Feels good to be home

==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.

anodynousgrip:

terminallycaprichoso:

You’re more than fine with V hauling you up and carrying you around. You like it. It gives you an excuse to lean into her and smell her neck, because it smells really nice, and she feels nice, and there’s nothing quite intimidating about her, not like you felt that first time you saw her, not back when everything was in forms of eights, and your entire body hissed spider, spider, spider bitch.

But hold up.

Who the motherfuck is this guy?

Staring at the taller boy as he approached, your head tips towards V’s, bumping against her cheek as you lean back to get a look at him. Up close, your eyes won’t focus anymore, and he smells almost as good as V. What was up with that?

Your feet don’t cooperate as you are lead, kind of stumbling here and there, a deep chuckle escaping you as you realize it’s probably for naught, and you probably should have stayed at the station. You could have disappeared into the jail cell and everyone would be safe and no one would have come to look for you and things were probably better that way, right?

And V’s still holding you, so you hide the thoughts in her smell, and in this guy’s smell, until you’re outside in the blinding sun and on the curb, leaning against the car. Staring up at them, this kid that V’s spending time with is quite the sight. He’s lean and wide at once, and he looks like a good guy. That’s good, that’s nice, there’s not enough of those in the world, good for V. Your eyes flutter closed.

“Mi aRaÑa,” you coo up at her, eyes peeling open one at a time, “WhY yOu In ThE sHeRiFf StAtIoN? bAd PlAcE tO bE lOoKiNg FoR a DeAlEr.”

You unlock the car with steadying fingers. You’re not sure what had just happened… you… brain-washed a group of cops?

You’re almost droning out what Tyler’s telling you- yeah, you know, you knew when you saw his face in the doorway. But this is the least of your problems now because fuck. Fuck. You can use her powers. Sure, you feel mentally drained as hell, but there’s no other explanation for what you just did.

“Help me get him inside,” you ask quietly as you pull Gamada back up and let him lean onto you, his question a hot breath against your cheek and ear.

“Good place to be looking for things you think you’ve lost,” you state instead, letting Tyler help you seat him up. You don’t really think much of it, you proceed to half straddle him to straighten him up and strap him in. “And it was your lucky day, Gam.” You lock your deep blue eyes into his hooded ones. You would have thought you’re seeing things, or convince yourself you are any other day, but now you don’t even question why they hint onto violet. You feel a headache coming even wore than before, nerves bulging, and your hand slips up, nearly tenderly, to tuck messy curls out of his face. “Don’t puke in my car, ok?” you order, before you straighten up again, lips a thin, worried line.

“Get in, we’re going home,” you tell Tyler, you don’t even notice your hand lingering on his hip as you guide him back to close the door. The moment you do, though, you pull it back as if the contact suddenly burned you. You’re around the back of the car and in the driver’s seat faster than you thought possible with the blowing ache between your eyes.

“We’ll get him showered,” you dictate as you pull out of the parking lot, trying to keep focused, “then let him get his shit together. He’ll leave when he does, he always does.”

There’s something you’re forgetting, isn’t there? Yes… yes there is. Focus Vris- Victoria. Your name’s still Victoria, damnit. “Food… we’ll need food.” You chance a glance at Tyler then, a contained hope in your tone. “You can cook, right?”

God he stinks. Boozed up, out of his mind. A dope fiend, a waste of space, weight on society… all the words your dad taught you flow into your head.

But wow, there’s just something about the way he speaks that makes you almost lose your grip of him as you help him to the car.

You stand looking for the longest time as Vic literally ties him into the car and then once she walks past you you snap out of it, nodding to words you barely heard.

“Shower? Yeah, sure… uh…” You’d like to say something witty, but you keep glancing back at the other guy and wonder exactly what their history is.

“Yeah… uh, yeah I can cook… a bit… I’ll make some bbq, from your balcony… that cool?”

