"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
and I'm the kind of love it hurts to look at, but once I was enough to make you try now, I'm underneath the rubble, trying not to feel the trouble.
She had gone, just as he had known she would eventually.
He had not been foolish enough to think that their children, their beautiful daughters, would be enough to keep her.
Still, he did not fault her for it. He did not allow their daughters fault her for it either. He reminded them patiently that their mother was wild and her wildness was no reason to resent her. No, it was only reason to love her all the more.
They missed her, certainly. They all did. But they did not let this make them bitter. Or, rather, Thomas did not allow it to make any of them bitter.
Life went on, as it always did. He loved her quietly, carried her in his heart. Sometimes he would allow himself to wonder if she would ever come back to him or if he would spend the rest of his days loving her alone. It made no difference, really. His heart belonged to her, whether she wanted it or not. But she owed him nothing, she had not asked him to love her. He had made the decision on his own and would not punish her for it.
The girls are gone now. Temporarily or permanently, he can never be sure. It’s impossible to tell yet if they are as wild as their mother or if they are more prone to staying in one place like him.
The girls are gone and he is alone. But there is some peace in this. He is accustomed to being left, Thomas. From the earliest days of his youth, he would wake in the night to find his twin gone. And she would be there again when he woke, smelling of the sea. He feels no bitter pang of loneliness. There is no sadness in it. He moves freely, without fear, in the light of a heavy sun.
And when he sees her, he thinks he’s dreamed her. Much like he always does. And he smiles. He has convinced himself that he would be content with loving her without ever seeing her again, but he cannot deny the relief that spirals through him at the sight of her.
Just as he cannot deny the sharp stab of something else when he notes the roundness of her barrel. But he does not let his smile slip, as much as it makes his throat ache. “Desire,” he murmurs, warm, and reaches out to touch her shoulder. He does not tell her that he’s missed her. No, he will not make her feel guilty for going.
07-31-2020, 03:00 PM (This post was last modified: 07-31-2020, 03:01 PM by Desire.)
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
She loves him, she thinks, but she is not built for love.
She knows how to craft illusions and bring to life a figment of what someone wanted love to be. She knows how to reach into someone's heart and spin them the prettiest ghost they've ever seen and present to them a living image of something to love.
But it was not the kind of love you could hold onto. It wasn't a love to keep you warm or keep you safe. Illusions didn't have that kind of body to them, they didn't have any depth or dimension. Because desire and love are not the same, and a phantom will never love them back.
It was just pretty to look at.
She felt like she was too much like her illusions – all beauty and no substance. She didn't like the fact that there seemed to be nothing beneath the surface of her; just yawning darkness.
Her love for him gets lost in the darkness, and it sets her adrift. Their girls had anchored her in one place for a while, but it didn't seem to be enough.
Karma had caught up with her, though, in the form of a handsome face full of sharp teeth. She had not recognized the magic of the kelpie man as it was being used on her, and her memories of their actual union are hazy. It all felt like a strange dream, and once she had set enough distance between them, she was surprised she had managed to get away at all.
There is a strange feeling that sits like a cold stone in a corner of her heart, and though she knows it is guilt, she refuses to name it.
She sees Thomas, and the stone seems to grow in weight, dragging her heart down further into the endless dark. She debates turning and walking away, thinking of how much better off he would be without her, and without this foolish hope she keeps offering him.
But the way her name sounds coming from his mouth, and the way his glass skin feels against her shoulder, is all she needs to stay.
“Thomas,” she says in that sweet way she has reserved just for him, and she presses a warm kiss to his cheek. “I missed you,” she tells him, but she does not apologize for being gone. Instead, she steps into his side, ignoring the swell of her barrel as she runs her nose down his smooth neck. “How are the girls? I haven't seen them in a while,” she asks lightly, as if she had not disappeared almost entirely.
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
and I'm the kind of love it hurts to look at, but once I was enough to make you try now, I'm underneath the rubble, trying not to feel the trouble.
It’s as if nothing at all has changed.
It’s as if her barrel is not swollen with a child that does not belong to him.
But it does not pain him to think it because she does not belong to him either. He would never try to convince her – or himself – otherwise. She kisses his cheek so sweetly that it’s as if she has not been gone at all. As if only moments have passed since the last time he bathed himself in her warmth and in the warmth that lives inside him when she is near. A warmth born from love, selfless and unflinching.
She tells him that she’s missed him and he feels some distant pang in his chest. Buried beneath so much glass, the heart spasms. He’d missed her, as well. The girls had missed her, too. But he hesitates to tell her as much for fear that it might elicit any amount of guilt.
