Aurelia
as if you were on fire
from within
from within
She doesn't look at him, but she still feels the snap of his gaze as he turns to look at her. Her teeth edge over her bottom lip nervously. She wishes she could bite back the words, but she can't and it's all going bad to worse. The question he asks amidst it all drives a crack through her heart. He hadn't done anything wrong.
But before she can try to respond, he asks why it's happening now, and suddenly with each word he says she feels smaller and smaller. Like she's more and more right.
She doesn't know how to respond to most of it, how to defend herself or make things better. So she simply doesn't speak, letting her jaw roll with the waves and her mind burn with deeply-wounded anger. He'd done nothing wrong, the fucking idiot, this was about her being wrong for him, and suddenly she feels like he's said enough to convince her that... she's right in that. Maeve isn't even close to being on her mind at this point, and the mention of her brings up an irate scoff.
"It's not about Maeve," she snaps, "or my past," and those words come out more choked than the others. But she doesn't like to let people see that, so she turns away and onto her feet. She can't find the proper words, so she simply simmers in her frustration and pain with her arms crossed, barely looking at him.
Her brows arch as he asks her if she wants this. "Of course I fucking want it, you idiot!" Her fingers curl around her skin, "I don't tell myself anything to make me feel better." But there's a darker edge to her words that falls short of anger and lends itself to pain, and that's simply that they're true. "Fuckin' nothing. You say it's hard for you to understand, but if it's hard for you how do you think it is for me!? You think I don't know? I don't know that it's fucked up and it hurts and it ain't right and it's me! Or that my whole entire existence is just too much for you? I'm not right for you," her eyes have a glassy sheen to them as that last part slips out, but her lips press into a tight line if only to keep her from breaking. As she gathers herself together, she draws backwards until her heels hit the cold water. "And you think I tell myself shit just to feel better," her hand runs over her chin, tense stress coiling the muscles in her shoulders, "No, I want you, Milo, but I don't think I should," her head shakes, "we'll just end up hurt. Clearly."
But before she can try to respond, he asks why it's happening now, and suddenly with each word he says she feels smaller and smaller. Like she's more and more right.
She doesn't know how to respond to most of it, how to defend herself or make things better. So she simply doesn't speak, letting her jaw roll with the waves and her mind burn with deeply-wounded anger. He'd done nothing wrong, the fucking idiot, this was about her being wrong for him, and suddenly she feels like he's said enough to convince her that... she's right in that. Maeve isn't even close to being on her mind at this point, and the mention of her brings up an irate scoff.
"It's not about Maeve," she snaps, "or my past," and those words come out more choked than the others. But she doesn't like to let people see that, so she turns away and onto her feet. She can't find the proper words, so she simply simmers in her frustration and pain with her arms crossed, barely looking at him.
Her brows arch as he asks her if she wants this. "Of course I fucking want it, you idiot!" Her fingers curl around her skin, "I don't tell myself anything to make me feel better." But there's a darker edge to her words that falls short of anger and lends itself to pain, and that's simply that they're true. "Fuckin' nothing. You say it's hard for you to understand, but if it's hard for you how do you think it is for me!? You think I don't know? I don't know that it's fucked up and it hurts and it ain't right and it's me! Or that my whole entire existence is just too much for you? I'm not right for you," her eyes have a glassy sheen to them as that last part slips out, but her lips press into a tight line if only to keep her from breaking. As she gathers herself together, she draws backwards until her heels hit the cold water. "And you think I tell myself shit just to feel better," her hand runs over her chin, tense stress coiling the muscles in her shoulders, "No, I want you, Milo, but I don't think I should," her head shakes, "we'll just end up hurt. Clearly."
the moon lives
in the lining of your skin
in the lining of your skin
