She might be waiting for it, so she can bury it deeper and deeper into this comfortable coffin of guilt that Jack has made for her so well. Her body so easily fitted into this loathing, this ability to hate herself that comes like second nature.
But she should have known he'd never let that sit. Never let herself tear herself apart. No matter how often or how hard or how determined she'd be about it. Not when Jack had arrived, not when she had torn others to pieces, he stayed with her for all of that.
That it follows the same, just the same, as he doesn't bite into it. Turns softer in the way she never expects. His voice so quiet and no, she doesn't know what it means, but she doesn't need to, his voice is all she cares to know. Warm and forgiving like she so desperately wanted.
That even as she seems to still cry, it's not quite so hard, not so sharp inside her chest where her breath begins to even out. Slowing down to just little hiccups.
no subject
But she should have known he'd never let that sit. Never let herself tear herself apart. No matter how often or how hard or how determined she'd be about it. Not when Jack had arrived, not when she had torn others to pieces, he stayed with her for all of that.
That it follows the same, just the same, as he doesn't bite into it. Turns softer in the way she never expects. His voice so quiet and no, she doesn't know what it means, but she doesn't need to, his voice is all she cares to know. Warm and forgiving like she so desperately wanted.
That even as she seems to still cry, it's not quite so hard, not so sharp inside her chest where her breath begins to even out. Slowing down to just little hiccups.