She's all toweringhighheels and paintedredlips and stickskinny beautiful. She's black dresses and cigarettes dangling, tips glowing orange in the evening light. She's stunning and perfect and sososovery alone.
It's been, what, years? Since she last felt like she was somewhere safe. Years since she felt like she was truly home. Because her parent's house isn't a sanctuary, not with her father's crippling post traumatic stress, or her mother's angry screams. It's not home and she hates it there.
But she's good at pretending, good at smiling wide and wiping beneath her eyes to remove all signs of running blackblackblackasherheartfeels mascara. She's good at acting, at making up stories and avoiding the truth. And she's good at running away, at retreating far far back inside of herself and shutting down to the outside world. It's what she's always done.
People ask her what's wrong, but they don't stop while she opens her mouth to answer. They just keep walking, walking awayaway from her. They don't listen. And, God, she needs someone to talk to.
She's paralyzed. By doubts, fears, insecurities. She can't move, can't even breathe, because there's a weight on her chest and a noose around her neck and a chain pulling her back to a dirty wall in a cell where she will always hold herself prisoner. She can't escape. And she can't cry out, because nobody cares to listen.
But then he's there.
What's wrong? He whispers. Tell me.
And she wants to. She wantswantswants to tell him everything, to confess away her sins and mend her broken heart but her mouth's not moving and she's choking back sobs and turning around and, what are you doing, silly girl?, running away. Just like always.
She may be fast, years of practice have built up strength that results in speed, but he'll always be faster because he knows exactly what's at stake, even if she doesn't. So he'll be the good boy, the one she's always wantedneededhoped for, and he'll hold on tight so she can't self-destruct. 'Cause this girl's a time bomb, and she'll take everyone down with her.
And once he's caught her, he wraps his arms around her tight, holding her together so she cannot fall apart. And she buries her head in his chest, hiding, but not from him. From the world. She hides from the world in his embrace. And he holds on, because he'd never let her go.
Will you tell me now? He asks. Without running away?
She nods, once, twice, three times and stays c o m p l e t e l y still. No motion, not of her legs or her heart because he's standing awfully close and he smells awfully good and she could just hold on to him forever.
Everything. She says in one breath.
And then, a curious thing happens, the tears stop. She wasn't expecting them to, if anything, she thought that the single word would break her heart further. But he held her and kept her as whole as she could be right now.
And then he spoke, murmuring the soft words into her hair and stroking her back and holding her hand.
I know.
And, somehow, that made it all better. And, and she began to realize, maybe he was her home.
A/n: Big props to Curiously Cinnamon for liking (or knowing) the same kind of music as me. This one's for her (: