Tart on the Tongue | Etta & Seb
Seb’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his teeth clenched together in an attempt to stifle the half-formed whines that threatened leave him. He knew that if he looked at her, if he even so much as raised his head from his grip on her wounds that he would break and she would be gone. So he keeps his eyes down and shakes his head against her words, against what was happening, against the fear and panic blooming in his chest as Etta’s words became slurred and indistinct.
Somehow, through the fog of shock and Etta’s best efforts to squirm away, Sebastian’s grip on her remains firm. She slumps against him and all of his breath leaves him in a shaking rush. He shifts until Etta’s nestled against his shoulder, one of his hands coming to cradle the back of her head protectively in some hollow gesture of comfort, her hair clinging to the blood that was beginning to dry on the back of Sebastian’s hand. He obeyed as she asked, tightening his grip around her in a way that must have been painful, his breath leaving him now in broken, ragged gasps until he couldn’t keep it in any more and all Sebastian’s words left him in a tumbling rush.
"Etta, don’t— Etta, please don’t leave me here, you’re the only reason I’ve stayed, the only reason why I agreed to come to Montreal in the first place, because I knew you would come too, please.” His voice finally breaks and tears begin to fall, dripping onto Etta’s head where he had buried his face into her hair. “Y-you’re not bad, Etta, you’re not; not for me, not for anyone—please— You’re so kin-kind to me, if I hadn’t met you I— I would’ve been lo-locked up months ago, Etta, please, you can’t— you can’t leave me here alone.” His last words were barely a whisper, and Seb gasped, trying to just keep breathing. After a second, he composed himself enough to say: “I need you here, Etta. S-so don’t be scared, I’ll tuh-take care of you. I promise.”
His grip is tight enough to hurt and there couldn't be anything else she wants more in this moment. She needs this--needs to feel the pain that his desperate hug provides her with. Some twisted form of affection that has her chest hurting as much as her arms do. It's twisted because of the blood, because of the violence behind her actions and the self-hatred in her soul, and the need for confirmation that she is needed and loved. Her body shakes as sobs overtake her, it's too much to take, he's too much. So good to her and she's gone and hurt him.
His words are what spark the whimpers and tears and harbour all the fear and anger and love she's had pent upside her for so long. "Se--eb, I... I--" She wants to tell him how much they don't make sense, how they're an embodiment of the Island of lost Toys, the throw-aways no one wants, that found each other and made it work. The thought itself is painful--so much so that she curls into him even more, face turned into the crook of his neck. Everything hurts everything hurts, her heart, her body, everything. "I--I just w-w--want it to... to s--sto--op..." She whines.
The sound of sirens can be heard several blocks away, and it takes her a few moments to hear them, but when she does a shudder passes through her already shaking form and she tries to grab onto Seb's arm. "I'm so --so stupid! M'so stupid, stu--upid." The self hatred is venomous on her tongue, vile and dripping, and though the fear is also there. "D--don't leave--! Ple--ase... I.... I.... I hate.... hospitals, I hate hospitals." Little gasps and whimpers leave her lips and like her racing heartbeat the sirens get louder and louder. "No... nooo, nooo." She moans, "M'so stupid! Fu--uck, no no... noo."
