knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
The composure was nearly lost as she clutched the bauble, and it was all lost as soon as he grasped hold of her fingers. It was a flood, a deluge of emotions, stifling and struggling, yearning for release because she’d kept it tucked away for so long – mercurial, whimsical, tempestuous, like a damned storm, an assailing storm. Her bottom lip trembled before everything else seemed to become watery and tear-laden, rolling past her cheeks and incapable of being stopped when he had her hands. Frustrations, sadness, sorrow, being left behind, being forgotten, being something not of worth to anyone; it weighed and it poured and it overwhelmed, and she tried to stifle them with sniffles, but they became choking, gasping claws down her chest. “I don’t need to be protected.” A shake of her head, as if that would dislodge everything. As if it would render it all back to normal. As if they wouldn’t have to continue this conversation, and the way it poked at the wreckage.
But the other words made her break too, until she was wrapped up in his arms, head tucked in his shoulder, hands clutching, grasping. “I can try.” For you she wanted to say, but it only came out as a garble in her mind, hurting and binding and terrifying. “I hate this. I hate all of it.”
But the other words made her break too, until she was wrapped up in his arms, head tucked in his shoulder, hands clutching, grasping. “I can try.” For you she wanted to say, but it only came out as a garble in her mind, hurting and binding and terrifying. “I hate this. I hate all of it.”
Melita
