and let me kick you off a bungee

When the word slips from his mouth, when my name falls from his mouth - I think I want to fall apart right there, to start screaming at him because how dare he call me such. It is nothing he has done, he has never been cruel to me, but I cannot believe that no one is cold, that there is not a callous bone in anyone's body - that they're all living their lives delighted by me, they love me unconditionally, the way a family loves one another. I can't convince myself, no matter how hard I try, that there's people that love me - it feels so fucked up that I continue to contradict myself, some days so sure that I have a family to come home to, that in the Throat I will always be welcome, some days crushed beneath the belief that they are spitting venom behind my back, spreading word of my failures, my existence.

My stomach twists as drágám falls from his lips and his muzzle presses to my shoulder, flinching at the foreign contact. I was not one for being touched and adored, for being the center of one's affections, it left a bad taste in the back of my throat that made me sick. The contact had me choking on my own words as I cock my head to look up at his face, wondering what it must really look like, not some blur of oranges and reds, warm tones shifting as he stands before me. He is a giant full of warmth, filled in by colours of a sunset I could not see, of blistering flames and kindness I did not deserve - I frequently ask myself why he (why anyone) is kind, why they are so unconditionally loving (the Sea Soul, apa, who else?). My mother (was it really her?) told me once that nobody was ever trustworthy, that they may love you now, but later you must prove you are deserving of it, that you serve their purpose until they no longer need you and then you are nothing. They told me that I was their pawn, not their rook, their knight, their queen, I was a pawn to be wasted - if they really cared, they would be cooing day in and out, they would be attentive and gentle, they would be soft and perfectly preening me. But they were distant (or was I?), silent and they abandoned me.

And as Sikeax's lips reach my skin, I want to shrink back, the same way I'd wanted to when Volterra's muzzle grazed my shoulder, wanted to shout and snarl like a cornered animal at the contact. Berühre mich nicht, I was ready to spit, even with the gentle, comforting touch of Sikeax that made me want to melt away, I still felt threatened, unable to trust that it was genuine affection directed towards me. Who would love something so ugly anyway? How could they stand to adore me when my wings were shriveled at my sides, numbed by the damage and mangled, twitching as I acknowledge them momentarily. And my face, how must that look to someone? To an outside perspective, I am hideous, as proven by varying encounters. So why do the Sea Soul and Indomitable bother? Why does anyone bother? Sie benutzen dich.

The hollowness of her voice, it's but a fraction, a fractured syllable, a fault that I hear as she confirms that this is her grand return, that she's facing the Throat once again and returning to her previous home. But what of her? Her words were forced, felt wrong as they slid from her tongue, and I'm wondering if she's reluctant to return, to face the same faces that pressured her into casting aside her crown. What will she do now? She is different, I can conclude this so easily, listening to her tone of voice in the way she talks, mentioning Volterra, brushing off the doubt and sweeping it beneath a playful tease. I do not believe it.

I feel the shift of my brows, not entirely intact, and not entirely under my control, but it's subtle and I am fighting off the need to ask her the questions that bubble to the surface. "Why haven't you come to visit? Or find me?" And now it's my turn for my voice to crack, for my words to falter and leave me tripping, stumbling, selfishly demanding the attention of the Sea Soul as apa lingers at our side, taking deep breaths before I can begin to break down.

Sikeax is all I had, the only maternal affection I'd ever experienced, and she left - I think I want to hate her for it, to turn a cold shoulder and snub my nose, pretend that I'm cold hearted and have no fucks to give. But it's such a lie as I cling to her attention, to her return and hope that she stays, because facing the world alone leaves me hopeless, I could collapse like a poorly built house right now if she told me it was only temporary, if she told me that her stay would be brief - that she had better things to dwell upon than the Throat and its residents. So I ask, taking the leap and letting the words slide from my tongue with hesitance as they go. "Are you really staying?"