09-11-2018, 07:05 AM
She was wrong about the second wound being the most painful. The third extracted a price worse than blood.
Her head had been in her hands, but it lifted to the sting of accusation. Jay's stare scoured like he beheld an enemy, but Natalie had used up all her fierceness kicking away her dad's chains. Her bag was right there, but she didn't stop him from taking it. Even though she felt the first cracks in her chest fissure as she watched him do it.
When the blades of the media slashed her family to pieces it was only they who pulled her away from the carnage. She never defended against aspersion, even when it was wrong. Especially when it was wrong. Though at least in sobriety she might have wielded pride. So diminished, she had nothing resembling protection. Her bleary gaze fixed helpless on his, she took the wounds quietly. Soul deep.
Turned out he let go quickly. She ought not be surprised. Her whole life taught her how all kinds of love had boundaries; that the moment they were crossed, no bonds were sacred. The betrayal etched on his face tore her up. She couldn't even tell him she hadn't read it, defence and explanation both thrown to the wind. Words would not fix this.
Natalie pushed herself up against the dresser, Azu's bible clutched in one hand, the papers he dropped by her feet crumpled in the other. She didn't want him to look too carefully at her; to see the telltale glaze and blush of pink in her eyes, dismal proof of how badly she was drowning. She shoved the folder against his chest, trying not to overbalance. Her hand retracted before she was certain he would accept the burden.
"Take a look at the second file he sent," she said quietly. "And then tell me why I'm so drunk right now. I came to you first."
The wall guided her away. It was not an escape from his anger, and if it was through fear of what he might do next then it was only that she knew he would walk away. She didn't want to see Pavlo's face again if he should heed her advice. And she definitely didn't want Jay to see her falling.
She doubted he'd follow. He saw the ugliness now, even in only a glimpse. He had every right to walk away from it. She knew where he'd go.
Calming exercises were little good when her eyes were too blurred to see. As the bathroom door closed she crumpled like the strings were cut, the shudder of emotion so violent she could actually feel herself trembling. The therapist in Aubagne accused her of bottling everything too tight. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. A reserve of strength was always found from somewhere, stitching wounds in layers of toughened leather and steel. Even now the clamp of iron in jaw denied the weakness of it, head buried in her arms. But the tide fell silent anyway.
Her head had been in her hands, but it lifted to the sting of accusation. Jay's stare scoured like he beheld an enemy, but Natalie had used up all her fierceness kicking away her dad's chains. Her bag was right there, but she didn't stop him from taking it. Even though she felt the first cracks in her chest fissure as she watched him do it.
When the blades of the media slashed her family to pieces it was only they who pulled her away from the carnage. She never defended against aspersion, even when it was wrong. Especially when it was wrong. Though at least in sobriety she might have wielded pride. So diminished, she had nothing resembling protection. Her bleary gaze fixed helpless on his, she took the wounds quietly. Soul deep.
Turned out he let go quickly. She ought not be surprised. Her whole life taught her how all kinds of love had boundaries; that the moment they were crossed, no bonds were sacred. The betrayal etched on his face tore her up. She couldn't even tell him she hadn't read it, defence and explanation both thrown to the wind. Words would not fix this.
Natalie pushed herself up against the dresser, Azu's bible clutched in one hand, the papers he dropped by her feet crumpled in the other. She didn't want him to look too carefully at her; to see the telltale glaze and blush of pink in her eyes, dismal proof of how badly she was drowning. She shoved the folder against his chest, trying not to overbalance. Her hand retracted before she was certain he would accept the burden.
"Take a look at the second file he sent," she said quietly. "And then tell me why I'm so drunk right now. I came to you first."
The wall guided her away. It was not an escape from his anger, and if it was through fear of what he might do next then it was only that she knew he would walk away. She didn't want to see Pavlo's face again if he should heed her advice. And she definitely didn't want Jay to see her falling.
She doubted he'd follow. He saw the ugliness now, even in only a glimpse. He had every right to walk away from it. She knew where he'd go.
Calming exercises were little good when her eyes were too blurred to see. As the bathroom door closed she crumpled like the strings were cut, the shudder of emotion so violent she could actually feel herself trembling. The therapist in Aubagne accused her of bottling everything too tight. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. A reserve of strength was always found from somewhere, stitching wounds in layers of toughened leather and steel. Even now the clamp of iron in jaw denied the weakness of it, head buried in her arms. But the tide fell silent anyway.