#godforgave

[bak3rs]

˚₊‧꒰ა 🐬 💿 🌊 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> HER GRIP ON .. her door frame tightened. she had made a promise to herself not to get involved in his family's business. but when he shows up on her door step .. asking to stay the night - ellie couldn't exactly refuse him. not when he gave her that puppy dog look he does extremely well. the brunette doesn't even realise that she's reaching a hand out and up towards his face. a slender index finger lightly brushed over the bruise that was forming underneath his eye. she swallowed , hand dropping back to her side. before she nods her head and opens the front door wider for him. ❝ sure. ❞ ellie mumbled. brows furrowed low over her eyes. ❝ but you sleep on the couch. ❞ she continued. a huff of a laugh left her. ❝ i kick in my sleep. ❞

˚₊‧꒰ა 🐬 💿 🌊 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> @godforgave 🏝️ asked ​ ❝ can i stay with you ? just for the night . ❞

[terr1fy]

POPE CODY:  AREN’T YOU GOING TO DO SOMETHING?

clarice didn’t move  ;  she kept her back straight and breathing even,    the way they taught her at the academy to keep the adrenaline from pooling in her fingertips.  she kept her eyes fixed on him  -  the clinical detachment she would usually have was replaced with a steady and unblinking stillness.  ‘maybe.  or maybe i’m waitin' for you t’make th’first move.  maybe m’waitin’ t’see if you’re as tired of carrying your family’s weight as you look,’    head tilted a bit,  her gaze searching his.    ‘you’ve spent your whole life being told when t’move and who t’hit.  if i do somethin’ now,  i’m just another person pullin’ your strings,’    she let that settle between them,  thick and expectant.    ‘all i’m sayin’ is that  -  well,  the police are circlin’ th’building.  it’s your choice what comes next,  mister cody,’ @godforgave.

[fgreene]

i'm not messing around. i'm doing important stuff.

@godforgave

“Oh! Oh, uhm. I wasn’t…” Though he tries not to get too defensive too quickly. It didn’t sound like the other was angry, and Forrest is trying to work on the way he responds to things. So instead, he nods his head, and comes over to take a look. “Sorry.” He still says.

“What uh… what is it that you’re actually doing?” Maybe that was where the miscommunication had been made. A simple lack of knowledge on Forrest’s end of things.

[eatsrawa2]

❝ don’t you get tired of faking it? ❞ - @godforgave questions mina.

yes. she wants to scream. she wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. to cry and declare -- yes, i am tired of faking it. how could she admit the words to him when she struggled to admit anything to herself? struggled to allow herself a moments reprieve. a moment to rest and be anything other than the monster that she knew she was. her body never allowed her a moment to forget it and why should she forget the harm that she had not only endured but the harm that she had placed unto others? how could she forget everything that she could not be and would never be. don't you get tired of faking it? mina refuses to look at him, afraid of what her expression would give away if she did meet his eyes.

she quickly searches for anything to occupy her hands. hands that have been stained with blood one too many times. hands that even andrew had washed clean more times than he should have. mina settles on a box of items that she had been meaning to sort, situated on the table across from her. she throws herself into analyzing it, allowing her fingers to graze over items as she continued to avoid his question, instead she internalizes. she thinks it over. soon muttering a statement of her own, voice low. " you don't need to stay. if you are. " ( if you are tired of faking it, please leave. if i am too hard to love, please leave. if you are tired of pretending. please leave. if i am doomed to ruin, please save yourself. ) the words flood her mind.

[eatsrawa2]

[ wash ] sender helps wash dried blood off of receivers face. - from @godforgave

there's no words exchanged, the bathroom silent except for the faint hum of ceiling fan and the sound of water droplets pooling down her face and into the bathwater that was now tinged a slide shade of pink due to the dried blood on her face. mina sat there in the bath, her legs outstretched and hands settled in her lap; the water settling just below her breasts. she stared at the tiled wall in front of her, expression something close to detached and despondent. the bathroom light flickers quickly, a classic for a roadside motel. she wonders if andrew's sick of her yet. sick of cleaning up after her. sick of cleaning her up after the mess she made. sick of loving a monster. ( dearest andrew, do you hate me as much as i hate myself? will you resent me someday just as i resent myself? )

again, he brings the wet cloth back to her face, scrubbing dried flakes of blood from her. after a long silence, she allows herself the permission to speak. the permission to ask. " you don't have to keep doing this. you...you don't need to stay. " she ushers softly. offering an out that she wished she had.

