Heliophilia
(n.) desire to stay in the sun; love of sunlight
To be loved is to be changed.
Arabella Dawson
Has never had anybody constant in her life. From parents always being away at work to one shitty friend, she doesn't know how to exist when...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Elysian (n.) beautiful or creative; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect
Forty-Two ♡︎♡︎♡︎ Arabella
"What?" Flint sighs, rolls onto his back.
"I didn't say anything." I whisper, roll onto my side to face him only to wish that I didn't.
The right side of his face is swelling even though I iced it as soon as we got back, and his top lip is split. He's got a hello kitty plaster on his forehead and even though it makes him look adorable it still manages to make my stomach drop and my gut twist.
He shouldn't need a hello kitty plaster.
He shouldn't have been hurt and left bleeding.
Most of all he shouldn't have a shit fucking dad.
But even bloody and bruised, swollen and sore, he's still the prettiest person I've ever seen.
"I can tell when somethings on your mind Arabella, talk to me." He rolls over, reaches a hand out, tucks my hair behind my ear.
"I got questions." I tell him.
"Ask away." He replies.
Releasing a sigh I sit up, pick at the skin around my nails as I bite my bottom lip. Unsure whether to ask or not, remembering the few times that I have asked only ended up with him being mad at me.
"Fine?" He whispers when I don't answer. I shake my head, turn around to face him when he pulls himself up to lean against my headboard.
"I don't want you to get mad." I tell him honestly, seeing no point in hiding the truth.
Flint releases a sigh that's deep and heavy and settles into my stomach, weighing me down, making me wish I never said anything at all.
"C'mere." He holds his arms out, wrapping them around my waist as he pulls me to sit on his lap. I draw a heart over his chest, avoiding his eyes. "I'm not going to get mad, okay?"
"Okay." I nod but he continues on, placing his hand on my jaw to tilt my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry for scaring you."
"I'm not scared of you." I poke at his cheek, wanting to reassure him. In total honesty, I'm not scared of him. I know he'd never hurt me, physically. But when he's shouting and slamming his fist into things I can't help but flinch. It's a natural reaction and doesn't make me scared of him.
