five times spirit wasnt sorry and the one time she actually was ft sashe
spirit and sasha ; five times spirit fucks up, no big deal—
i. she convinces him to throw all of his pills away, for starters.
he has his moments, his episodes, his panic attacks and his moments of hysteria when people’s faces move the wrong way; both of them see the the reds, whites, and blues floating down the river, gone forever, but spirit doesn’t regret a single thing.
ii. he gets this weird angry (hurt? angryhurt?) look on his face whenever connor comes up and even when spirit catches on and remembers that sasha crewe has feelings, too, just like every other miserable petty normal person in the world, she doesn’t stop talking about him.
iii. the first time she breaks his nose is, incidentally, during their first fight, when fucking hit me is met with hesitation and mercy until spirit gets sick of it and gives him no room for forgiveness or anything else but violent adrenaline—
—except. except, when her fist makes contact with his nose there’s this awful, ugly cracking sound and blood gushing everywhere and she knows how bones break, knows exactly what’s going on. time is frozen for the thirty seconds he gingerly touches his face until the anger she counted on takes over and he knocks her to the concrete hard enough for everything to go black while he punches her three different shades of blue and five of purple. she comes to and her laughter is choked by blood.
iv. i think i killed him.
he’s horrified, a hushed whisper in the middle of a church prayer. spirit stands behind him, hand tightening on his shoulder, and leads sasha away from the bloodied mess of a man without letting him check for a pulse or telling him the truth.
it’s bonding, she tells him. it’s what this is all about.
bonding him to her. bonding him to this.
v. this isn’t the first time she’s grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and kissed him quickly and it isn’t the first time he’s tried desperately to keep it going, to lean in and kiss her back, but it is the first time she twists his arm until he collapses onto the ground for trying.
she steps on his back and says not today while he hisses in pain.
—and one time it matters.
i. she eggs him on until he picks a fight with three bigger, buffer guys outside of wal-mart. it’s one in the morning and the lights are still on but nobody cares, nobody cares about a scrawny boy messing with three drunk assholes past curfew, not around here.
nobody cares when his chin hits the pavement and muddy boots hit his ribs and nobody cares when his wheezy breathing turns into crying. nobody cares except for the even scrawnier teenage girl who comes out of the shadows to sit with sasha’s head on her lap until sunrise, when she says he looks cool with yellow bruises around his eyes and finally asks if he wants her to go inside and get a pack of band-aids.
