcing herself to take a steadying breath lest she kick him right off the edge of the damn bridge. "What are you sorry for, Sunjata? For not listening to my advice? For continuing this sham of a marriage you have with Phoebe? For hurting me?" Her voice wavers in a condemning display, but at least it does not break. "Apologies are empty. They are just pretty words, and I have fallen for enough of them from you. So what is it you want me to say? That you are forgiven? Because you aren't." Forgiveness is not in her nature. Sunjata had enjoyed her chaotic, powerful nature. If he shies from it now, she will know that he never deserved her or Lusea, too hyped up on his own ego trip to realize that he was losing out on two wonderful women. "What do you want from me?" Because she needs to know, and it comes out wretched and desperate as she clutches the box to her chest like it could shield her from everything she feels as she looks down upon his dilapidated form.
Sunjata does not meet her eyes, though his gaze lingers on the bracelet still adorning her wrist. Of course she had not removed it, no matter how he had hurt and vexed her. The Advocates may be under his reign, but she will not abandon their cause so quickly and make herself the paragon of a jilted lover. It would be disgraceful.
She is distracted by his weak smile, the rattle of his lungs, and her face twitches minutely as she tries to reign in her concern. The apology that follows is similarly weak, and she drops his wrist as if it has scalded her, offended by this pitiful excuse for an apology that he has offered her. Lightning flickers in her eyes, and the impartial set of her lips twitches into the shadow of a snarl, the dark sea within her beginning to grow choppy with these childish words. "And are you intending to fix any of these mistakes, or do you simply want to broadcast your self-imposed suffering on any remotely willing audience member?" The crack of her words is harsher than she wanted, and Hotaru clings to her composure, forcing herself to take a steadying breath lest she kick him right off the edge of the damn bridge. "What are you sorry for, Sunjata? For not listening to my advice? For continuing this sham of a marriage you have with Phoebe? For hurting me?" Her voice wavers in a condemning display, but at least it does not break. "Apologies are empty. They are just pretty words, and I have fallen for enough of them from you. So what is it you want me to say? That you are forgiven? Because you aren't." Forgiveness is not in her nature. Sunjata had enjoyed her chaotic, powerful nature. If he shies from it now, she will know that he never deserved her or Lusea, too hyped up on his own ego trip to realize that he was losing out on two wonderful women. "What do you want from me?" Because she needs to know, and it comes out wretched and desperate as she clutches the box to her chest like it could shield her from everything she feels as she looks down upon his dilapidated form.
my heart bends and breaks
so many, many times
HOTARU
