the way she breathes his name in her soft voice;
it KILLS him, THRILLS him, sends CHILLS through him.
he could – should – explain, why the look those boys
give her bothers him so much;
it’s the same look ＨＥ gave her when she lay on
that dazzling white backdrop
( that’s what it should be called; the bright room
the light will reveal your supple body && the flash
will scorch your cornflower eyes. )
it’s the hungry look of the wolf && his lamb.
&& to see it again && again, every day
some other boy, some other straying hands, little
whispered remarks – it’s the dark room on repeat,
a record spiraling them both down to HELL, HELL,
but of course, that’s not the only reason
why his skin crawls when others get too near her.
after all, she’s HIS to take care of; HIS to protect
the only hands that should be on her are his,
grip too harsh, nails too sharp,
teeth && breath too close to skin.
he hardly notices how near he is to her right now,
ignoring the jeers, whistles, && covetous glances
it’s just him shielding her from the LOOKS
he could have saved her before, but he didn’t.
( does he really think he can make it up to her
maybe he DOES; but it’s not enough
she needs to help him, she needs to act like
none of it ever happened to her.
( && then maybe he can pretend it never
he’s grabbing her wrist; a little too rough, but
it won’t leave a bruise, he thinks. && he hisses,
hotly in her ear, angrily;
“ stop looking so FUCKING miserable.
you’re being easy. give them your
middle finger. stop doing NOTHING. ”