[stmoon]

“It’s way past decent hours—what are you still doing out?” / jason

it's not a lie, far from it. if no good things happen after ten pm, then half past the witching hour couldn't mean anything but trouble. and that's exactly what he's been looking for, just like always. it's not a conscious thought at this point. too far removed from consideration. some natural phenomenon, like lungs pulling in a scorching breath as he took another long drag of the cigarette pressed between his tight lips. herbal, no nicotine. as if that makes much difference. semantics, really. but he was trying to kick nasty habits. some more than others. the bruises on his hands bloomed into vibrant, purplish blue hues, the blood barely dried, and yet he still lurked in the shadows like some alley-wise street cat. on the hunt and looking for more in his typical, self-destructive fashion. on the prowl for some pain to salve the endless anger like a balm. the last time hadn't, nor the time before that, but he wasn't keen on giving up this pursuit anytime soon. what's the definition of insanity?

the hickory laced anise laid heavy and bitter on his tongue as he plucked the roll from his lips, knocking the ashes away with a busted knuckle. two-toned gazed hovering. considering. the silence hung between them as he weighed his words wisely. the night was clear, the so-cal warmth still radiating off of his tanned skin. a smirk quirked on his scarred features as he rolled his eyes towards the cloudless sky. "nothing decent, that's for sure." he hummed, eyes darting along the dots of constellations. his mind was quiet, for once. a welcome, albeit surprising reprieve. he offered the smoke to his companion with the blind extension of his arm, all the while debating the merits of dissolving into a shooting star as he waited for the other shoe to drop. wouldn't be long now, right? before the sky came crashing down. head tilted, brow raised curiously as he turned his attention back to the cody, amusement danced through him. "could ask the same of you, huh?" part of him almost does, but the other part— that dark thing with sharp claws and limited patience and a seemingly ceaseless hunger— seems to already know the answer.

[stmoon]

“I’ll walk you home. You can pretend you don’t need me to.” / sydney

sydney adamu was the master of playing pretend— years of practiced patience, swallowing down insecurities like some potent draft. forced smiles around gritted teeth and disappointment. never a hair out of place, and certainly no mid-service breakdowns in the dimly lit alley behind her restaurant. everything was fine until it wasn't, and even then too. it had to be. she didn't have the privilege of pulling apart at the seams when the corners of the world were crumbling around her. that's what made keeping people at arm's length so easy. she had a part, a costume hemstitched with the utmost care. a mask ornately adorned. pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

maybe it was the bitter cold of another ruthless winter. maybe it was the flickering of the light-posts that painted the scene something out of alfred hitchcock's best works. or maybe its the way she had so desperately craved to not be alone on this desolate city road at the wee hours of night after closing up and everyone disappearing to the winds without her. leaving her with nothing but her own thoughts. and then, here he was. answering a silent prayer she hated herself for even thinking. she wasn't used to relying on people, being seen by them even less. but here he was. standing there, looking at her. seeing her. she shivered, not from the chill wind that whipped around them, pulling her shoulders higher in her old emerald puffer as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "thanks." she offered, the tone so open and earnest it made her cringe. she remedied it quickly with a quip, her shaky laughter escaping with a cloudy puff. "if we get mugged, should i run? or you go for the arms while i get legs?"

[wihlted]

꒰    starter  call  𖹭.ᐟ     ꒱ؘ        /        @godforgave

she  hates  the  sight  of  blood  .    andrew  isn't  currently  bleeding  ,   but  she  can  see  it  pooled  in  a  bruise  just  beneath  his  cheek  ,   and  a  dried  scab  on  his  lip  .        ❛     my  goodness  ,     ❜        serena  says  ,   handing  him  an  ice  pack  wrapped  in  a  handkerchief  .        ❛    what  happened  to  you  ?    ❜