Ugh

gardengnosticism:

amianttrooper:

I feel almost malplaced here… anyone wanna chat?

im pretty sure you mean misplaced!! but i know what you mean :(

i guess theres a lot of things i dont want to think about right now so a friendly chat with a stranger would be nice :)

so……

my name is jade and you are….???? :D?

Oh wow, um, hi! Sorry, this was posted so long ago!

Hi, I’m Tyler, most people call me Ty though. I just got back from a pretty long and overall not very nice trip so it’s nice to talk to people. How do you do? :)

==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.

anodynousgrip:

terminallycaprichoso:

You don’t quite remember when it was you got arrested. Not the time, but you remember the sun was rising as you stumbled around. Where was your car? Didn’t matter. Where was Dog? Unimportant. You were on a mission with a bottle of tequila and you were aiming to make this mission happen. Right now, sitting in the back of the squad car, you can’t quite remember what the mission was, but you know it was important. And had something to do… with.. Karkat? No, not Karkat. Not anyone, really. Just the delusions of a completely blasted motherfucker.

They’d shined a light in your eyes after parking behind you and you had raised a hand to shield them, but lost your balance and fallen right on your ass. They didn’t even bother with a sobriety test. You went right to the breathalyzer, mouth around it and blowing, which is something you would usually like, but not with the object they’re making it happen with.

As they’d attempted to haul you into the car, you’d resisted, but not on purpose. It was more like little things distracted you. Your booze had rollen down the hill in the fall, and you’d made an attempt to go after it - and rolled down the hill as well. You knew that from the scratches on your face and arms. They’d hauled you back up and then your shoe was untied, so you went for that.

Eventually they were gruff enough to handcuff you and shove you back there and you fell asleep against the window, lulled by the engine and the sounds coming from the radio. The cops weren’t happy about your drool spot on the glass, but you only grinned up at them, all nasty teeth and twisted expression.

Hauling you into the precinct, you look around with glossy eyes, but mostly at the floor and your collective feet, trying to remember which ones are yours and which ones are the cops’. You should be able to tell, but all of your shoes were black, and you were - you were still pretty blitzed, but this time, you could remember. Stumbling as they shoved you down, hard, you tip your head back and stare up at the lights. It’s a normal precinct, phones buzzing, cops talking, the smell of coffee and donuts, and it’s definitely not your first time in one.

It is your first time having someone recognize you.

Lifting your eyes slowly at the Spanish cry from a familiar voice, you blink, dumbfounded, and stare up at V’s eyes. It’s not the first time you’ve looked up into them, directly, but it’s the first time without -

“HeRmAnA,” you purr, understanding. You get it, this makes sense, she’s trying to cover for you. Your lips pull back into another greasy smile. “Me aCaBaN De sAlIr. UsTeD SaBe qUe nO PuEdE ReSiStIrSe a uNa fIeStA.” And you lean into her hug, for effect, but also because it’s nice, and you don’t get hugs that often. Your eyes close as your chin rests on her shoulder. “Yo nO TeNíA La iNtEnCiÓn dE AsUsTaR.”

“Tonto…” you repeat another time, making a show of wiping your eyes just enough to smear your still sort of fresh make up. Well, he did give you free weed, you suppose this makes you even. Only now you actually need to pull this through, all you need to do is make it believable. There’s a sense of calm inside of you as you bury your nose in his messy hair, feel all the lies you’re about to spill form so fluently into sentences, paragraphs, a full arsenal of them. The ground feels completely steady, your resolve set, and for a moment, you feel as though you’re hyper aware of everything in the room, including the opening door and - yes, it’s Tyler - walking in. Nothing can stop you now. 

“Was it him you were looking for, dear?” the female officer touches your shoulder, back with the water. 

