07-03-2020, 07:25 PM
She didn’t desire the company. Natalie’s exterior was toughened steel, but it felt a brittle shell now, and kindness might flake that armour like old tarnish. She did not know what would be left underneath. She didn’t want to know.
At least it wasn’t Scion though. Or Yasmine, who she presumed must still be around somewhere, considering it was her estate.
As Jensen sat down, Natalie’s gaze didn’t break from the view, of which she saw precisely nothing. Grief rolled like the threat of a storm, an actual ache in her chest like the feeling might not stay contained no matter how hard she repressed it. Her eyes burned on peeks and waves.
“It isn’t me who needs saving, Jensen,” she said quietly.
It felt churlish to rebuff the comfort so earnestly meant, and she did not wish to wound him. She wondered if he understood why she couldn’t take that hand. If he had any notion of how badly her walls were eroding, and how badly she needed them not to. Holding on to someone now would only rip the vulnerability wider, and that never ended well for her. But neither did she walk away. It was as close to solidarity as she could offer him.
“This will break him,” she added eventually. Though she realised it was no coincidence Jensen was here, the words weren’t spoken as an accusation. Her own mistakes littered the path behind as much as anyone else’s, and blame was a comfortless thing. Speaking her thoughts aloud carved a hollow from her chest, and left something bloody and raw in its place. It was pain she shared, for how deeply it grieved her, but not only. She realised she was afraid too, then. That he was gone. Not dead; she’d seen Jay’s expression before he turned away, and she knew Zacarías Amengual stood no chance. But that she’d lost him.
The squeeze in her chest was unbearable. Her gaze finally pulled away, seeking an anchor somewhere else. In her lap, the nails of one hand dug subconsciously into her palm. Jensen looked tired; soul-weary and heartsore, and she didn’t know where he found the reserves to care at all, let alone offer himself out as a source of strength. Her pale eyes were unblinking, despite the telling glaze. Aware she looked little better herself. She tread in new waters, aware they would be no easier. “Did she at least have a funeral?”
At least it wasn’t Scion though. Or Yasmine, who she presumed must still be around somewhere, considering it was her estate.
As Jensen sat down, Natalie’s gaze didn’t break from the view, of which she saw precisely nothing. Grief rolled like the threat of a storm, an actual ache in her chest like the feeling might not stay contained no matter how hard she repressed it. Her eyes burned on peeks and waves.
“It isn’t me who needs saving, Jensen,” she said quietly.
It felt churlish to rebuff the comfort so earnestly meant, and she did not wish to wound him. She wondered if he understood why she couldn’t take that hand. If he had any notion of how badly her walls were eroding, and how badly she needed them not to. Holding on to someone now would only rip the vulnerability wider, and that never ended well for her. But neither did she walk away. It was as close to solidarity as she could offer him.
“This will break him,” she added eventually. Though she realised it was no coincidence Jensen was here, the words weren’t spoken as an accusation. Her own mistakes littered the path behind as much as anyone else’s, and blame was a comfortless thing. Speaking her thoughts aloud carved a hollow from her chest, and left something bloody and raw in its place. It was pain she shared, for how deeply it grieved her, but not only. She realised she was afraid too, then. That he was gone. Not dead; she’d seen Jay’s expression before he turned away, and she knew Zacarías Amengual stood no chance. But that she’d lost him.
The squeeze in her chest was unbearable. Her gaze finally pulled away, seeking an anchor somewhere else. In her lap, the nails of one hand dug subconsciously into her palm. Jensen looked tired; soul-weary and heartsore, and she didn’t know where he found the reserves to care at all, let alone offer himself out as a source of strength. Her pale eyes were unblinking, despite the telling glaze. Aware she looked little better herself. She tread in new waters, aware they would be no easier. “Did she at least have a funeral?”