Re: Capital: Sam & Cris
She knew he wouldn't put her back. It took a long time for her to get that he was protective, yeah? But just as fucking impulsive as her. He wasn't careful, and she loved that about him. It might mean they both fucking burned to cinders and made themselves sick and bruised, but they FELT, yeah? Feeling was everything to the blonde in the stairwell, and she could smell the blood from his hand in her nose, and she could smell the cloves and the cold. But, mostly, he smelled like him, unwashed, and she dug her nose against his collarbone hard.
"You make everything better for me just by BEING," she insisted, and she wasn't bullshitting even a little. "Just knowing you'll be there, yeah? Whenever I need you to. That's enough. You don't gotta put me back together, ok? Just hold onto me while I figure out how to do it. You aren't responsible for me. That's too much responsibility for anyone. And I wanna be good for you. I don't care if you're old, ok? And I don't want you measuring your shit against mine. Both of our stuff is valid. My therapist would say that. It's not about measuring things. It's about what we need, ok?" She tugged back enough to look at him. Her gaze was a soft unfocused thing, and the mauve beneath her circles was fit for a canvas now, settled against such pallor. "I just don't know if I'm strong enough for it, and I don't want you to be hurt or miserable or unhappy, yeah? If I can't do it right." The tears were starting again, but they were frustrated this time, yeah? "I wanna not be selfish with you but, like now, I kinda just wanna whine and I know that's an asshole thing to do. I don't wanna make you sad."
She wrapped her arms tight around him, and the IV tubing dripped medicine onto the floor. "You gotta get a nurse to wrap your hand."