09-03-2015, 10:54 PM
you taught me the courage of stars before you left
She flinches when he says Makai’s name, looks away with unfocused eyes and a slack jaw. It’s astounding how something as simple as hearing his name makes her feel so sick to her stomach. But it’s only been a few short hours, though it feels like lifetimes lost, and she shouldn’t expect this wound to heal so quickly. When he speaks again her eyes refocus and drift back reluctantly to his face, lingering there for a moment with an expression of guarded simplicity. “Be that as it may, I don’t know anything about you, Dempsey.” She paused, those emerald eyes sharpening slightly beneath a furrowed brow. “And I don’t have much patience for trust right now. I’m sure you won’t take it personally.” There is almost a smile ghosting the corner of her mouth when she says this, a gleam of something besides loss shining in her eyes before it fades again almost immediately.
There is a flicker of something ominous running through the shadows in the backs of her eyes when he speaks again. “Tame.” She repeats, distant, testing the weight of the word on her tongue. “I believe the word Makai used was boring.” She flinches again imperceptibly, the use of his name the same as tugging on a barb buried snug under her skin. Her jaw clenches. “It doesn’t sound as bad when you say it though.” She laughs here, a mangled sound, like a smothered cough. She flinches again when he touches her neck, but there’s a dangerous longing that flares in the pit of her belly, a desperate need to dull the loneliness of rejection, of her scattered family. She smothers it as quickly as it appears.
“I’ve had more than I can handle of honesty tonight, Dempsey. Perhaps a few secrets would be best.” She glances sideways into the still night. “But you’re wrong, mindreader, I’ve been given every reason not to feel safe tonight.” For once there is no pity in her voice. There is only a coldness as she mentally recounts the tatters of her flayed open heart. “You’ll need to give me a reason to feel safe.” But there isn’t one, and she’s well aware, there’s not a thing in this world or the next that will crumble the walls thrown up around her heart.
This time when she sees him reach out for her, she quietly sidesteps his nose. But she follows him anyway, soundless, her mind burning with too many thoughts in a night far too silent. When she turns to look at him again her wings lift and unfold to the star strewn sky, and she can feel the coolness of the air as they pump slowly at her withers. “It’s a shame you can’t fly.” She breaks the silence at last, a new note of subtle longing in her murmurous voice. But he can’t, not unless he had more secrets buried than she had first guessed, so she drops the subject with a soft, unreadable expression fingering at her lips. Her wings resettle restlessly along the curve of her back. Instead she says, “Why, mindreader, are you asking me to run away with you?”
There is a flicker of something ominous running through the shadows in the backs of her eyes when he speaks again. “Tame.” She repeats, distant, testing the weight of the word on her tongue. “I believe the word Makai used was boring.” She flinches again imperceptibly, the use of his name the same as tugging on a barb buried snug under her skin. Her jaw clenches. “It doesn’t sound as bad when you say it though.” She laughs here, a mangled sound, like a smothered cough. She flinches again when he touches her neck, but there’s a dangerous longing that flares in the pit of her belly, a desperate need to dull the loneliness of rejection, of her scattered family. She smothers it as quickly as it appears.
“I’ve had more than I can handle of honesty tonight, Dempsey. Perhaps a few secrets would be best.” She glances sideways into the still night. “But you’re wrong, mindreader, I’ve been given every reason not to feel safe tonight.” For once there is no pity in her voice. There is only a coldness as she mentally recounts the tatters of her flayed open heart. “You’ll need to give me a reason to feel safe.” But there isn’t one, and she’s well aware, there’s not a thing in this world or the next that will crumble the walls thrown up around her heart.
This time when she sees him reach out for her, she quietly sidesteps his nose. But she follows him anyway, soundless, her mind burning with too many thoughts in a night far too silent. When she turns to look at him again her wings lift and unfold to the star strewn sky, and she can feel the coolness of the air as they pump slowly at her withers. “It’s a shame you can’t fly.” She breaks the silence at last, a new note of subtle longing in her murmurous voice. But he can’t, not unless he had more secrets buried than she had first guessed, so she drops the subject with a soft, unreadable expression fingering at her lips. Her wings resettle restlessly along the curve of her back. Instead she says, “Why, mindreader, are you asking me to run away with you?”
how light carries on endlessly, even after death
Oksana