//Rafe Cameron\\
"You don't make deals with the devil, not unless you want to dance with him and maybe I did"
Lily Grant has spent her whole life slumming it with the pogues, being that she is one.
They're her day ones, her best friends. Life coul...
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My eyes grow dry enough that a sting strikes across the gloss of their surfaces. Being the only thing shocking me back to the present and pulling me from my blank state of staring at the screen of my phone.
Nausea swirls intoxicatingly in the pit of my stomach, boiling up my throat until bitterness blooms on my tongue and I fight the urge gag at the taste...the oh so recent memory. I wince, squishing my legs together and rubbing my thighs as if it'll rid me of what I've done. I can't believe myself..what is wrong with me? Why did I do this? I regret it but somehow my brain still finds validity in it.
It was all becoming too much, it was swallowing me and I wanted it.. I wanted to drown in it because for once it wasn't a raging fire taking me under it was a tsunami of everything I ever wanted; I could see it from a ways away. I knew it was there, that it was coming for me and I wanted it to. I just thought I had more time to figure out what to do when it arrived but when it did I was terrified. So instead of facing it I did what I always do..I destroyed it.
At one point I was rereading the texts between Rafe and I. Over and over until I could recite their order like a script. I'm frustrated, irritated to say the absolute least.
He's stressed, angry and on the edge of exploding. Those things don't mix very well and as expected, they've clashed. His anger now is nothing compared to what will rain when he gets here and finds out..God I wish I didn't do this.. How can I hate what I've done so much but still anticipate it working? I don't want it to work but I don't know how else to handle it.
Him being distant hadn't soothed my inner war, only added gasoline to its fire. It isn't his fault, he doesn't have a choice while dealing with John B and Ward. And maybe it's selfish but the weight of it all has been crushing me and he hasn't been there to lift it.
God knows I've never been capable of finding the strength to do it myself, instead I let it break me until I'm shoved under the surface and drown in its ocean defeat.
Our string of texts started after I hung up on him. Neither of us possess the ability to control our temper, though I'm the only one whose ever lost it with him. The entire argument began because of me. It isn't about not having his attention, it's about the inner war raging inside of me to push him away and I can't fight it any longer. It's claws are beginning to poke through my skin. Peel it away until it's spirit possesses me and speaks its irreversible damage off my tongue.
He's on his way over now, I should apologize but I can't do anything right now but breathe. I'm trapped. The trauma of my past has been built off of self protection, fear and guilt, coiled into a ghost holding a gun to my head and forcing me into something I don't want deep down. But I can't reach grasp it, pull it to the surface and wrap myself in its warmth. Instead I'm forced to watch its spark die and dowse it in freezing cold water.