“Yes…” you swallow thickly, taking the water from her and tenderly helping ‘your brother’ swallow, thumb ghosting over his jaw affectionately. “And no… he is not always like this, he just—” you swallow again, willing tears forth. And it’s not hard. All you have to do is think of John. John who will never be back. John who never said good bye. John who you’ll never see smile again, never hug him again— 

Eyes full to the brim, you turn to look at her. “Mama’s not answering the phone, she had not sent any money for over a month now and my brother cannot get a job so… he went out, got drunk… I was so worried…” you turn away from her again, as though to hide those tears, swallow again. He’s in your line of sight, so you gently swat him again, just because, and then hug him tight again, smoothing his hair down. 

“How long has your mother not been answering?” one of the officers that dragged Gamada in speaks up from beside you. They all seem to move back slightly, let you handle him, and you don’t fail to make him the canter of your universe in the given moment. 

“I have not called her for a while, figured she had problems… but I called last night and it said her number didn’t exist. I told him and… oh you! What did you do?!” You suddenly raise your voice at him, wiping at your eyes, “how are we going to pay for this now—” 

The female officer (Linds, was she?), rests her hand on your shoulder again. “We cannot file a missing person report unless you know for sure your mother has been missing for 48 hours…” 

You look at her, frowning, but you’re nodding, thoughtfully. 

“Your brother though,” the same officer that spoke before sways his head now. “He better stay with us until he comes to his senses. We can’t let him go like this.” 

“Yes,” agrees the other man, “we’ll write your names down, your number, and we’ll give you a call once he’s all right.” 

No. No names. Maybe he already has a file, fuck if you know… and if so, then now so will you. 

Your resolve hardens. Colours sharpen and there’s a splitting pain in your left eye. But you keep it open, open and sharp. They all look at you, as though you’ve called them, but your lips hadn’t moved. It’s like… you can see… touch their minds. There’s un undertone of confusion, of questions they’re asking themselves, and it’s making your eye hurt worse. You tell them to shut it, shut up… and your lips don’t move at all this time either.

The noise is gone, as though you’ve cut some sort of power cable. You revel in the moment for a second, catch your bearings - and no, you’re not sure what you just did, or how for that matter. But she‘d done this. You’ve felt how thousands of times. 

‘He’s just upset,’ you tell them mentally, ‘I can take him home.’ 

“He’s just upset, though…” the female officer speaks up from beside you. “We should let the kid go home. And you should come by in two days if you don’t hear from your mom by then.” 

The two men framing Gamada nod, nearly simultaneously. And so do you. “Okay… yeah. I’ll come back,” you sniff into your sleeve. You reach for your ‘brother’, wedging his arm over your shoulder and trying to urge him up. One of the men reaches to help you, but you sway your head no. Instead, your gaze fixes on Tyler. You will that inner voice to order him to come over— but you can’t reach him. There’s a sudden flash of perfectly functional feet at the edge of a cliff and you tell them to walk into nothing. They move, they move so easily and- and your eye hurts too much, burns. You let your fringe fall over it, quickly.

“Tyl, come help,” you call out instead, hoping he’s smart enough to not ask questions now. Your head hurts and your vision is swimming just a little. “Let’s get him in the car, I just want to go back home…” your voice breaks a little, and this time you’re not even faking it.

“I… What?” You’re not sure what’s going on at all, but then… you just help her carry the guy, surprised by how light-weight and… god, he stinks. You breathe through your mouth as you help him outside, shooting Victoria a look.

Should you talk about what the police said? After all, they completely fucked up, not that that’s going to bring your dad and sister any closer to finding, but…

Right now you just want to fuck someone up. You’ve only felt like this a couple of times, and it still scares you. It’s like a side of yourself you’ve never had before now… and you’re not sure where it’s coming from.

“Called the cops, haven’t found them yet…” you mutter, helping Gamada sit down by the car. “…what do we do with this guy?”

==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.

anodynousgrip:

His stiff dismissiveness is steadily leaving you baffled, fast. You unlock the doors by reflex, letting hoim out of your momentary confinement. You suddenly really, really want to hurt him. Because maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to vent, fight… how can he be so indifferent when you’ve just tried to be considerate of his feelings? Can he really just shove this on a shelf and leave it for the dust to settle? Because that’s surely more than you can do right now.

