Forever

46

Bree steps out of the shower later in the afternoon with a towel wrapped around her body. She dries off and, as she's patting down her hair, her eyes flicker up to the mirror. She slows her movements as they trail along her ugly body before she turns away with a sigh and quivering lip.

She takes a deep and difficult breath and goes back to her room to find a hoodie and a pair of sweats to pull on over her underwear, no uncomfortable bra to be worn.

She decides to take a chance and go back to the common room. She sits on the corner cushion of the couch and curls in a ball, just before Pietro, ignoring his fighting thoughts, reaches over and takes her hand. Her head picks up fast to look at him, who keeps his eyes on his phone in front of him.

The thoughts that flood her mind in seconds couldn't be more than wrong, but she just can't help it. He doesn't actually love her. He's pitying her. Why would he care about her? He's perfect and she's done nothing to deserve him.

She takes a deep breath with her bottom lip in her mouth and pulls herself from his hold. She places her head on her fist on the back of the couch as he watches her avoid looking anywhere near him. He adjusts uncomfortably while turning forward and looks at Wanda, though she remains partially clueless to what's unfolding right beside her.

Bree slowly looks back to just stare at him, total loss of control over what she thinks. He doesn't care about you, quit hoping that he does. You should just stop caring too. It doesn't matter anyway, you're already over. You're so annoying, there's no way he cares about you anymore. He hates you. He hates you.

He looks at her with a wrinkle in his brows of sorrow and her eyes stay locked on his for moment before she's gone again. He tries to say something while reachig for her a bit and she pulls tighter into herself while tilting her head down.

He stops and pulls his lips into his mouth while turning away, only to shake his head as his heart drops in misery. He races away, just hoping to get away from the tower and away from her for the tine being, praying that it'll be enough space to bring her back to him, though all he wants is to pull her in and make her love him like she did just a week before.

-

Tonight, Bree and Pietro sleep alone in their separate beds. It may be that neither have fallen asleep yet and they could change this situation, but neither have the guts to even attempt to confront each other, though it grows in their chests, faster and faster everyday they spend apart from each other's hearts.

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"You should take it as a compliment. If I were you, I would be more confident. You're lucky that you're pretty. Why are you obsessed with your appearance? I don't wanna hear it, you're fine. It's been my best-kept secret for a while now. No one ever sees it, but it's all around. It's the dinner conversation no one talks about. Don't know how much longer I can keep this down. Beauty is a knife I've been holding by the blade. Swallowing my pride so I won't eat anything. It's all a lie, honestly, it's eating me alive. They're all like "Did you change your hair?" "Did you lose a little weight?" "You should keep it up 'cause it really looks great." I hate that I always look my best when I'm dying on the inside. When I'm dying on the inside. I wish I could break the mirror that makes me feel like I should fucking disappear and drown my demons in a bathtub filled with tears. No matter what I try, they always seem to come back to life. What if I didn't do this to my body? What if I quit and then you don't want me? The dinner conversation no one talks about. Don't know how much longer I can keep this down. Beauty is a knife I've been holding by the blade. Swallowing my pride so I won't eat anything. It's all a lie, honestly, it's eating me alive. They're all like "Did you change your hair?" "Did you lose a little weight?" "You should keep it up 'cause it really looks great." I hate that I always look my best when I'm dying on the inside. When I'm dying on the inside. When I'm dying on the inside. You should take it as a compliment. If I were you, I would be more confident. You're lucky that you're pretty. Why are you obsessed with your appearance? I don't wanna hear it, you're fine. Beauty is a knife I've been holding by the blade. Swallowing my pride so I won't eat anything. It's all a lie, honestly, it's eating me alive. They're all like "Did you change your hair?" "Did you lose a little weight?" "You should keep it up 'cause it really looks great." I hate that I always look my best when I'm dying on the inside."

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