“We missed you, too,” he murmurs and presses his glass mouth into the warmth of her chest. He tells her because he cannot bear the thought of her thinking they had not noticed she’d been gone at all. It is difficult to find balance between ensuring she knows that there is an emptiness in the world when she is gone and ensuring she knows that he does not fault her for it.
And perhaps he is too soft in his love. Perhaps that is why she cannot stay.
She presses that swollen barrel into his side but he cannot bring himself to resent it. But he does not ask her about it either. She does not belong to him. Her decisions are her own and he will not let himself be wounded by them.
He lifts his head and casts a glance around the meadow, as if their daughters are lurking somewhere in the shade of some great tree. But they are nowhere to be seen, the two of them. Still, he smiles at the mention of them. How tirelessly he has worried about them, the same way he’d worried about his own brittle build so many years ago. Their girls, such a delicate balance of the two of them.
“They’re beautiful,” he says, “and good and kind.” His smile deepens when he turns his gaze back to her and gingerly nudges her neck. “They’re perfect, like their mother.”
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
For the hundredth time she thinks how much easier this would be if he were not so kind.
She looks, as she always does, for a glimmer of anger. An ounce of spite towards her, just the smallest hint that she was pushing him beyond what he could handle. Give me a reason, she thinks, give me a reason to not love you.
He doesn’t, of course.
He is steadfast like a mountain, refusing to crumble despite everything she pushes against him. He is so much stronger than his glass would portray him to be, and even if she pretends to be irritated by this, she is endlessly thankful. She has found someone that she does not deserve, but there is a selfish part of her heart that is so grateful to have him. She wants him to be hers, even if she has not yet learned how to be his.
She could almost forget her mistake when he touches her chest, she could almost get lost in the way her heart starts to beat harder beneath her skin at the feel of him. Almost, but not quite. The guilt is still there, ignored but not subdued; she knows the moment she grants it the attention it craves that it will drown her.
She is quiet when she rests her head against his neck, silent as she simply listens to the familiar softness of his voice, reminded of how words sound different – clearer, lovelier – when spoken from the glass of his mouth. There is a whisper of a smile on her lips at what he says, because she knows their girls are beautiful – perhaps she is biased, but, they still to this day are the prettiest things she has ever seen.
He calls her perfect, though, and she leaves her head pressed against him for another heartbeat before she withdraws with a tense sigh. “I’m not perfect, Thomas. We both know that.” She is suddenly all the more aware of the swell of her barrel, and she thinks this child might just bleed guilt for how much of it she carries with her. She levels her gaze with his, her black eyes unreadable when they search the blue of his own, and she is silent for a long while as she tries to gather her thoughts into words that might make sense. “You know that you deserve better, don’t you?” Is what she settles on, her voice strangely soft, and she holds him in her stare just a moment longer before looking away. “I made a mistake, and I don’t deserve any kind of forgiveness.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
and I'm the kind of love it hurts to look at, but once I was enough to make you try now, I'm underneath the rubble, trying not to feel the trouble.
He’s said the wrong thing.
It’s no surprise, considering.
Considering he has never loved anyone but her. Considering he has loved her from the very first moment he laid eyes on her. There was never any hope that he would come out of that meeting -- or any that came after it -- with his heart. He had surrendered it to her but had never tried to yoke her with the burden of looking after it. He had belonged to her from the first time she’d said his name but had understood that she would likely never belong to him the same way.
But he is young still, if only just barely. He is young and wont to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, if only because he doesn’t know any better.
It does not occur to him that to call her perfect might somehow stir up whatever guilt she’s harboring unnecessarily. He has always understood that she could not pledge her heart to him. He has never resented her for it. He does not allow it to hurt.
He watches her carefully, the gaze contemplative as she speaks. He can taste the guilt when she speaks next. And she looks at him for only a beat longer before she looks away. And, despite the regret that rolls off her in waves, he smiles.
It is a patient thing, that smile. And it remains as he moves to eliminate the space she’d wedged between them. As if doing so might help to convince him that what she said was true.
“There is no one better than you,” he murmurs into the valley at the base of her neck. “And even if there was, I wouldn’t want them.” He chooses his own words carefully so as to not further compound her guilt.
“You have done nothing you need to be forgiven for, Desire,” he continues, drawing just far enough to try and catch her eye. “I would never dream of asking you to belong to me.” He shakes his head before he presses his smooth glass forehead against the plain of her shoulder. “I would never dream of trying to keep you. I’d be too afraid of killing you.” There, that same glimmer of a smile as he exhales a contented sigh.