Damnit, Edward would have wwhined at you, maybe clung to you a little and try not to sob. Even the Stoner Boy would have given you a carefuly calculating glance, then look for another way under your skin… or maybe just skin-deep would be fine, hands roaming. And John— no. No you couldn’t be a bitch to John. In fact, you sort of can’t even think about John right now. Your façade is already cracking, webbed with lines patched up with a makeup of indifference.

You slam the door of your car shut with slightlly more force than needed, eyes poisonously blue and subtle as they watch him make the call with what you wish was disgust. Holly hell, why did you kiss this guy? Why do you… need him around? Why do you want him to shelter you, cherish you… when he suddenly seems to hit all of your sore spots in a milisecond? Why is he so damn important to you? You killed him last time and—-

No. NononononononoNO. You’re not going down that train of thought, not today. You’re not sure what you can handle today.

Shoulders squared you march for the office. Old bricks and four steps - your hand rests on the morning-chilly metal of the knob as you take one last, resolving breath. You’re suddenly not so sure what you want, and that in itself is not exactly a big surprise. Your tongue may be sharp, but your conscience, if you can even call it that, is sort of a won and lost battle where you’ve lost the bets and tabs on. Which is why you’re battling one right now; if they find her - then yes, you’ve lost your marbles, all of them, and maybe it’s prime time you give in to the damn medication and forget about that dream world - because without John… what’s the point? Right or wrong becomes irrelevant to the one who’s thrown their fate to the Wind.

… but what if they don’t? What if you really are right? What if they’re all morons, clouded up in this illusion and you’re the only one half-awake? Then what?

A cold chill suddenly runs down your spine. Because for once, you don’t have a plan B. But you will. Your hand pushes the door inwards, and as you pass the threshold you instinctively push your right hand into your pocket. Your fingers find something small, smooth, solid; your subconscious reason why you pulled on these shorts, didn’t change into long jeans.

Feeling steadier, your eyes scan the poorly lit entrance hall. A polished wooden bench that’s seen better days is pushed against the far wall. Windows bulked up with iron crosses, their shadows long in the morning light across the grey linoleum floor. The place smells of cheap coffee and chlorine, or whatever it is they mopped it with the night before.

“G’morning, how can I help you?”

You turn sharply towards the desk on the far left, where a female officer of colour seems to regard you in a wont, law-enforcement fuelled pomp she obviously believes is the way you need to see her with, because she is the law and she will protect you or put you right where you belong. But your gut instinct tells you otherwise, leaving a murky, cold feeling in the pit of your stomach instead.

“I’d like to report a missing person,” you start, taking a hesitant step towards her, your fingers tightening around the die in your pocket, as though you could feel how many white dots are now facing upwards, engraved into your palm. “I’ve tried call—”

The doors open with force behind you, and you barely turn, sidestep in time, because there’s two officers dragging a man in and straight for the wooden bench. A man with suspiciously familiar curly black hair.

“Linds, got a party boy over here, get some water,” one of the officers calls out the lady. You idly hear her get up, ask something, but your mind’s reeling.

He’s going to get arrested. He can’t get arrested. You need him, because he’s one of you.

“Hermano!” you call out, thank god for your Spanish classes. The officers cease their talking as you press forward, hands in the air and reaching for his face, holding his slightly raspy cheeks as though he really was your long lost brother. 

“Por Dios, ¿dónde estabas?” You don’t know why it is so essential you save his ass right now, but as words flow, a plan seems to be forming. And you sure as hell hope he’s not too drunk or high to not catch on. “Qué susto me has dado, tonto!” You swat him across the back of his head, not too hard, just enough to sway him for dramatic effect, before you’re leaning over and hugging him for dear life. Also for dramatic effect. And you catch a sob in your throat, because you can and because you know they heard it loud and clear. It’s on.

You wait for the phone to answer as Victoria steps into the police office, the door closing behind her. The phone rings for a few more times before a tired voice picks up the other side. You’ve already had time to sink down into almost a crouch, leaning against the sterile walls of the building.

