𝙎𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙒𝘽𝙊𝙔 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

6.

━━━

I can feel his gaze lingering, his fingers trailing over the trim of his cowboy hat.

 His gaze didn't seem to hold any form of judgment, though concern laced his eyes. 

And his eyes hold a thousand words. 

"L...listen- you're- you... are a very well-spoken lass, you seem very kind and all, it's just... I've been hearin' all the sorts, and I ain't meanin' any harm in it,"

He attempts the kindest of explanations, and I take it to heart. 

He speaks with a wave of his hands, as if to clear the air on behalf of his own wording. I swallow nervously, nodding in reluctance as every breath is fueled by the uncontrollable tremble of my hands, and the shakiness of my breathing.

"I- I'm not crazy- the- the neighbours sometimes yell at me- I don't think I'm crazy-"

My words spur like an uncontrollable faucet, like a response to the panic circulating around me. 

It's an aura that's at a constant all-time high, but his own air seems to battle with mine. 

His, to me, can only be felt to be a smooth, low-vibration, whilst mine feels erratic, random, and uncomfortably sensitive. 

It's a harsh contrast, but he battles mine to the bone in a way that eases mine to an extent I never imagined. 

"The neighbours think a load of shit, that's what I think,"

He'd exhale, my mind delaying in a pause of both shock and to the vulgarity of his words, the same words I refrain from for my own comfort, I hold my breath for a moment. 

My stomach oddly churns, and my hands clam up as my thumbs twiddle. A fog clouds my thoughts, fuzzy in a static that scorches my veins and rushes through my limbs. 

"You know..."

He sighs, running a hand across the back of his neck as his head drops for a moment, 

"I...I don't know much 'bout ya', and ya' seem like a real sweetheart and all, so... may I ask, why... why do you... think the town talk's 'bout ya' in such a way?"

His head provides the smallest of tilts, visually taking note of what I do, say, and think. 

His gaze is soft - which intimidates me. but I ponder. 

Flickers of sounds, feelings and mixed senses plague my memories, and my lips part to speak. Nothing follows for a moment, which only makes his brows softly narrow in intrigue. It's like a queue; he's waiting, telling me to continue speaking. 

"I...think- I think they... don't like me, s...so they speak of me- s...so I don't leave my home anymore... but you're here now- so being in here must've not h...helped much-"

A strange, almost forced laugh slips from my lips, which doesn't follow through in the best form. It only makes my face tighten in a self-reflected cringe, with the quiet snort of his own laughter cutting through my senses.

"You're right bout' that, Ma'am... but... how long has this been goin' on for?"

He questions, my own thoughts running amuck as I flicker through thousands of different thoughts and sounds. 

I exhale softly, sighing as I stare down at my cuticles. 

cuticles that line with torn skin and broken blood, each nail a victim of my teeth against my skin, or my own fingers picking and peeling.