Title: Apologies
Disclaimer: -looks at face in mirror- Yep. I'm still a girl, and therefore am not DPB, and thus do not own these characters.
Summary: Somewhere between a drabble and flashfic. "Rationally she knew she was just convenient."
Feedback would be appreciated as this is a first attempt fic.
~*~ Rationally she knew she was just convenient. Just someone who wouldn't yell back or hit. But tell that to the hurt that would bubble up into her chest.
"I can't do this any more." Momma would say to her, her voice cold. "It's time for you to grow up, take responsibility for your own things," she'd snap, triggered by an innocent question.
She'd shrink into herself, making herself a smaller target for the hurtful words. "I'm sorry, momma," she'd murmur.
"Sorry? What the hell does sorry mean? Your father's always sorry after..." and then Momma would stop, touching the fresh bruise on her collar bone or cheek, whispering a harsh, "Sorry doesn't mean a damn thing."
"Marines don't cry," she would think, willing the two drops of moisture back into her eyes, listening as her mother's footsteps grew fainter, muffled by the carpet in the next room.
Later, her momma would say she was sorry. "Sorry doesn't mean a damn thing," she'd think, but the biting words would be forced down her throat, past the lump of emotions that resided there. She'd nod, eyes downcast, as she took her mother's hand, not trusting her voice.
After all, she knew she was just convenient.
Disclaimer: -looks at face in mirror- Yep. I'm still a girl, and therefore am not DPB, and thus do not own these characters.
Summary: Somewhere between a drabble and flashfic. "Rationally she knew she was just convenient."
Feedback would be appreciated as this is a first attempt fic.
~*~ Rationally she knew she was just convenient. Just someone who wouldn't yell back or hit. But tell that to the hurt that would bubble up into her chest.
"I can't do this any more." Momma would say to her, her voice cold. "It's time for you to grow up, take responsibility for your own things," she'd snap, triggered by an innocent question.
She'd shrink into herself, making herself a smaller target for the hurtful words. "I'm sorry, momma," she'd murmur.
"Sorry? What the hell does sorry mean? Your father's always sorry after..." and then Momma would stop, touching the fresh bruise on her collar bone or cheek, whispering a harsh, "Sorry doesn't mean a damn thing."
"Marines don't cry," she would think, willing the two drops of moisture back into her eyes, listening as her mother's footsteps grew fainter, muffled by the carpet in the next room.
Later, her momma would say she was sorry. "Sorry doesn't mean a damn thing," she'd think, but the biting words would be forced down her throat, past the lump of emotions that resided there. She'd nod, eyes downcast, as she took her mother's hand, not trusting her voice.
After all, she knew she was just convenient.