07-26-2016, 11:37 AM
Gentle touches trace what used to be wounds. I can still feel the echoes of the deepest cuts, still map their trajectory on my skin though the pain has stopped. The tenderness in the contact is something uncommon for us, and it occurs to me for perhaps the first time to wonder if he would prefer it otherwise. If like my uncles with Dara, he would prefer the quiet, casual physical affection they so easily give one another.
It may not come easily to me, and I may have generally preferred my space, too particular about how I am touched and when and why to seek it out. But there is comfort in that touch, and an inexplicable warmth in my chest as he traces what used to be agony and soothes away the hurt. He has always been so patient with me, so accepting of the apparent quirks of my nature that make me more inclined toward distance and solitude rather than the radiant extraversion of my cousins.
This, though? This is...nice.
I made him laugh. A small smile curves one corner of my mouth upward, the side not resting on my father’s lap. Humor is not a strong suit of mine, and getting it right in a moment like this feels...good. He asks if it hurts, and I pause to assess. Exhaustion weighs my entire body down, making even turning my gaze to meet his feel like far too much work. I suspect should I give back in to sleep it will be quite some time before I stir again. I can still remember the feeling of demon claws on my skin, can still remember the sensations that tore screams from my throat.
But I do not hurt.
I shake my head, just the tiniest motion, the absolute minimum of expended energy to achieve the objective of an infinitesimal movement. “No.” I’m not entirely convinced I could move even if the demon-weilder were standing beside me building an entirely new cage and starting all over. But Father is here. I would not have to. “I am...weary.” Not a word I would normally use to describe my physical state, that. But it is more than just my physical energy that has been utterly exhausted, and the barely-quantifiable emotional component...feels appropriate somehow. “So very weary. But the pain is gone. Thank you, Father.”
It may not come easily to me, and I may have generally preferred my space, too particular about how I am touched and when and why to seek it out. But there is comfort in that touch, and an inexplicable warmth in my chest as he traces what used to be agony and soothes away the hurt. He has always been so patient with me, so accepting of the apparent quirks of my nature that make me more inclined toward distance and solitude rather than the radiant extraversion of my cousins.
This, though? This is...nice.
I made him laugh. A small smile curves one corner of my mouth upward, the side not resting on my father’s lap. Humor is not a strong suit of mine, and getting it right in a moment like this feels...good. He asks if it hurts, and I pause to assess. Exhaustion weighs my entire body down, making even turning my gaze to meet his feel like far too much work. I suspect should I give back in to sleep it will be quite some time before I stir again. I can still remember the feeling of demon claws on my skin, can still remember the sensations that tore screams from my throat.
But I do not hurt.
I shake my head, just the tiniest motion, the absolute minimum of expended energy to achieve the objective of an infinitesimal movement. “No.” I’m not entirely convinced I could move even if the demon-weilder were standing beside me building an entirely new cage and starting all over. But Father is here. I would not have to. “I am...weary.” Not a word I would normally use to describe my physical state, that. But it is more than just my physical energy that has been utterly exhausted, and the barely-quantifiable emotional component...feels appropriate somehow. “So very weary. But the pain is gone. Thank you, Father.”