“Yes, hello, my name is Tyler Norton, I called you yesterday about…”

You pause for a while, wondering how you should phrase it, but then you just mentally shrug it away. “…my missing family.”

“Yes…”

“Yes the address was…” You recite it from memory, heavens know you’ve written too many letters to the place. You wonder if anyone ever got them. There’s a muttered excuse, and he’s put on hold for a while. Yeah, you expected this, the police in those parts were never good at keeping tabs.

You notice someone’s being dragged into the police. Unkept dark brown hair… stoner? Probably, judging from the faint smell. You glance the other way, lost in thoughts when suddenly.

“Yes… yes that’s what I said…”

“…what?”

You actually stare at the phone for a moment, the voice of the officer mutedly asking where you went. How could that be? They must be wrong.

“Are… are you sure? Yes, yesterday. Tyler Norton… Yes, Norton. My father’s name is Andrew… my sister’s Tina. Yes, yes I called you yesterday!” You’re starting to lose your temper, no good.

“You want me to call the phone company? I talked to three different people! No I don’t want you to go out there it’s fucking abandoned!”

“Yes… yes I’m sorry, I lost my temper, I’m sorry… You have to understand, this is important! They’ve been missing for I don’t know how long. Completely gone… yes, no trace. I sent them money… I was in the army, yes, served in Iraq. Yes, I got letters from them…”

You retell the whole story, leaving nothing out, you even mention sleeping at a friend’s… you even give them the address. When finally you seem to have everything taken care of… again… you hang up and get inside, Victoria still being inside.

God damn fucking cops…

==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.

anodynousgrip:

“Documents, cards, cellphone - anything related to who you are and where you came from,” you dictate. You really can’t… settle down. The sooner you get this police shit settled out, the sooner you hope your nerves will settle. You’re prone to deal with it, you just need to digest it first.

The wole drive there you find yourself sinking in your seat, thoughts reeling. You don’t turn up the radio, don’t say a word. As you pull into a parking lot outside the station, you suddenly flip the locks on and tell yourself you’re human, and if you want to keep being human, you need start acting like one.

Buying time, you run a hand through your hair. it’s long and in your face because you didn’t tie it up and you hate it, hate it, hate it!

“Listen… I’m sorry I’m edgy,” you blurt out, “it’s just that if they don’t find my mom, I’m going to be in deep shit financially pretty fucking soon. And…” you chance a glance over, but not more; you can’t get flustered because- you can’t remember the why right now. But it makes you feel vulnerable, as though the rest of your problems weren’t enough. “… and I don’t want to talk about what happened last night right now. Phone call and… later.” You scratch at your thigh, kicking at the break pedal. “Can we just deal with one problem at a time for now?”

“Whoa, I didn’t say we needed to, uh, talk about it…? Not specifically anyway.” You sink in your seat at well, looking out a window. The weather’s pretty much shit, reflecting how you’re feeling about this whole thing. You’d like to tell her you could help her out, the money’s that kept in your account could keep you both afloat for… for a while, you guess. But somehow you decide not to tell her. This is something she wants to deal with, a large portion of you believes. A smaller one thinks she doesn’t deserve getting told quite this quickly.

You’ve got everything you need with you, and as the car pulls up at the station you jump out, glad to be out of the suddenly very stiff atmosphere. You guess… this is just how she handles stress? Obviously she doesn’t mean it, she’s just stressed out like shit, so you’ll just lay low for a while, check on your own report… Do differest jurisdictions have some kind of network thing going on? Maybe not…

You take out your cellphone and dial the number to the Castro County police office, covering the microphone with one hand. “I’m just going to dial up the office I reported my family to…” You motion for Vic to go into the office, you’ll follow behind.

==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.

anodynousgrip:

The way his voice stutters makes you even more irritated… you sort of wish he’d yell back and- no. No you don’t want to fight. This is stupid, incredibly stupid. You sip your coffee, dark and plain, as your eyes scan the city below. “Police station. We’re reporting our parents missing, remember?”

