AURELIA
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
Aurelia clung to her pessimisms like a bee hoards its honey, unwilling to be hopeful in case she was let down. But her eyes, they peered at him with a glint of belief. She wanted to trust him, wanted to trust all of them. Because she needed them, and she needed them to trust her. Jack wasn't the only one going out on a limb by pulling her into his crew, she was too. She didn't know these people, didn't know this place, but... she was willing to take that risk.
What did she have to lose?
And, as if asking her to prove that sentiment, Milo closed in and brushed a curl of hair behind her ear. Instinctively, alarm made her blood rush to her cheeks and the end of the cigarette fumbled from her grip into the sand. She shifted slightly as that defensive instinct kicked in and, if Milo was paying attention, he'd see the practiced flinch of her fingers as if to make a fist. But, they didn't quite, and she didn't move away. That smile, soft and beckoning, pulled her in and silently she wrestled against it. Pushed back against the panic that put her into fight or flight mode. She only managed to break it by looking away, interrupting the sweet, tempting sizzle of connection.
There. All she needed to do was not reciprocate. She didn't have to react.
Yet his words were gentle and coaxing and she peeked back at him, her brow raised slightly, the uncertainty almost tangible. It was what she wanted; connection, trust. When he leaned away, she felt the absence. It was cold and empty, and she didn't really know what she was doing but she did it anyway, reaching out for the tattoo etched across his shoulder. She leaned towards him, using her grip on him for leverage.
Her eyes glanced down to his lips but, she came up short, stopping herself. A sigh left her own lips, her breath stirring through the air between them. Her jaw clenched and she met his gaze again, seeing the flecks of gold mingling in the depths of brown. Even if it was what she wanted, it certainly wasn't what she deserved. Can't have trust without truth.
What did she have to lose?
And, as if asking her to prove that sentiment, Milo closed in and brushed a curl of hair behind her ear. Instinctively, alarm made her blood rush to her cheeks and the end of the cigarette fumbled from her grip into the sand. She shifted slightly as that defensive instinct kicked in and, if Milo was paying attention, he'd see the practiced flinch of her fingers as if to make a fist. But, they didn't quite, and she didn't move away. That smile, soft and beckoning, pulled her in and silently she wrestled against it. Pushed back against the panic that put her into fight or flight mode. She only managed to break it by looking away, interrupting the sweet, tempting sizzle of connection.
There. All she needed to do was not reciprocate. She didn't have to react.
Yet his words were gentle and coaxing and she peeked back at him, her brow raised slightly, the uncertainty almost tangible. It was what she wanted; connection, trust. When he leaned away, she felt the absence. It was cold and empty, and she didn't really know what she was doing but she did it anyway, reaching out for the tattoo etched across his shoulder. She leaned towards him, using her grip on him for leverage.
Her eyes glanced down to his lips but, she came up short, stopping herself. A sigh left her own lips, her breath stirring through the air between them. Her jaw clenched and she met his gaze again, seeing the flecks of gold mingling in the depths of brown. Even if it was what she wanted, it certainly wasn't what she deserved. Can't have trust without truth.
"You don't know me."
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
