Silence, thick and sharp and crackling like muted static.
It takes a moment for his words to roll over her, but she doesn't recoil. It doesn't have the same impact it does when they speak of his death. She's going to die soon, no matter what. A bitter voice wants to say, it'll only have come a year early, anyway.
She doesn't. But it's true, a tiny voice says.
You don't know that, Lena argues internally instead.
She bites the insides of her cheeks until she tastes blood.
"I know I would've," Lena says instead, considerably calm considering the conversation they are having. It's real, like any other conversation they've ever had, but nothing's ever hurt as much, she doesn't think. Nothing has ever felt as uncertain and it's like navigating through very, very thick fog with not a lighthouse in sight. "I wouldn't have wanted to make it out alive if you didn't."
And she doesn't care if that makes her weak or not because at least it's honest.
As for Sonny, she says nothing further. She nods in agreement and scrubs a hand against her cheek in exhaustion. She's slept less in the past five days. Less than she usually does, even.
It was hard to when she was thinking about him.
Do you know what I did for the five days that I wasn't here?
Lena shakes her head, stifling a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob cut off by her teeth biting down on her lower lip when he answers. What he says hurts. Picturing him drinking without any sort of purpose hurts. There's some relief he was at the Kashtta instead of the many other places that would've loved to get their hands on him instead, but most of all there's just this raw, constant ache that keeps pushing at every wall in her chest.
There's a quiet, quiet voice that wants tear it all down, his pain and hers both.
If it can't take anyone else's pain and use it, if Lena keeps depriving it of what it wants, it'll eat itself from the inside out. Until they're both mad. Won't it? "I know what I feel and I know what I think and they're not the same thing," Lena finally says shakily. She doesn't remember what it's like anymore to live without that division of demon and human. She doesn't remember what it's like to experience love without that something else. "I know what I--what I want to say, and I know what a part of me... that isn't me wants to say" (demon) "and it's not the same thing, either."
And she's fighting, she's fighting past that ugly voice that's twisting everything beautiful she could possibly feel for him into something that isn't beautiful anymore, that says it doesn't want it anymore, that says it wants to kill it. That's bathing in the hurt and the guilt and the anger because the rest feels so far away. She isn't insignificant. This isn't insignificant. It isn't ugly. It's not. It's not.
Lena rests her forehead against his gently somewhere amidst the silence. She breathes out, breathes in, lets the tears flood down. I don't want to hurt you, she thinks. I would never want to hurt you.
And she just did. She sees it in his face, in his eyes when she opens her own to look into them. He hasn't moved away and surprisingly, she hasn't either. There's still that breath-away-only distance and she breathes out, the soft warmth of it fanning across his cheek. It's meant to steady her, ground her, but his hands on her shoulders do that more than anything else.
"We broke so many promises to each other, Lucky," she whispers brokenly. She can still remember when she made hers, and they feel so long ago when it was just over a month ago.
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It takes a moment for his words to roll over her, but she doesn't recoil. It doesn't have the same impact it does when they speak of his death. She's going to die soon, no matter what. A bitter voice wants to say, it'll only have come a year early, anyway.
She doesn't. But it's true, a tiny voice says.
You don't know that, Lena argues internally instead.
She bites the insides of her cheeks until she tastes blood.
"I know I would've," Lena says instead, considerably calm considering the conversation they are having. It's real, like any other conversation they've ever had, but nothing's ever hurt as much, she doesn't think. Nothing has ever felt as uncertain and it's like navigating through very, very thick fog with not a lighthouse in sight. "I wouldn't have wanted to make it out alive if you didn't."
And she doesn't care if that makes her weak or not because at least it's honest.
As for Sonny, she says nothing further. She nods in agreement and scrubs a hand against her cheek in exhaustion. She's slept less in the past five days. Less than she usually does, even.
It was hard to when she was thinking about him.
Do you know what I did for the five days that I wasn't here?
Lena shakes her head, stifling a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob cut off by her teeth biting down on her lower lip when he answers. What he says hurts. Picturing him drinking without any sort of purpose hurts. There's some relief he was at the Kashtta instead of the many other places that would've loved to get their hands on him instead, but most of all there's just this raw, constant ache that keeps pushing at every wall in her chest.
There's a quiet, quiet voice that wants tear it all down, his pain and hers both.
If it can't take anyone else's pain and use it, if Lena keeps depriving it of what it wants, it'll eat itself from the inside out. Until they're both mad. Won't it? "I know what I feel and I know what I think and they're not the same thing," Lena finally says shakily. She doesn't remember what it's like anymore to live without that division of demon and human. She doesn't remember what it's like to experience love without that something else. "I know what I--what I want to say, and I know what a part of me... that isn't me wants to say" (demon) "and it's not the same thing, either."
And she's fighting, she's fighting past that ugly voice that's twisting everything beautiful she could possibly feel for him into something that isn't beautiful anymore, that says it doesn't want it anymore, that says it wants to kill it. That's bathing in the hurt and the guilt and the anger because the rest feels so far away. She isn't insignificant. This isn't insignificant. It isn't ugly. It's not. It's not.
Lena rests her forehead against his gently somewhere amidst the silence. She breathes out, breathes in, lets the tears flood down. I don't want to hurt you, she thinks. I would never want to hurt you.
And she just did. She sees it in his face, in his eyes when she opens her own to look into them. He hasn't moved away and surprisingly, she hasn't either. There's still that breath-away-only distance and she breathes out, the soft warmth of it fanning across his cheek. It's meant to steady her, ground her, but his hands on her shoulders do that more than anything else.
"We broke so many promises to each other, Lucky," she whispers brokenly. She can still remember when she made hers, and they feel so long ago when it was just over a month ago.
They'd been so happy and in love.
Where is that? Where is it?