You don’t wait for him to answer. You finish your coffee off turning to stand towering over him. You open your mouth to tell him to stop being such a lazy-ass grub—- and then you realize you’re not sure what a ‘grub’ is. And you also realize your defences are crumbling because him sitting hunched over like that, with a soft, but confused sort of reluctance in his eyes… it makes you want to just grab him and yank him up by the horns he doesn’t have.

Instead, you close your mouth intelligently, huffing in what you hope sounds like a thoughtful manner, before you lean over and stuff your wallet and documents into your back pocket. Your keys are in the living room - and then you’re at the door, outside of it, twirling your apartment keys on your index finger as you wonder why exactly do you suddenly so desperately want him around when everything about him makes you feel like the worst douchebag and superhero heroine at the same time.

You watch her in increasing discomfort. What’s going on? Getting up, you finish your own coffee and put on your shirt over your tanktop, run your fingers a couple of times through your ‘hawk and follow her out to the door, eyeing your backpack.

“Should I bring somethin’?” You ask carefully, feeling like a beaten dog. You want to ask what happened to her, what turned her into a complete 8it- er, bitch, but you have no idea how to phrase it without getting her completely pissed on you.

“Nah, uh, nevermind, I’ll bring somethin’ else…”

==> Victoria: Prepare to face the music.

anodynousgrip:

In retrospect, the night before was not one of your strongest moments. In fact, you sort of wish it never happened. But John is still dead - because Tess’ call is still registered among your ‘received calls’, time and duration and everything. It still feels unreal. You sort of… really need to push that on a shelf for now, though, maybe deal with Tess’ batshit lunatisms once you’ve dealt with your own. You can’t really let it sink in before then, it might sort of shatter you and, let’s face it, you’re already sort of full of cracks barely covered with make up.

And so you sit in your kitchen, letting your cellphone clatter on the table as the coffee starts boiling. The backs of your thighs had plastered to the smooth plastic of the cheap-shit chair you’ve dragged home from the store months ago and you vaguely consider wearing long, regular jeans instead of shorts for a change, but there’s always something turning you off. You tell yourself it’s just because shorts are comftier, because it’s getting hot out - and not because it makes me you feel like ‘her’.

You pull your orange hoodie over the shorts anyway, and get the coffee. Two cups, he probably takes it with sugar and cream - and if he doesn’t; well tough luck, he will now. You’re sort of feeling just a little bit pissy and a huge bit awkward, and it’s not really his fault, but that’s not really the point. You’ll just pretend you’ll act like you don’t remember it happened (it didn’t just HAPPEN, you DID it). But if he starts acting weird you can totally brush it off, call him a baby and didn’t he ever drop the soap back in the soldier showers?

No, he probably didn’t. And no, there’s no reason why you should even be thinking about him in those showers. But you just did and that does nothing to alleviate your present irritation. You pick both cups up, give yourself the time to be disgusted and huffy about your own thoughts throughout the short trip to your room. You unlock your room with a hip, not very careful of being quiet. In fact, you deposit his coffee on the chair serving as a bedside table just beside his head with a loud clack of porcelain against wood.

“Hey, get up. We have stuff to do.” Your voice is firm. And yet your thoughts are not. He looks good, in your bed, arms bare-

“Get dressed,” you mutter, turning to busy yourself with lifting the blinds.

You wake up with a start, literally tossing yourself up from the bed, feet sweeping off the bedside and hitting floor immediately. You’re stark awake, eyeing the situation, before you realize you’re not in camp anymore… and you relax.

You hadn’t even noticed the tone of her voice, but your memory replays for you and as you take the cup with a stammer “u-uh, t, thanks” you wonder what you did to earn her ire, maybe it’s stress from her mother’s disappearance…

But strangely, you’re feeling more and more apathetic about yours. You know they’re not dead. You don’t know why, but there’s not that emptiness you usually associate with it… when your friends died…

“Did… something happen?” You pull on your pants and socks, scratching the back of your head. “Where are we going?”

