You're so cold
but you feel alive
It was... very difficult to refrain from saying 'I told you so'. The words crowded at the tip of her tongue, nearly slipped off and spilled into the open. Perhaps she should have just said it, but it felt too much like rubbing salt into open wounds. And though he rejected her compassion with a single flat stare that she felt to the bones, the girl couldn't quite stop herself from caring anyway. Even if it wasn't what he wanted, or needed right now.
Truth was, she was terrible at this kind of thing. She sensed the tension in him, the darkness and the brooding, but she had no idea what to do with it. Leave him to it? Continue as she did now, simply listening and offering what quiet support she could, wanted or not? Or... did she push, so that he'd get riled up and push back?
But none of it was really her, in the end. So when Sunjata went back to the bar and sank down into a chair, nursing that bottle like it was his only friend, Maea followed and settled in beside him, remaining standing by his side with her arms leaned against the singed surface. The faint scent of smoke and charcoal rising from it was perhaps the least offensive of the smells that currently clung to the atmosphere, including whatever it was he slushed down his throat. Maea breathed it in and tried to pretend that she wasn't a complete novice when it came to intimacy, that she actually understood everything the man tried to tell her... that she wasn't actually blushing at the whole topic.
"Alright, that's fair. But now it's done, it happened. Would you really go back, make it undone? Like you said, you're free of the thing you hate now. Maybe it'll be worth it, in the end? Even if it sucks now."
Perhaps it was a bit too early a question. Practically no time had passed, he'd had no chance to feel anything but anger and guilt (if he actually did, she wasn't sure) and frustration. In many ways, the marriage wouldn't be over until Sunjata managed to let all this go, stopped chewing it over in his head like a tough piece of meat.
Feeling the frustration of it herself, Maea reached for the bottle and snatched it out of his hand. Before he could stop her, or she changed her own mind she stole a swig from it, and coughed - once, twice and tried to hide her watering eyes - when the liquid singed her throat, burning its way down into her stomach.
Truth was, she was terrible at this kind of thing. She sensed the tension in him, the darkness and the brooding, but she had no idea what to do with it. Leave him to it? Continue as she did now, simply listening and offering what quiet support she could, wanted or not? Or... did she push, so that he'd get riled up and push back?
But none of it was really her, in the end. So when Sunjata went back to the bar and sank down into a chair, nursing that bottle like it was his only friend, Maea followed and settled in beside him, remaining standing by his side with her arms leaned against the singed surface. The faint scent of smoke and charcoal rising from it was perhaps the least offensive of the smells that currently clung to the atmosphere, including whatever it was he slushed down his throat. Maea breathed it in and tried to pretend that she wasn't a complete novice when it came to intimacy, that she actually understood everything the man tried to tell her... that she wasn't actually blushing at the whole topic.
"Alright, that's fair. But now it's done, it happened. Would you really go back, make it undone? Like you said, you're free of the thing you hate now. Maybe it'll be worth it, in the end? Even if it sucks now."
Perhaps it was a bit too early a question. Practically no time had passed, he'd had no chance to feel anything but anger and guilt (if he actually did, she wasn't sure) and frustration. In many ways, the marriage wouldn't be over until Sunjata managed to let all this go, stopped chewing it over in his head like a tough piece of meat.
Feeling the frustration of it herself, Maea reached for the bottle and snatched it out of his hand. Before he could stop her, or she changed her own mind she stole a swig from it, and coughed - once, twice and tried to hide her watering eyes - when the liquid singed her throat, burning its way down into her stomach.
lay your hands on me
one last time
MAEA
