... a child sleeps. she drifts into her slumber behind him with a peace granted only to the very young : restful & easy. he is a twitchy thing nowadays, body thrown this way and that, bruise begotten legs and bedsheet - stained hands coming with the morning light ( if she is the child who sleeps, he is the monster who awakens -- those night terrors are his gifts to her, a closed palm snatching them up from her little head and sneaking them into the minds of other children ). it’s okay if others suffer alongside her, isn’t it? that is what justice has to be : little girls who sleep too well and men who find themselves in black - and - blue daydreams.
‘ i thought i told you to stay in your room. ’ his voice is quiet, another gift pledged to diana ( two separate lives become desperately merged! ). his hand latches onto the doorknob, letting it fall closed with a gentle hitch of breath. his eyes linger upon his hand for a little too long, offering a shrug to the other -- ire is not a language his tired tongue can muster in that moment. ‘ everything okay? i know the guest room can get a little chilly, but there’s spare blankets downstairs. ’
@junksaw ... every time you say ‘trust me,’ i trust you a little less.
