❛ PEACE IS A COMPLICATED DREAM TO DIE FOR. ❜ | All of her life, Mae has dealt with the harrowing, depressing sensation of always being in the wrong place, at the wrong time. She supposed losing her childhood would do that to someone, and at least sh...
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❛ pseudea. ❜
THEY WERE ON A TRAIN.
There was something caught in her head, the last notes of a tune she couldn't remember the name of. It was something sweet, like the hug from a lover or the taste of hot tea poured by a caring mother's hand. She hummed lazily, trying to recall what it was...but the name and everything else escaped her.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
She turned her head — or tried to, only her neck wouldn't go far enough for her to see the person sitting beside her. She could, though, feel someone's hand in hers. It felt nice. Familiar. Despite not knowing who's it was, she felt comfortable.
"I don't think my thoughts are worth any bit of money, love." The words spilled from her lips, but she didn't feel like she was actually saying them. Like maybe someone was behind her, pushing the words out of her esophagus and over her tongue, or she was just mouthing along to a recorded track. "Not even for a penny."
"Ah, but darlin' to me? Your thoughts are worth this train's weight in gold."
She smiled. Lipstick flaked across her parting lips. She darted her tongue across to collect any damage. "You're so cheesy — and for no reason, you know. You've already won my heart."
"And what a wonder that was."
"And not without trying."
Though she couldn't see the man beside her — for it had to be male, with the deep inflection to his honeyed tone — she could somehow tell he was smiling. "Nope, not without trying."
Vague images flashed in her head. Thoughts of a pair walking through empty streets, kicking at spare stones, or laughing over cups of tea in a tiny room patterned with rose wallpaper. Cheeky comments, raucous laughter, encouragement and denials and a giddy 'you're really something, aren'tcha?' in a voice that almost sounded like hers.
"Was it worth it, though?"
She giggled softly. Her hand curled closer to his. "Mm. Most days, yes."
"I — most days?! What's that gotta mean?"
"Well, some days I'm a little peeved because I said yes to a man who doesn't know how to wipe his dirty shoes off, and thinks he can just track it over my freshly cleaned floors like a—"
"—well hey, that was one time!"
"Three times, not one! And that's me being generous with ya!"
