𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑 𝐕𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐒, she picked up on other cues. Such as the way Edythe stepped closer to her when one fan in particular started towards them; or the way her hand fell demandingly to the small of Ferris’ back as the taller woman began leading her away– almost too quickly for Ferris to keep up. “Slow down,” she demanded, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tried to keep in tandem with Edythe’s longer stride, “I’m short dammit, I have short fuckin legs!” Suddenly, they veered away from the corn maze and in a different direction. There’s a possessiveness to the hold Edythe has on her or perhaps it was a fierce protectiveness, Ferris isn’t entirely sure, but something happened between then and now.
She had always known Edythe to be brooding and melancholy but this? This seemed– darker. A rage settling in the bird like bones that were never as fragile as she sometimes may appear. Ferris looked up at her friend and then scanned the crowd before digging her heels in and stopping them both abruptly. Ferris pushed at her hair and huffed a puff of air indignantly. “Why? What’s wrong with the corn maze?” she asked looking at Edythe with intense eyes.
Trusting anyone wasn’t something Ferris had ever been good at, but she liked to think she had come a long way since meeting the Cullens. She respected the fact there would always be things she would not be on the inside of knowing and things they would always keep things from her for the safety of everyone, but this shouldn’t be one of those times. This time Edythe would have to look her in the eye and tell her what had been so bad and terrifying that she was all but dragging her towards the exit. “I don’t— I don’t think I ask for much,” she started as her emotions began spiraling into a vat of concern, worry, panic, and paranoia. She had seen something. She had to have. Edythe had been looking at her fans when she started getting weird and that worried her. She was around fans all the time without any kind of protection and if Edythe started making her question the intent on the only people who she felt knew her for her– Ferris was afraid she’d give up the only thing she ever loved: writing. << Tell me why you’re freaking out. >>
She stops, heels digging into the ground to bring herself to an abrupt halt. ‘I don’t think I ask for much.’ It was a stake through the heart, it was nail being driven through a coffin, it was what had rubber-banded her back to reality for a split second. Jaw clenches and unclenches while eyes remain wide open and fixed on the treeline ahead. Hand falls free from Ferris’ waist and balls into a fist, knuckles cracking from the pressure of fingers squeezing a palm. “I should go back and twist that man’s head off like a bottlecap.” There’s a bite to her tone, enough to bring forth the English accent she’s trained herself to hide in casual conversation. “I want to. But I won’t.” She’s thinking about it, turning over the idea back and forth in her head, mapping out how she’d do it. She’ll be thinking about it all night.
A handful of moments pass and brows twitch before furrowing, hesitating to turn and force her gaze onto Ferris. A pained expression crosses marble features and lips part to speak but no sound travels. The words are there, lined up on the tip of her tongue ready to take flight. However, they’re diminished whenever her mouth shuts, turning them into ash that leaves a lingering chalkiness in the back of her throat. She’s sorry. She’s sorry about her eyes, and the way they’ve darkened. She’s sorry about her voice, and the way it had acquired a sharp edge that cut and sliced. She’s sorry about her speed, and the way she forgets how much quicker she really is. She’s sorry about her strength, and the way everything else weighs next to nothing for her. She’s sorry about her haunting hunger, and the way her cravings never fully go away.
She’s sorry for how much she cares about you. It’s a little too much.
“I didn’t--” Forehead creases and words stall yet again with mouth hanging slightly agape as arms fold and her line of sight drops down to the tip of her shoe toeing at the dirt. “I didn’t like what he was thinking about you. It was vile and repulsive. And you never know what the odds are when it comes to putting thoughts and ideas into motion. But I could hear him-- planning. I didn’t want to take those chances, for your sake and his.” She’s still thinking about it, that rush of heat that comes flooding in whenever teeth sink and pierce-- She doesn’t know any other feeling. Maybe one.
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