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Excavate My Love

Natasha felt a tension in the air as soon as she entered your apartment, it was her home away from home since you were in it; she essentially lived here anyways. It had been only two months as a couple, but you'd known (and loved) each other for years by now. The words might not have left your timid lips yet, but you were feeling every ounce of joy and pain imaginable. The sensation was odd, to feel the conflicting emotions at the same time while also feeling that pure, raw love.

You were trembling with the need to say it to her, but you were petrified and having a nervous breakdown.

Natasha saw you pounding a fist into the side of your head as you sobbed and screamed incoherently. The redhead took you down with gentle precision. Her body pressing your thrashing one into the mattress.

"Detka, what's wrong?" Natasha slammed your arms into the bed and pressed your head into the pillow with her own, then she began to hum a soft, raspy lullaby. The thrashing came to an end when you felt her tear trail down your cheek, and mix with your sweaty hair.

You blinked rapidly and your mind came back to you before it escaped again, but now she was out in the open. The deepest of your fears came tumbling out.

"She won't love you back," you mumbled, mimicking your priorly echoing thoughts. "Don't say it dumbass."

Natasha was mortified, had she really not been clear enough? Her heart never stopped aching when she was apart from you, a side effect of the muscle finally being at rest unlike when it races beside yours everyday.

It sadly wasn't anything she did, and the same was to be said for what she could've done. This was inevitable, you were like clay, soft, fragile; destined to crack.

Fate, or more so, your childhood had led you here.

Your mother drowned her liver in booze and offered you tobacco stained cheek kisses as you were ushered out of the house in ill fitting clothes, hair sopping wet in the dead of a New York Winter. The chill froze your childish face, skin stinging as the warmth of your tears began to defrost your chubby cheeks. It was fitting.

Unlike your parents, with each other or parenthood.

Your dad only came around from time to time to see (use) your mother. They'd made your little brother while you played outside, the streets empty of kids as the lights flickered on, but you weren't alone, you had your growing family of broken rocks to talk to. And the neighbors to eat from because your mother gave up the grocery money so your dad could enter the lottery.

At school you'd do stupid things, like eat food off the floor with a shoe print as a dare, because just like every time before he lost, and you paid the ultimate price.

It was a wonder how you even got this far in life. That the ability to love another wasn't missing, but in the pits of the fire you wished it was. It was all too much.