as your love starts to surround you
all of their words are trying to drown you
The emotions that flare between them are too much—too much for anyone to handle. Certainly too much for her to understand. She is tearing apart at the seams, dissolving between his very fingertips, and yet, she is still a wildfire. Her skin is all nerve, alive and waiting for him, and she loathes herself for it. She loathes that every inch of her is alive and longing for him. She hates that she is all need, all want, all his.
Red moves closer to her, and she is a study of contradictions, body both tensing in fear as she mentally relaxes, the presence of the wolf both damning and calming at the same time. In this moment, trapped between the splintering emotions of her fears and her desires, she wonders what would have happened if she had not met him. That day, she was only meant to have a conversation. She was only meant to tell pretty lies and smile pretty smiles and move on. There was never meant to be any weight.
But this? This is all weight.
“Survived?” she finally chokes out, and her bones scream with the agony of it. “I did not survive,” she gasps. Some part of her had died in that dream; some childlike corner that had ached for a normal life, that had ached to love simply. A part she had hidden away—a part she denied—that had died the second her teeth had sunk into his throat. The second she watched her sister be ripped apart. The second he laid his mouth on her and the second the bullet had torn open her chest. It had all died. She had died.
He touches her, and she breaks all at once—shatters. Resolve gone, she moans without meaning to, leaning into his touch. Suddenly, she is her father’s daughter. Her mouth is on his neck, his jawline, and she is feverish with the delight at touching him, at his warmth and familiar scent. Teeth scrape down his flesh, and she shivers. She leans into him, wanting to be lost forever in him, to lose herself in this. But her bottom falls out and she stumbles back, shaking. “No,” it is almost a whimper. “No,” this time stronger, and she trembles out of reach, ignoring the way she ached. “Love does not hurt. It kills. You’ll kill me.”
She loved him, and she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
and you break, it's too late for you to fall apart
and the blame that you claim is all your own fault
