Re: log: gatsby, bruce/selina (adult)
Bruce was all but certain that he couldn't love her the way she loved him, the way she deserved to be loved. In his mind, as it was with virtually everything, he simply wasn't enough. And he was hurt by far more than he let on, but wasn't that the point? He was impenetrable. He felt nothing when, in reality, he felt everything.
Another apology was there, on his lips, when she told him not to apologize, but he swallowed it down. Words wouldn't fix anything. They couldn't change what had been done. But had he known that she thought he would be in a better place once she was gone, he would have laughed. Laughed at how very wrong she was, because there was only one way he could ever be in a better place. Despite pretending otherwise, he was still considering it.
The alcohol turned everything into a blur. It was easier to lose himself that way, to not focus. There was nothing but the feel of her hands on him, the sound of her purr in his ear, and he gasped without thinking, rocking up into her touch. And it was fine, it was good, until she spoke. Muffled as it was against his mouth, he heard, and her words were like ice.
Suddenly, the world slid into shock-bright clarity. He thought of that night on the rooftop, how he'd hated himself afterward. She'd brought out a part of him he didn't like; he didn't like his anger. It was so deeply ingrained in him that it was who he was, yes, but he loathed what he became when he lost his temper. And now, now she was trying to drag it out again. Why? Why did she always have to bring out the worst in him? Wasn't it enough that he hated himself? Wasn't it enough that he went to bed with guilt and woke up with it, that he carried it around day in and day out?
Wasn't it enough that he wanted to die, that he was perpetually on the very brink of giving in?
He pushed her away. It was sloppy, clumsy, desperation to get up and away. "No," he slurred. "No, no-- I won't. Not again. Not again."