[ Sometimes, she's not entirely sure what to make of Embry Moore — Vice President of the United States, right hand of the man who holds the highest office in the country — and it gets even harder to parse inner meanings when he says something like that to her, sentiment rasped out after what might be one too many drinks tossed back over the course of the party.
What does it say about her, then, that she wants to hold onto those four words — I'm glad you didn't — to keep them nestled in close against her bruised heart where no one else can take them away? She's not fully broken, not from him and certainly not from Ash, but it would be a lie if she claimed she hadn't walked away from either of them without licking some wounds. Like the night she'd knelt against broken glass, picking up shards without thinking better of it, until a jagged piece had sliced into her finger. The scar has long healed, but how easy it had been to cut herself and not even feel it until she'd seen the blood well up into a perfect red drop.
Embry staggers against her, drawing her thoughts back to the present and away from that room, so many years ago, and instinctively, before she can think better of it, her hand flies up to cradle the back of his head, trying to keep him from any sudden movements, trying to keep him from hurting himself if he's unsteady. ]
Don't say that. [ The cruelest part of all of it is they both know it's true, but maybe she wants to let herself be a little lost, if it's him she's lost with. Her fingers sift through his hair, as she wordlessly marvels at the softness of it, while she holds him. While he lingers on his knees in a way that makes this all feel holy and tainted in the same breath. ] You found me first.
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What does it say about her, then, that she wants to hold onto those four words — I'm glad you didn't — to keep them nestled in close against her bruised heart where no one else can take them away? She's not fully broken, not from him and certainly not from Ash, but it would be a lie if she claimed she hadn't walked away from either of them without licking some wounds. Like the night she'd knelt against broken glass, picking up shards without thinking better of it, until a jagged piece had sliced into her finger. The scar has long healed, but how easy it had been to cut herself and not even feel it until she'd seen the blood well up into a perfect red drop.
Embry staggers against her, drawing her thoughts back to the present and away from that room, so many years ago, and instinctively, before she can think better of it, her hand flies up to cradle the back of his head, trying to keep him from any sudden movements, trying to keep him from hurting himself if he's unsteady. ]
Don't say that. [ The cruelest part of all of it is they both know it's true, but maybe she wants to let herself be a little lost, if it's him she's lost with. Her fingers sift through his hair, as she wordlessly marvels at the softness of it, while she holds him. While he lingers on his knees in a way that makes this all feel holy and tainted in the same breath. ] You found me first.