euphoriatus:
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā There was nothing left for her there so walking away was probably her best option for now. Still shocked by the encounter - heart beating faster than usual, Jennifer mentally kicked herself for allowing him to have this power over her. A heavy sigh escaped her, icy blue hues turning back at the screen of her laptop. It was pointless really because work was the last thing she had in her mind right now. Blocking the noise away, the young woman watched paralysed as Caddock slipped in the seat across her.Ā
What the hell was he doing? Ā Why was he doing this?
The scent of the fresh coffee hit the blondeās nose. Reminding herself not to look up, not look at his face because that would only lead her to soften, to give in and just.. just rush into his arms - and that she couldnāt allow herself to do. They broke up, he left. He went to Paris to all those other places, lived his life and send her those letter for what?Ā
Pushing her tongue against her cheek, a hand moved to grab one of the pens to draw a line down the paper, creating a few details over her drawing. This was supposed to be submitted by noon and she wasnāt done or anywhere near it.
And those eyes, his presence wasnāt helping
At the sound of his voice, Jennyās heart dropped in the pit of her stomach. She had missed his voice. So fucking much.Ā
āYeah, I did. I would have written back, if I had an address.āĀ
She paused, hand drawing another line but soon gave up and erased it completely. This was simply not working.
āIām glad to see youāre doing okay.ā She then exclaimed. Okay was a way to put it, he was doing perfectly fine without her.Ā
There had been many fights inside his anxious mind, a battle between the Wants and the Needs, neither of which truly had his vote and yet he wished to fall to his knees for both, to pledge his allegiance despite the two having their swords at his throat. If he couldnāt pick one, perhaps they would just kill him together. Maybe death was better than self-destruction, a sickening disease that had threatened to seep into his gray matter with a sludge coated in toxic fumes and sickness laced fluids.
Death?
A haze overtook previously bright eyes, their gaze downcast as a flurry of concern peppered his brow, the worry lines deep as thick fingers laced together on the table top before slipping down into his lap. Her bluntness was not quite what he had expected. In truth, he had known there would be some bitterness between them, that a slime of malcontent would cover their conversation like a wet rag, dragging and weighing it down so much so that there was little they could do to elevate the pressure.
Charcoal colored lungs inhaled, a soft wheeze hissing upon the exhale.
There had been manyĀ āa fools on this earth, plenty of whom he had met and his regarded as less than worthy of his time, although a creeping notion caused him to question if he were one of these uneasy few. Had it been insane of him to expect her acrid anger to wear off at the sight of him, at the query concerning the letters?
Yes. Perhaps that did make him a fool after all.
Blue eyes watched the woman work, observing the manner in which lines were drawn and strokes were made, as if she were preparing herself to fashion a weapon out of pencil and paper, as if to put the bloody bastard of a man in his place. He had used those very two elements against her time and time again, in the postcards, but he had opted to use a pen, for there was far more permanence than the erase-ability of graphite.
Another wheeze. Another pause.
āIām alright,ā came his reply, words soft and sweet, as if drained through honey. Normally he would have chewed on the inside of his cheek or dragged rough fingers through his hair, but not now, not when his innards curdled and boiled in his chest, like a festering pot of unease and uncertainty as he wondered what he was to say next.
Were there truly any proper words?














