so she says it again, that bitter thing. the words fall like stones from her mouth, heavy, jagged, their edges meant to wound. and yet, they have no weight on him, not the way they should. not anymore. she speaks of love, of loyalty, of things once believed to be true, but it all feels like ash between his fingers. Her voice, sharp as the edge of a blade, cuts deeper than it ever has. The truth of her words hangs in the air, too real, too honest to ignore, but still he stands, unmoved, unyielding. She pulls away—again. It’s the same dance, the same steps, the same silence after the storm of words. Let me die, She says. You should have let me die. His fingers twitch, as though reaching for something, anything, to break the tension between them. if you could see it, he thinks, the way I try to save you, how I carry this weight for both of us— but her words shatter the thought, each one breaking him just a little more. the silence stretches, and all he can do is stand in it. “You think you want that?” He mutters, his voice rough with something between anger and regret. Hatred, she calls it. I only know hatred, she says. But she doesn’t see the way it festers in him, the way every promise he made to her, every vow, is slowly poisoning him. Not with love—never love—but with guilt. Her ghostly face, her words—you should have let me die—they echo in him. you think I don’t feel it? He wants to say, but his throat tightens, and the words don't come. Instead, he steps closer, the weight of everything between them crashing like waves, unforgiving, unrelenting.
"Do you think this is easy for me?" He says, his voice a low rasp, almost a growl. "You think I want to see you like this? That I wanted you stuck here? Alone?" His eyes narrow, a storm brewing in them, but there’s something else behind it—something raw, something that trembles beneath his anger. "I never wanted to be your prison, Clarissa." the man you thought you loved? He wants to laugh, but the sound dies before it reaches his lips. The man I was? He wants to say, but no, that was long gone. That was a man she never really knew, not the one standing before her now, broken and bitter and far too far gone to save. She watches him, all sharp edges and hidden truths, and he almost feels the weight of it—the way she sees him now, the way she can never truly know him. "You think I didn't see it?” He says, his voice trembling for a moment, soft with something unspoken. "I saw what we were, Clarissa. I saw what you were to me… but that man is gone now." if I truly loved you… He repeats the thought to himself, you would have been free of me by now. free of all this. He reaches out, his fingers hovering near her, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of her presence. He doesn’t deserve to touch her, not now, not after everything.
The question lingers in the air like a ghost, haunting, inevitable. "Because I love you and you're mine." he says, his words low, guttural. "And I am not free of you, either." He stands there, waiting, hoping she sees it—the weight of everything between them, the one truth neither of them will ever escape.
prguitarman
dailybridgerton
discoholicmusic
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
dededos
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
