08-06-2018, 12:17 AM
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with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair
Golden eyes traced the slight curve of that bitter smile, wondering just exactly it was that he found so smile worthy. It couldn't be this situation - the weird, odd atmosphere of this scene. This scene that felt like a confession with no words and too much context. He smiled, but he looked pained; exasperated, even. He smiled like he was trying to hold back the words you don't get it, which, frankly? Hazel was expecting to hear. Waiting for it, really. Because fuck, wouldn't it be true? That she didn't get what was going through his head, his mind? That she wasn't linked at the hip with him, waiting for something else to set him off like a time bomb?
And yet, as blatantly obvious as it might seem, Hazel still felt like she was watching through a foggy, dirty glass wall. She could vaguely find his motive, could vaguely feel the pull of emotions that he struggled to shove under the bed so much. But she could never reach him, which was...distressing. She could never put her finger on the exact thing, could never find the exact trigger. They might be linked by an invisible string, but that didn't mean she could pinpoint the source of that grin.
That was, until he spoke. And when he did, the raw refusal of her apology made goosebumps rise along her skin. "It's not fine." Blunt, bitter, frustrated. He finally looked up and her eyes locked, stuck on his. Because he was right.
Something in her cracked just a little - from relief or disappointment, she didn't know. Maybe a little of both. Because he got it. Finally, he understood, and he was answering that burning question she wanted to fucking scream at him sometimes: he knew. This whole time, through everything, her aversion to contact was something he (and...probably most of the clan) had picked up on. He wasn't being oblivious, something in his brain was just...overriding his self control. At least he knew.
The flip side of this coin was that Hazel now had the physical proof she was confusing the shit out of him. She was messing with his sense of right and wrong, and definitely should have explained herself to him before then, but Deus, how? How did she explain that instead of dreading the brush of his fingers against her skin, she craved it? How did she confess to the shame of missing the only form of physical comfort she'd ever known? How did one just explain the sense of security had overcome the sense of fear and peril? She wondered if that would even sound valid, or if it would sound stupid.
In the short pause he offered, Hazel dragged her nails against her scalp, letting her forehead fall onto her kneecaps. "I know, I know, I'm sorry - " He cut her off, and she let him. Her apology died in her throat as she rubbed her thumb near viciously against her temple, gently shaking her head at herself. She felt guilt for messing with him like that, even if it wasn't on purpose and knew she'd have to explain at one point or another, even if it was painfully awkward and embarrassing.
Taking a deep breath, Hazel raised her head, blowing the air back out with a puff of her cheeks. She could faintly feel the exasperation and confusion roll through him, nearly turning into anger. Hazel didn't realize she was holding her breath until she visibly watched the tension roll off his shoulders and the corners of his mouth cant upwards in a dry smile. Huffing, Hazel flopped back against her pillow, barely mirroring his grin without noticing. Her head shook at his next words, a little scoff escaping her lips at his rhetorical question. "It's usually more like dragging your butt back home after you catch something on fire." She muttered to the ceiling.
Hazel chewed on the inside of her cheek as the mattress dipped with his weight, barely recognizable from where she sat. She hated that he sat all the way down there, where she couldn't see the pages and more importantly, felt like there was a barrier between them. However, her separation anxiety was rapidly moving to the back of her mind as she sat up again, waiting for the answer to her question. As he simply gazed back at her, Hazel rapidly found herself ready to stay that way for a while, content with the knowledge that his attention was focused on her.
Then he was confessing his answer, only...it didn't feel like a confession. Speaking more than he had the entire time he had been here, giving up what should seem like a secret, only sounded like fact with his nonchalance. It smoothed the subject over, made it seem like less than it really was. It...made it easier to handle, to put into perspective, almost.
It occurred to Hazel then that it wasn't just Pollie that haunted Bastille. He probably had multiple ghosts, like her. She wondered what was so severe about Zaniel that had Bastille ready to drink himself to numbness. What was so bad about him that pushed Bast that close to the edge.
"That's when Rad started giving you the pills..." She murmured under her breath, like a mere afterthought. That's why he'd gone to Radeken, in search of uppers so strong it could make everything look like cloud nine. Hazel hummed to herself, feeling her brows furrow.
Bastille was so strange, so...contradicting. He claimed that he was angry for letting himself care about someone, but then he turned and cared so deeply about another person that the slightest move against him felt like the worst kind of betrayal and made him upset with himself all over again. It seemed like a self-destructive cycle he wasn't prepared to stop. Hazel wondered then if she'd ever be one of those people. The people that hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him...not ever. But she'd done it already; she could feel it. Maybe that was why there was a gap of constant, underlying tension. Like they were both holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But if she hurt him - betrayed him - already, why did he keep coming back?
