12-21-2019, 03:25 AM
love is really nothing
but a dream that keeps waking me –
but a dream that keeps waking me –
He snaps at her, and even though she is used to it by now it does nothing to soothe the sting. She retracts from him with a visible hurt flaring in her navy blue eyes, and for a moment they darken to a near-black as tears fill them. The ache that builds in her throat feels like a noose, but she refuses to actually let any tears fall. With a trembling sigh she swallows the knot away, and when he apologizes she just smiles and gives an easy roll of her shoulders. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, hoping her voice sounded stronger to him than it did to her – that it didn’t sound like he had every ability to build her up and tear her back down, that she wanted nothing more than his approval.
She doesn’t verbally disagree with him when he talks about their father, but she does cast him a skeptical glance. Draco loved their father – she knew he didn’t actually think he was full of shit, and that he was just wounded at the fact that he had disappeared and that no one, not even Draco, knew where he was. But Dove had learned very quickly to not bring Lie up; she stopped making suggestions, she stopped wondering out loud about where he could be. All it did was irritate Draco, and she couldn’t risk making him so annoyed that he avoided her altogether. “I miss him,” is all she finally says, and this time her eyes divert away from her brother’s to avoid what might be a scornful gaze, looking instead at the turquoise water.
They walk side by side, her skin occasionally brushing against his. It was an accident each time, but that didn’t stop the strange heat that flashed across her body; the kind that made her afraid to look at him, as though that would somehow keep him from reading her mind. She knew the thoughts that she had about him sometimes were wrong – all of it was wrong. She wondered sometimes if it was what she really wanted or if she just too starved for affection, and combined with how badly she wanted to be accepted by him, it was a recipe for disaster.
But then he touches her on purpose, and she knows that even though the feelings are twisted and wrong, they are still incredibly real.
She leans into his touch when he presses his cheek to hers, and she tries to ignore the way her heart is fluttering inside of her chest. Tentatively, she tilts her head to brush her lips against his neck, still avoiding direct eye contact as she suggests timidly, “There’s supposed to be a waterfall here.” Her nose drifts over the tangles of his mane, letting her lips linger over the strands before continuing with a whisper of hope in her voice, “Maybe we could find it?”
She doesn’t verbally disagree with him when he talks about their father, but she does cast him a skeptical glance. Draco loved their father – she knew he didn’t actually think he was full of shit, and that he was just wounded at the fact that he had disappeared and that no one, not even Draco, knew where he was. But Dove had learned very quickly to not bring Lie up; she stopped making suggestions, she stopped wondering out loud about where he could be. All it did was irritate Draco, and she couldn’t risk making him so annoyed that he avoided her altogether. “I miss him,” is all she finally says, and this time her eyes divert away from her brother’s to avoid what might be a scornful gaze, looking instead at the turquoise water.
They walk side by side, her skin occasionally brushing against his. It was an accident each time, but that didn’t stop the strange heat that flashed across her body; the kind that made her afraid to look at him, as though that would somehow keep him from reading her mind. She knew the thoughts that she had about him sometimes were wrong – all of it was wrong. She wondered sometimes if it was what she really wanted or if she just too starved for affection, and combined with how badly she wanted to be accepted by him, it was a recipe for disaster.
But then he touches her on purpose, and she knows that even though the feelings are twisted and wrong, they are still incredibly real.
She leans into his touch when he presses his cheek to hers, and she tries to ignore the way her heart is fluttering inside of her chest. Tentatively, she tilts her head to brush her lips against his neck, still avoiding direct eye contact as she suggests timidly, “There’s supposed to be a waterfall here.” Her nose drifts over the tangles of his mane, letting her lips linger over the strands before continuing with a whisper of hope in her voice, “Maybe we could find it?”
Dove
v