05-12-2020, 12:45 AM
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
She had known, or suspected at least, that the prospect of being a father wouldn’t chase him away. If anything it seemed to draw him closer, and she wishes that she would be settled by this idea instead of wanting to retreat further inside of herself. She is afraid, mostly, that if she lets herself think she has found something stable – something that is hers, something that is steady and unshakable – that she will spiral in unimaginable ways when she undoubtedly destroys it.
But she decides, just for now, to let herself be wrapped in his assurances, to press her lips to his shoulder and to expel a sigh that almost seemed to sound content across his glassy skin. Her heart twists in her chest when he kisses her side, and again when she feels the way their babies stir and shift seemingly in response to his touch. She knew – had always known – that he would be the kind that didn’t take love lightly, and there is again that guilt hiding in the crevices of her subconscious when she thinks that he is wasting it on her.
“Do you mean made of glass?” She asks, tilting her own head to find his gaze. She shifts, just enough so that she can press her lips against his cheek, trailing her touch up behind his ear and then again down the curve of his neck. “I hope that they’re exactly like you,” and for once her voice nearly aches with sincerity, and she rests her head against his neck again so that he cannot see the glimmer of pain and regret that lingers in her eyes, “I would rather they be like you, glass and all, than be anything like me.”
- - - -
It’s the next evening when the twins finally decide they cannot wait any longer, and with only the moon and the stars and Thomas to see her in this secluded part of the meadow, Desire lowers herself to the cool ground below.
It is a long, exhausting process to bring two new lives into the world, and somewhere in the back of her mind, beneath the crushing waves of pain that ripple across her and force her body to heave and strain, she is so grateful that she had found him instead of thinking she could do it alone in Pangea. She could not imagine doing this without the occasional feel of his touch against her sweat-soaked neck, or to not have him here when the first filly is free but the pain doesn’t relent. It grips her in a way that makes her grit her teeth in an attempt to stifle the cry that builds in her throat, the purple of her skin darkened to a near-black at the effort it takes to repeat the earlier process all over again.
They are lingering towards the end of the night – or maybe it is the beginning of the dawn, she isn’t even sure anymore – when there are at long last two trembling newborns behind her, and she takes a moment to gasp and catch her breath before sitting herself up to look at them.
She touches them, and cleans the dampness of birth from their faces and their necks, and they feel just the way Thomas does, and in her exhaustion she cannot hide the smile that alights her mouth or the delight in her depthless eyes when she whispers to him, “They’re like you. Just like I hoped they would be.”
But she decides, just for now, to let herself be wrapped in his assurances, to press her lips to his shoulder and to expel a sigh that almost seemed to sound content across his glassy skin. Her heart twists in her chest when he kisses her side, and again when she feels the way their babies stir and shift seemingly in response to his touch. She knew – had always known – that he would be the kind that didn’t take love lightly, and there is again that guilt hiding in the crevices of her subconscious when she thinks that he is wasting it on her.
“Do you mean made of glass?” She asks, tilting her own head to find his gaze. She shifts, just enough so that she can press her lips against his cheek, trailing her touch up behind his ear and then again down the curve of his neck. “I hope that they’re exactly like you,” and for once her voice nearly aches with sincerity, and she rests her head against his neck again so that he cannot see the glimmer of pain and regret that lingers in her eyes, “I would rather they be like you, glass and all, than be anything like me.”
- - - -
It’s the next evening when the twins finally decide they cannot wait any longer, and with only the moon and the stars and Thomas to see her in this secluded part of the meadow, Desire lowers herself to the cool ground below.
It is a long, exhausting process to bring two new lives into the world, and somewhere in the back of her mind, beneath the crushing waves of pain that ripple across her and force her body to heave and strain, she is so grateful that she had found him instead of thinking she could do it alone in Pangea. She could not imagine doing this without the occasional feel of his touch against her sweat-soaked neck, or to not have him here when the first filly is free but the pain doesn’t relent. It grips her in a way that makes her grit her teeth in an attempt to stifle the cry that builds in her throat, the purple of her skin darkened to a near-black at the effort it takes to repeat the earlier process all over again.
They are lingering towards the end of the night – or maybe it is the beginning of the dawn, she isn’t even sure anymore – when there are at long last two trembling newborns behind her, and she takes a moment to gasp and catch her breath before sitting herself up to look at them.
She touches them, and cleans the dampness of birth from their faces and their necks, and they feel just the way Thomas does, and in her exhaustion she cannot hide the smile that alights her mouth or the delight in her depthless eyes when she whispers to him, “They’re like you. Just like I hoped they would be.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
desire
