[ For once, there is no sound of protest when he breaks from her like this. No further grasping demand, no cut-string collapse of despair. Instead, her breath like his, she lets one hand fall from his face so she can lean her forehead against his cheek and the press of her other hand turns gentle.
It was not a thing of romance or goodness, but it was true. It was true, and finally she knows they match. That she is not alone in the sometime violence of her want of him that has made her helpless and despairing. It makes the scream that lives in her fall silent. ]
Why. Because there is a beast in you that starves?
[ She breathes there against him, listens to it slowly even. ]
When I asked you for your story I wanted to listen. To think only of you, to help hold the things you carry that still wound, to be kind, and instead when you spoke of the woman who betrayed you I wanted to kill her with bare hands so I could feel it. Not because she had betrayed you, but because she had touched you.
I would not do it. I would not do it any more than you would work to lose this war. But there is blood in the way I want you, and I have been so ashamed.
no subject
It was not a thing of romance or goodness, but it was true. It was true, and finally she knows they match. That she is not alone in the sometime violence of her want of him that has made her helpless and despairing. It makes the scream that lives in her fall silent. ]
Why. Because there is a beast in you that starves?
[ She breathes there against him, listens to it slowly even. ]
When I asked you for your story I wanted to listen. To think only of you, to help hold the things you carry that still wound, to be kind, and instead when you spoke of the woman who betrayed you I wanted to kill her with bare hands so I could feel it. Not because she had betrayed you, but because she had touched you.
I would not do it. I would not do it any more than you would work to lose this war. But there is blood in the way I want you, and I have been so ashamed.