𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙄𝙎 𝘼𝙉 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙏 that you cannot vocalize . for the first time in your life , the sight of martha dunnstock fucking terrifies you .
she’s a physical representation of how much you suck - someone with a good heart , with a full soul , who didn’t deserve any of the shit that was sent her way . especially when you , dear fallen titan , delivered it to her . you try to alleviate the sting of it , thinking that heather would have done you in worse if you hadn’t complied , but that doesn’t matter , does it ? if martha had been in your position , she would’ve had your back . there’s no excuse for it - or for anything else you’d done , or anything else you’d been behind , no matter how much you try to spin it .
she looks good , really good , and a little bit happier ( or maybe it’s just your own hopes getting in the way of your vision ) . you’ve lost weight , sunken cheeks , eyes unfocused as you try to avoid the image of the school in flames around you . and you wonder , seriously , if anybody can tell the differences like you can ; if they can see you as anything other than one of heather’s ex - lackeys , or anything more than a brown - nosing stuck - up bookish nerd turned top tier bitch . you don’t want to be like this , you swear , you beg to empty corners of your mind where you’d keep your good memories if you had any untainted by your own blood and bullshit - but it doesn’t matter if nobody listens , and it doesn’t matter if you’re still the person you are .
you look up at her , and all of a sudden , it’s like a magnet snaps the two of you into an embrace - it’s been ages since you’ve actually cried in front of someone . you clutch her tightly , and you try to recall memories of the countless times you’d done this before ; you feel so fucking fuzzy , as if anything outside the last week hadn’t been real , like you’ve been trapped inside some stimulus nightmare that plucks these bittersweet recollections and twists them to dig the knife in deeper . you are crying , but you won’t say anything about it - you’re not the victim , here , you’re the perpetrator , and you won’t mind at all if she doesn’t acknowledge it whatsoever .
martha’s bear hug gives you this false sense of hope , because she always does . maybe one day you’ll tell her the truth , about everything , what you’ve been going through and what you’d been put through ; let her decide for herself if you actually deserve the kindness of forgiveness that martha seemingly cannot help but extend ( she’s a far better person than you are ) . but not now - everything’s already so fragile that you can’t even entertain the idea of throwing your bloodied rags and boozy evening rituals at her feet .
in a way , she was right - you were visiting her for yourself . you wanted to see her , wanted to know she was okay , wanted to try and rebuild the bridge , because you recognized in that first moment of abrasive lucidity that she was the only genuine person in your life , the only kind and compassionate person that had ever given a shit about you simply because you’re you . you’re selfish . you’re self - serving and self - preserving and you can’t deny that fact .
but just because you’re selfish doesn’t mean you can’t love her , too . just because you want her in your life doesn’t mean you don’t want her happy , just because you went to try to relieve yourself of guilt doesn’t mean you didn’t genuinely care to see if she was doing better . that’s something you’re learning to cut yourself slack on - you can be both , you can live through complexities and differing motivations , and your selfishness only extends so far as to want to keep her for yourself .
you can’t get those sorts of words out , yet - a mix of teary disposition and a refusal to be able to be outwardly genuine keep you silent as you squeeze her , holding on for dear life , like a lifeline . you can’t think of what you can say . she’s saying everything by holding you like this .
@rejekt said : martha bear hugs her , tbh . they both need it .
