Of course you wouldn't. Of course you wouldn't c- c- [come back, but she's hiccuping now, hollow and sharp.
'Why are you even here, Bruce?' but she can't ask it, can't even get the words to come together and couldn't stand to hear whatever he'd have to say if she could. All the fears and emotions she could tidy out of text are seizing up her diaphragm in pulses and waves, boiling up through her and carrying her with them because he's here and she has no defenses. There's nothing in her to protect him from herself. She's hurting him and she can't stop, can only hang onto him more tightly and wail.
You know how this whole situation could have been avoided? If you'd written ahead. Left some sort of note. Sent those photographs. There's no processing anything approaching the idea that Bruce might be here for her and to stay when she's spent months and months, years and years, reminding herself how that can never be again, sleeping beside the truth that he'd be a planet away for the rest of her natural life, and then his unnatural one.
He'd run from her in Harlem. He'd avoided her when he'd resurfaced in New York. After she'd reached him again, he moved without warning, written, then stopped, then started but never really gave himself to her again. That he's safe - she can take that. Whether or not she believes him, she can at least swallow it, what it means:
She doesn't need to act. They can stay like this for a while. And there is no other option because she won't let him escape while she's still caught up in this storm.]
no subject
'Why are you even here, Bruce?' but she can't ask it, can't even get the words to come together and couldn't stand to hear whatever he'd have to say if she could. All the fears and emotions she could tidy out of text are seizing up her diaphragm in pulses and waves, boiling up through her and carrying her with them because he's here and she has no defenses. There's nothing in her to protect him from herself. She's hurting him and she can't stop, can only hang onto him more tightly and wail.
You know how this whole situation could have been avoided? If you'd written ahead. Left some sort of note. Sent those photographs. There's no processing anything approaching the idea that Bruce might be here for her and to stay when she's spent months and months, years and years, reminding herself how that can never be again, sleeping beside the truth that he'd be a planet away for the rest of her natural life, and then his unnatural one.
He'd run from her in Harlem. He'd avoided her when he'd resurfaced in New York. After she'd reached him again, he moved without warning, written, then stopped, then started but never really gave himself to her again. That he's safe - she can take that. Whether or not she believes him, she can at least swallow it, what it means:
She doesn't need to act. They can stay like this for a while. And there is no other option because she won't let him escape while she's still caught up in this storm.]