Momentary Weakness
by Jaclyn // musicnotej@aol.com
08.22.03
*
Suddenly Lilah sat bolt upright, the almost frantic play of her fingers as they twisted the sheets belying her indifferent tone. "Do you ever just feel like nothing you say is new? It's all been done before. Everything. Yet everyone keeps acting like getting up in the morning actually matters. Why do people even bother with the pretense?" Her tirade slowed cracked open to reveal genuine emotion, unpleasant and unrelenting. Wesley kept still. He didn't do many things for her, but tonight, he would listen.
Her eyes roved the apartment. "Why don't we all just...plop down on a streetcorner and sit like lumps. Be like the kind of people I've always looked down on and yet-- maybe they the ones who have it right after all." Lilah's gaze locked on his. "Why, Wesley?"
"I don't know," he said gently, surprising himself with his tone. Apparently, Lilah was just as surprised; shock flitted across her features for an instant. She'd been expecting a sharp rebuke. Something to ground her. It's what she'd wanted -- a slap across the face.
This...this wasn't entirely bad though. It was almost...nice. This thing called commiserating. She supposed that's what it was, having never deigned [having never had the courage] to try it before.
"Why do I do the things I do?" Lilah finally asked softly. "I'm so tired."
"I know," he murmured tenderly. "It's--"
But Lilah's reflexes had already kicked in, at least partly. She swiftly lay back down, head on Wesley's chest, and whispered harshly, "Tomorrow...it's like I never said anything. This crap doesn't belong to me."
He put an arm around her tense body and murmured, "I know that too."
END