of course i love “we shouldn’t be doing this” ellabs, but i entreat you to think about the marginally less popular, “why are we doing this?” ellabs.
they’ve fought, bitten, drawn blood, and still can’t find a way to make the parts of them that just want to belong to each other meet in the middle. but here they are anyway, broken hearts entwined in a mess of lips on scarred skin. cheeks wet and eyelashes clinging. a bone-deep guilt sinks in while ellie mourns in dutiful, almost urgent strokes of her fingers. they can’t be real, but how can they not be when it’s this good? it’s stupid how much she still wants it. she convinces herself the “it” she means abby’s release and that alone. abby lets herself get lost in the feeling of fingers tugging at her hair if it means she can entertain denial for an hour longer. ignores the bitter ache in her arm and coos filth to hopefully rid herself of the lump in her throat.
they can exhaust themselves like this, fall asleep side by side, but in the morning ellie will be gone like she always should have been. and abby will be just as alone as when she was still there.
