A simple one-shot about Selina and Bruce, and their inner demons. Hope you enjoy.
AliaAtreidesBr
Scars. He had no trouble with scars, and she was grateful for that.
Between them, there were so many old marks of the torned flesh and bloody wounds that was hard to find clear, immaculate skin. Bodies full of stories, she thought. In the darkness of their room, on the softness of their bed, under refined silk sheets, there was also rudeness in their bodies, the roughness of their lives, the memories they fought to put behind - if only for a minute, a second, if only they could leave it outside, away from their moments...
But there they were. They, and their scars.
He was attentive and caring, he was soft and - every now and then - spontaneous. Eyes that stared at her in the darkness, hands that would search and explore her, every inch of her, his fingers moving slowly as they touched the irregular spots of scraped skin, the distinguished marks she so often tried to hide, conceal... not only from him, but from herself. Lines, traces, unpredictable and asymmetrical portions of herself, alien pieces of someone she no longer was.
And one she often wondered about... wondering: was she gone forever?
He had trouble with her scars, and he hoped she couldn't see it in his eyes.
She was so perfect and gorgeous, beautifully made, her features sculpted in idyllic, idealized shapes, an exquisite perfection. The intimacy, the growing proximity between them, the shared moments that would bring them closer and closer...
It was great.
And it was hell.
As he watched the woman that slowly revealed, the woman he longed for more and more, the woman that slept in careless and selfless peace, the woman that trembled in pleasure under his touch, and whose heart he could hear, feel as it pondered against her chest - and his chest, their bodies so close together -, he saw - and dreaded - the old, ancient and permanent scars he recognized in her eyes...
She too was marked; too much for him to ignore. She had been hurt - and so many times! She feared and she shivered, she doubted and she couldn't bring herself to hope... hope for the best. Don't think!, he wanted to tell her. Don't think and don't wonder, don't second guess, don't force yourself to distance; not from us. Stay, he secretly begged. Trust.
But, yes, there were scars. They were there to be seen, they were there when she turned her face from him, when she quietly slipped away, thoughts drifting to places that were so dark and lonely, all those places... He visited them too. He knew them too well, he understood the depths of the mind that couldn't believe happiness was at hand. He tasted loneliness too many times, and fought against the feeling that it suited him.
He fought it still.
And so, there were scars; marks and old, deep wounds. In her body and soul, but they hurt, they hurt him like nothing else. Painful to watch, painful to see he too was to blame for so many of those scars... Painful to know that so many of those would tell him: you were not there. You were not there, you couldn't help her, save her, save her from harm, save her from them, save her from herself.
You weren't there, her scars would silently tell him. You failed her before.
Will you fail her now?, they questioned.
And the single honest answer was: he didn't know.