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ETTA ♛
Etta knew she should tell Luke. Despite everything, he deserved to know, and she told herself that over and over and over again as her eyes watched him over the ever-dying flames of the fire pit that stood between them. He was so close, she'd be able to call his name and he would come over, yet in her mind he felt so far away, a speck in the distance, a black dot over the horizon of a barren wasteland.
She hated that she couldn't just go over and speak to him, that it would never be as easy as that ever again, and she hadn't realised she'd been feeling such a way until that night, watching Melissa parade around him like he was some museum exhibit, clutching on to him with a kind of possession that made him seem like nothing more than a trophy.
There wasn't much opportunity for her to speak to Luke alone, and yet Etta was ashamed to admit that, when small windows of opportunities did arise, she found herself hesitating, debating whether or not he did deserve to know, and then she hated herself more.
It made her feel immature. Petty, even, because even know how much she tried to be the bigger person, there was a certain part of her that was so deeply dented it was almost a hole, and in it festered the most toxic kind of feelings, ones she was ashamed to feel, despite how much she suppressed them, because they were ugly, they made her ugly.
