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He calls you a fool in jest, but you are inclined to agree. What are you, if not a fool? You have proven that time and time again, trying to keep those who do not wish to be kept all too close, protecting those who would sooner need another hole in their head with everything that you have in your heart. Loving those who know nothing except how to love themselves in the hope that you would somehow be worthy. He laughs and you smile, listening to it and only it as the rich sound tumbles forth. You realize now that you have missed it in his absence, your worry for him no doubt making it that much sweeter to finally hear. ‘You will be all right though, will you not?’ You smile tenderly then, his concern, or at least what you choose to perceive as concern causing your heart to skip a beat. It is very rarely that your tendencies are returned, all your ceaseless worrying and fretting reflected by even a fraction, and such is the profession that you have chosen; giving everything that you can in return for the thought that you made a difference to someone, however insignificant. But the sentiment coming from him, it makes your stomach flutter; your heart beat a little faster, thickens the blood as it rushes through your veins. “Always,” You want to tease him then, to give into the playfulness that has accompanied the two of you since the day that you had met. But your heart is not in it, the promise of your permanence, your loyalty, to him caught in the back of your throat.
You do not believe he would even understand it, should he even take it seriously, the way you would mean it, and this thought furrows your brows for the tiniest fraction of a second before you toss your head gently, coaxing lily-white locks to cover any evidence of your doubt. He stares and, somehow, you manage to stare back, only momentarily glancing at the way your sides resemble that of a woman instead of a girl, swelling with new life that you cannot help but feel resentful towards. He says nothing, and so neither do you, but the look on his face is evidence enough that he understands, and that is all you need of him. You do not word your reasons for allowing him in, for coming apart when you have refused to in front of anyone else; it would make it too real, all the abandonment that shadows your heart, all the fear of rejection that festers. He is your only friend, someone you cherish, the only one you trust. Looking to him again, you find that you don’t even know the words to say, if you were to even begin trying to explain anything in the first place. It is then that your magic begins to work, your attention pulling away from your reclusive thoughts to focus solely on the boils as they shrink until there is nothing left, and you can see as he relaxes, comfort ebbing into every nook of his body. He thanks you and you nod, the motion small, hardly noticeable.
“No, but I wanted to.” He presses against you then, the heat of his breath on your forehead causing your knees to grow weak, your breath coming out in a gush of equally hot air, skin tingling as he drags his whiskery muzzle down the delicate skin of your face. You drink in the softness of him, pressing into his touch for the moment he lingers, your eyes darting to his as he speaks your name, breaking whatever trance he had put you in, the world around you sparking loudly back into your focus where before it had been silenced. ‘He…’ your find your heart sinking again, fear creeping back in to the places that had found momentary peace with him. ‘Did he hurt you?’ Your immediate instinct is to protect the man that you could have loved, protect him from any of the consequences that this could bring. You want to blame yourself; want to tell him that all of it had been your fault because you’re just a stupid little girl with stupid little dreams and aspirations to be someone’s anything. You had been too blind to see what he truly was, too starved for affection to even think that he would dare to use you. For a moment you stare at him, from the line of his jaw to those ever-changing green, green eyes of his, clouded by something that you do not want to name, afraid of what happens next. You want to protect him, and that desire alone leaves the bitterest taste in your mouth. “Yes.”
That single word holds the weight of all your regret, all your hate and betrayal, all your self-inflicted pain. You flinch at the harshness of your voice, finally looking somewhere, anywhere, but his face, once more afraid of what you would(nt) see. “He… I didn’t want him to, didn’t want this–“ your voice cracks then, face scrunching with confusion and hurt and disgust, anger with yourself for ever letting something like this happen, for the indifference you feel for the aftermath inside of you. “I thought he loved me, but he did this–he raped me (and that is what it had been, had it not? Loveless, passionless, a means to an end that left him feeling like a man that he could never be, with you crumbling beneath)–only to leave me.” The sound trembles, and you finally raise your eyes to meet his again, your head shaking ever so slightly, heart tearing between your desire to simply give up and the refusal to let such an insignificant man ruin you. “I don’t know what to do. Not with him (you never want to see him, breathe him, touch him again), not with his child, none of it, Rohan.”
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like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare
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[P] you'll never be what is in your heart
