𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 𝖲𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 #2
She was addicted to a type of sadness that pulled her deeper into her hole. She changed herself because of her hanging past. He avoided the dark parts of his life, doesn't mean the darkness didn't loom over him.
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BRIANNA
He walks back to the piano and I still need to process his question.
Why would I want to be known for what other people say? He doesn't like me because I let the outside voices infiltrate and change me. The same way Beethovens sonata got named for a remark.
I didn't have a name for myself other than 'Mrs Jacksons daughter'. The comments I'd get about how I was like her. I hated every second of it. I wanted to be my own person, someone far away from her. I couldn't become her. I refuse.
"What if that was the only thing he could do?" I continued playing the piano. The key ends abruptly by his hand.
He's holding my hand. He's holding my fucking hand and I have no idea what to do. The warm feeling bled through to my hand. He stood behind me, his heat spreading through my back. I hadn't felt him this close. His breath fanned across the back of my ear. He threads his fingers through mine and plays a few keys.
"It wasn't and you know it. You weren't helpless. You were right where you had to be and you didn't like it. You were who you were and you hated it."
His breath was hot and heavy. I couldn't stop the small shiver that rolled out of me. His fingers that played the keys on the piano, now trailed up my arm and swept the one braid away from my shoulder.
"Why could you hate it?" He asked like I had betrayed him. He couldn't believe that I hated myself.
"Why could you want it?" My whisper cut through the silence. I was scared that I would collapse under his breath on me.
"I never said I wanted it." He pronounced sharply. "I was asking why you hate it."
"Because of how I was treated." My voice causes him to slightly move back. His fingers start to slip away from mine.
"And this is better?" His voice slightly raising.
"What is that suppose to mean?" I angrily stand from my seat. My pajama shorts have rides up and I wasn't going to fix it. I didn't care.
"Everyone around you is walking eggshells. They have to keep you pristine or else you'll cry a fucking river about something you don't even give a damn about."
"So I'm suppose to sober up even though it hurts me?" I took a daring step forward, bringing the heat back up. "Even if I can feel my heart tear with every memory?"
"You couldn't give two shits for any fucking memory." He snapped. "You're a fucking fake. You cry us a lake and try to feel something, anything but it doesn't work so you played everyone to give you sympathy so you could feel."
