Isla
It isn't a feeling, but a fact. Polite kindnesses can be misconstrued as something more, it's true; possessive marks and touches, appearing like a shadow at her back when someone shows a flicker of interest, you can always count on mes whispered in the dark - those cannot. And maybe that's what drew her in so deeply, until platonic friendship started to feel tenuous at best. It's almost comfortable, this space, reminiscent of distant times spent with a Lullaby. I don't want you, but I don't want anyone else to have you either.
"Oh, it's quite easy," Isla murmurs, pushing through despite how her voice wants to grow rough. "Just like playing ordinary darts, really. You draw circles in the sand, like a dartboard, and try to throw pebbles or shells as close to the bullseye as you can. I did so badly, Cal even let me swap with him for a turn." Gods, she misses him so much. She had been enough, for him.
But even that had ended without fanfare, with quiet goodbyes and fiddles in the night. Isla doesn't know it yet, but she's starting to grow a lockbox around her heart, trusting only herself with its protection.
"We can play at some point, if you like." And she can go back to being a pretty thing, worth having but not worth keeping, worth fighting for but not worth coming home to. (Sorry, Cal).
"Oh, it's quite easy," Isla murmurs, pushing through despite how her voice wants to grow rough. "Just like playing ordinary darts, really. You draw circles in the sand, like a dartboard, and try to throw pebbles or shells as close to the bullseye as you can. I did so badly, Cal even let me swap with him for a turn." Gods, she misses him so much. She had been enough, for him.
But even that had ended without fanfare, with quiet goodbyes and fiddles in the night. Isla doesn't know it yet, but she's starting to grow a lockbox around her heart, trusting only herself with its protection.
"We can play at some point, if you like." And she can go back to being a pretty thing, worth having but not worth keeping, worth fighting for but not worth coming home to. (Sorry, Cal).
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