Hazel's gaze snapped upwards from where it had fallen to a point just over his shoulder at his words about Beck, visibly frowning. Beck? Excuse me? She thought against the backdrop of her own mind, affronted. Her brain took her back, back to the day Bastille's heart stopped. Back to her birthday. He'd told them it was an overdose, an accident. Hazel immediately felt her curiosity peak, her temper threaten the careful atmosphere they had created. She shoved it down, desperate not to let it get the better of her, knowing that it didn't matter now because that was a long time ago.
"I don't think you're like Zaniel." Hazel said after a moment, voice thoughtful. "You never...loved it. I mean, I'm not you, so I can't say for sure, but you were never trying to convince others to drink." She shrugged. "That doesn't really define "not loving it," but it's something. The display of happiness you put on was a side effect, not a celebration. I don't know. To me it always looked like you had retreated to the last resort, though i didn't know what for. Took me a little while to figure out my perspective, but when I did...I wasn't nearly as afraid anymore." She sighed. "You seemed sort of lost; at odds with yourself. It's weird to explain."
Hazel brushed her thumb over her bandana, letting another soft sigh tumble off her lips. "I hated being afraid of you," She admitted. "I hated...I hated thinking of Mother every time I watched you put a bottle to your lips. I hated feeling the phantom pain in my arms every time you looked in my direction when you weren't sober. I hated it." She sucked in a short breath. "And I hated not being able to get close enough to help you put the bottle down. I wanted another chance, since I couldn't save - couldn't stop - Mother."
She ran her hand over her face, brushed her fingers over her lips, swiped her thumb over the tip of her nose. "I thought I could help you, but I couldn't. Not really, anyway." She glanced to the side, her hands falling to her lap as she twiddled her thumbs. "During my panic attacks..." She frowned, nearly wincing, feeling like she needed to apologize for those, too. "During my panic attacks, that fear just melted away. I mean, not at first - you hugging me generally makes it worse for a split second. But then it was like...I don't know. Everything changed. I don't know how to explain it." She rubbed her arms. "I've never let anyone get that close to me before - literally. But you were so..gentle. Proved it to me. Melodramatic girl crap, I know." She curled her knees to her chest again, now refusing to look him in the eye. "I guess that's just what it takes. I'm that broken."
Just that broken...just that useless. Not that it mattered, but whatever. She was missing part of her explanation - the part that said so that's why I can touch you and that's why I interrupted you: because you're the only person I've ever gotten this close with before and I'm terrified out of my mind that I'll lose you because you'll realize just how broken I really am. But he didn't need to hear that.
And yet, as blatantly obvious as it might seem, Hazel still felt like she was watching through a foggy, dirty glass wall. She could vaguely find his motive, could vaguely feel the pull of emotions that he struggled to shove under the bed so much. But she could never reach him, which was...distressing. She could never put her finger on the exact thing, could never find the exact trigger. They might be linked by an invisible string, but that didn't mean she could pinpoint the source of that grin.
That was, until he spoke. And when he did, the raw refusal of her apology made goosebumps rise along her skin. "It's not fine." Blunt, bitter, frustrated. He finally looked up and her eyes locked, stuck on his. Because he was right.
Something in her cracked just a little - from relief or disappointment, she didn't know. Maybe a little of both. Because he got it. Finally, he understood, and he was answering that burning question she wanted to fucking scream at him sometimes: he knew. This whole time, through everything, her aversion to contact was something he (and...probably most of the clan) had picked up on. He wasn't being oblivious, something in his brain was just...overriding his self control. At least he knew.
The flip side of this coin was that Hazel now had the physical proof she was confusing the shit out of him. She was messing with his sense of right and wrong, and definitely should have explained herself to him before then, but Deus, how? How did she explain that instead of dreading the brush of his fingers against her skin, she craved it? How did she confess to the shame of missing the only form of physical comfort she'd ever known? How did one just explain the sense of security had overcome the sense of fear and peril? She wondered if that would even sound valid, or if it would sound stupid.
In the short pause he offered, Hazel dragged her nails against her scalp, letting her forehead fall onto her kneecaps. "I know, I know, I'm sorry - " He cut her off, and she let him. Her apology died in her throat as she rubbed her thumb near viciously against her temple, gently shaking her head at herself. She felt guilt for messing with him like that, even if it wasn't on purpose and knew she'd have to explain at one point or another, even if it was painfully awkward and embarrassing.
