I'm sooo tired…but I keep writing…it's weird…
My brain isn't making sense, so if this doesn't make sense, then…um…whoops. Hehe. :)
My first Robin/Starfire. Hopefully the next time these two get together in my fics, they'll be a bit happier.
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Prompt #5: Words
His words hurt her more than any physical blow.
The sound of them—rushing through the silence—is almost more than she can stand. There's a swish, a crack, a sharp stinging pain along her heart…almost like the passage of a whip through the thick air. She wonders why he hurts her like this, even when she knows he isn't trying to.
Sometimes, when his voice has that particular edge of anger, she sees something underneath. Something that glimmers with the fervor of desperation and burns with the intensity of fear. So she looks deeper, and then she sees it—or maybe she hears it.
A whisper.
It doesn't matter that he's screaming—she hears something softer, something sweeter. But as soon as she strains to hear it, it's gone. So she tries to keep herself calm, even when she wants to scream back at him, scream about how unfair it is for her to be the one who listens. And she tries to block out the angry words so she can hear the faint undertone, the one that seems to whisper, I love you. I will never hurt you.
And as soon as she's heard it, she relaxes, at least for a moment. Because he says he loves her, and that's good—that's great. She loves him too. Even if she could never admit to it, because she doesn't want to scare him away; because she doesn't want to lose him.
They love each other, but they're mute to the fact. And so there's a gap between them.
He won't admit it either—but there's the magnetic attraction, the thing that pulls them close, that sucks them in. They're both scared; so scared. They're scared of losing each other. They're scared of running out of time. They're scared for each other and they're scared for themselves and they want to leap into the gap and force it closed and never have to think about it again.
But they're even more scared that if they took the time to leap, the other wouldn't be there to break their fall.
He's scared of how she affects him. He's afraid that if he draws her too close, it will be the end of everything he knows. So the words keep coming, clawing their way out of his mouth and invading the only good thing in his entire world.
The words keep them apart. And even though that should reassure him, all he feels is emptiness.
She wonders if silence will close the gap between them—maybe, just maybe, if they took the time to be still and quiet, and just listened to the other, maybe it would heal them both. But his words keep getting in the way, building up and up and up until they fall, like a house of cards, and crush her beneath them.
It's too much for her—too much to think about. She tries to ignore it and concentrate on the glimmer beneath his harsh façade, the tiny spark that keeps her hoping, keeps her loving.
Both of them are locked in their silent battles—the only thing silent, when everything around them is noise. It's a sad irony that despite the way words are tearing them apart, words are the only thing that can heal them now.
And it's too bad neither of them knows the right words to say.