Tart on the Tongue | Etta & Seb
Darkness flutters at the corners of her vision, but his face remains in the middle of the haze— oh god oh god, what’s she done? She’s hurt him, she’s hurt him— his expression. “No no no….” Etta’s breathing hitches and she tries to lift her hand to touch him, a pained sound coming from her throat when she’s reminded of her wounds. “Don’ hurt don’ hurt don’ hurt— please please please don’t hurt for me— please you… you…” She shuts her eyes tightly, sucking in a deep breath, trying to get her words together.
It’s getting harder to take in a breath, “You…re too good… please don’t hurt for me…” She opens her eyes and has to look for him again, it’s getting harder to concentrate but his voice doesn’t fade from her awareness. “I make too much… bad… happen…” She says, almost pleadingly, as if she can convince him she’s a lost cause. Etta feebly tries to struggle away, a whimper leaving her lips. The throbbing in her arms gets more prevalent, and now she’s starting to feel the wetness on her clothes. A shuddering breath enters her chest…
“Y’wo—on’ lemme go…ny where…” She mumbles, another whimper leaving her when her arms start to ache all of a sudden. “M’scared—!” her words are like a child’s, confused and vulnerable, and her eyes flutter again. Another whimper leaves her lips and she curls into Seb to the best of her ability, silent sobs shaking her bleeding form. “M’scared Seb, I’m so scared—- m’so sorry, m’sorry— please… please don’ hur’f me…” Though she’s still conscious, her tongue won’t form the words she wants to say quite right. “Hol’ me? ‘old m… H—hold me ti—-ighter p…ease….”
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."