Taking a deep breath, Hazel raised her head, blowing the air back out with a puff of her cheeks. She could faintly feel the exasperation and confusion roll through him, nearly turning into anger. Hazel didn't realize she was holding her breath until she visibly watched the tension roll off his shoulders and the corners of his mouth cant upwards in a dry smile. Huffing, Hazel flopped back against her pillow, barely mirroring his grin without noticing. Her head shook at his next words, a little scoff escaping her lips at his rhetorical question. "It's usually more like dragging your butt back home after you catch something on fire." She muttered to the ceiling.
Hazel chewed on the inside of her cheek as the mattress dipped with his weight, barely recognizable from where she sat. She hated that he sat all the way down there, where she couldn't see the pages and more importantly, felt like there was a barrier between them. However, her separation anxiety was rapidly moving to the back of her mind as she sat up again, waiting for the answer to her question. As he simply gazed back at her, Hazel rapidly found herself ready to stay that way for a while, content with the knowledge that his attention was focused on her.
Then he was confessing his answer, only...it didn't feel like a confession. Speaking more than he had the entire time he had been here, giving up what should seem like a secret, only sounded like fact with his nonchalance. It smoothed the subject over, made it seem like less than it really was. It...made it easier to handle, to put into perspective, almost.
It occurred to Hazel then that it wasn't just Pollie that haunted Bastille. He probably had multiple ghosts, like her. She wondered what was so severe about Zaniel that had Bastille ready to drink himself to numbness. What was so bad about him that pushed Bast that close to the edge.
"That's when Rad started giving you the pills..." She murmured under her breath, like a mere afterthought. That's why he'd gone to Radeken, in search of uppers so strong it could make everything look like cloud nine. Hazel hummed to herself, feeling her brows furrow.
Bastille was so strange, so...contradicting. He claimed that he was angry for letting himself care about someone, but then he turned and cared so deeply about another person that the slightest move against him felt like the worst kind of betrayal and made him upset with himself all over again. It seemed like a self-destructive cycle he wasn't prepared to stop. Hazel wondered then if she'd ever be one of those people. The people that hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him...not ever. But she'd done it already; she could feel it. Maybe that was why there was a gap of constant, underlying tension. Like they were both holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But if she hurt him - betrayed him - already, why did he keep coming back?
Hazel's gaze snapped upwards from where it had fallen to a point just over his shoulder at his words about Beck, visibly frowning. Beck? Excuse me? She thought against the backdrop of her own mind, affronted. Her brain took her back, back to the day Bastille's heart stopped. Back to her birthday. He'd told them it was an overdose, an accident. Hazel immediately felt her curiosity peak, her temper threaten the careful atmosphere they had created. She shoved it down, desperate not to let it get the better of her, knowing that it didn't matter now because that was a long time ago.
"I don't think you're like Zaniel." Hazel said after a moment, voice thoughtful. "You never...loved it. I mean, I'm not you, so I can't say for sure, but you were never trying to convince others to drink." She shrugged. "That doesn't really define "not loving it," but it's something. The display of happiness you put on was a side effect, not a celebration. I don't know. To me it always looked like you had retreated to the last resort, though i didn't know what for. Took me a little while to figure out my perspective, but when I did...I wasn't nearly as afraid anymore." She sighed. "You seemed sort of lost; at odds with yourself. It's weird to explain."
Hazel brushed her thumb over her bandana, letting another soft sigh tumble off her lips. "I hated being afraid of you," She admitted. "I hated...I hated thinking of Mother every time I watched you put a bottle to your lips. I hated feeling the phantom pain in my arms every time you looked in my direction when you weren't sober. I hated it." She sucked in a short breath. "And I hated not being able to get close enough to help you put the bottle down. I wanted another chance, since I couldn't save - couldn't stop - Mother."
She ran her hand over her face, brushed her fingers over her lips, swiped her thumb over the tip of her nose. "I thought I could help you, but I couldn't. Not really, anyway." She glanced to the side, her hands falling to her lap as she twiddled her thumbs. "During my panic attacks..." She frowned, nearly wincing, feeling like she needed to apologize for those, too. "During my panic attacks, that fear just melted away. I mean, not at first - you hugging me generally makes it worse for a split second. But then it was like...I don't know. Everything changed. I don't know how to explain it." She rubbed her arms. "I've never let anyone get that close to me before - literally. But you were so..gentle. Proved it to me. Melodramatic girl crap, I know." She curled her knees to her chest again, now refusing to look him in the eye. "I guess that's just what it takes. I'm that broken."
Just that broken...just that useless. Not that it mattered, but whatever. She was missing part of her explanation - the part that said so that's why I can touch you and that's why I interrupted you: because you're the only person I've ever gotten this close with before and I'm terrified out of my mind that I'll lose you because you'll realize just how broken I really am. But he didn't need to hear that.
© MADI
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better