( CHRISTIAN )
❛Cigarette burns,❜is the elaboration offered. For a moment, his eyes are stormy, lost in a distant memory where he can almost smell the noxious smoke. A small tremor runs through him, and he gives a light shake of his head as if to the dislodge the images from taking hold in his mind. ❛You already know I was adopted.❜Miss Kavanagh’s interview has shed that much light on his situation. But there is so much more to the story.❛Before that, I lived with my biological mother. She was…an addict and a prostitute to support her habit.❜ It’s hard not to envision the rundown apartment, to remember the nights he’d gone to bed with a gnawing hunger because she couldn’t take care of herself let alone a child.❛Her pimp beat us both, and I ended up becoming his favorite ashtray.❜
She almost can't believe the things she's hearing, though it makes perfect sense now. Sympathy finds it's way to both her chest, and her eyes as she looks at him, pursing her lips whilst she listens. He'd been so young. He hadn't deserved it. Any of it.
❛ Oh, Christian. ❜ She breathes, her throat aching with the tightness of the tears that threaten to sting powder-blue orbs Just knowing someone had damaged him so badly pained her in a way she'd never felt before. & Now she wants to touch him more than ever, give him the comfort he needed.
❛ --- Is that why you wont let me touch you? You're...afraid that I'll hurt you? ❜