==> Victoria: Get the call.

anodynousgrip:

“Maybe,” you concede, sighing. “After we set our own problems straight, we can try calling… should call anyway, she’s… not okay. And I’d want to be at the funeral.” You actually don’t want to. If you close your eyes you can see him, though he’s not sprawled on the sidewalk, but on a stone bed, dripping blood off the edges. And you know you did this, brought him there, but it was for the best… what in the world made you think you could actually ready him again?

“They’re from Austen though. Another two to three hours ride… so if we really go, we need to sleep.” You give his hand a squeeze. It’s much bigger than yours and him being so… nice is twisting your guts in knots and you can’t decide why you want to shove him off and kick him out of bed and yell without a reason other than your frustration with everything right now… while wanting to turn where you lay and sink into his hug and just feel small, pathetic, but protected, no matter if he can’t save you from what’s happened.

It strikes you you never felt this conflicted. And added confusion is even more frustrating. Maybe you want to cruelly confuse him, too. Or maybe it is you want to take a step at figuring yourself out? Or further yet… maybe, right now, you just need to feel alive, and okay, and maybe loved, because the only person who ever understood you, who ever loved you unconditionally… had just died.

You wriggle your fingers between his enough for him to loosen his hold on your shoulder, turning in his arms hips first. It’s a little foreign, being so close to someone and not feeling confident and dominating. The tear-stains are drying up on your cheeks, pulling at your skin ever so slightly, and your hair is such a mess… but so is his, and he… no you don’t want to read what he’s thinking. You don’t want to know. It’s a gamble your forfeiting.

Your hand curls in his tank top and you lean up even so slightly, but swiftly. Eyes closed, you let your lips meet his and press them there. You stay, for a moment, two, before you feel heat rising up your throat, ears and cheeks… and so you settle back, redder, as though you’ve never kissed before, frowning at yourself. You let your grip go slack and bury your face in your pillow, letting your hair curtain you from him because- because what the hell is wrong with you?

“Thanks,” you mumble into the pillow, “and sorry…” You don’t want to elaborate, you don’t know what to tell him. Yo’re mostly just angry at yourself right now because that didn’t clear anything up for you. You still want to yell him out, but wish you had the balls to curl into him instead and fall asleep that way, because no confusion ever felt quite so right.

Things suddenly shift into a completely different gear as she kiss you. Every little idea and nuance and worry you had suddenly evaporates and you’re just staring dumb-foundedly at her as she suddenly leans back and hides her face.

What was that about early? Wait, sleep, what?

You have to admit, a large part of yourself is getting frustrated with this girl. Is she putting on the moves? Is she… really hurt? Scars? Do you even want to get involved? Life seemed to make perfect sense while you were being shot at, and now your family’s gone, her mom’s gone… it’s all horribly confused and you don’t know what’s up or down anymore…

“It’s… nothing… g’night…”

What the hell are you supposed to say?

Ugh

I feel almost malplaced here… anyone wanna chat?

==> Victoria: Get the call.

anodynousgrip:

You curl away, facing the wall, not sure if it’s because you don’t want him to see you cry, or if it’s because, if he ever realized who he used to be and what you did to him, he will regret ever comforting you? And yet he seems to have been made to spoon around you. You don’t fight his hand any more, you let it settle over you.

“A friend died,” you say finally, hand coming to touch his, lingering. “Just … don’t tell anyone I cried,” you order, wiping your eyes again. “I’ll be okay come morning…” you promise.

You nod your head slowly… you… you sort of knew, and the knot in your stomach grows. Should you have told her? You’re not sure you should even know. You feel like an intruder into a social group you don’t know anything about…

You continue to rub her shoulder slowly, still not sure what to do. “Uh… if you say so…”

God… what are you even… “Maybe we should… go see, uh, them… her… tomorrow? If you’re okay with it…”