Regret builds like bile in the back of Jude’s throat. It is not the entire interaction, or the way she has pushed him over an unspoken ledge, or that she hates how she can find no peace; it is that she wasted even a few seconds wondering about Vadar, wishing he would pay her visit - that she put so much into a short and sweet encounter. Nevermind that most of her interactions are insincere, nevermind her nature. She should have known fucking better.
I should have fucking known.
That is why when he turns away grumbling, when he spits insults in her direction, she does not hear a single word he says. Her sight is red, her vision pinpricks - she is furious in the way only irrational emotion can be. Her muscles quiver with the need to kick his back legs out from under him, her jaw clenches at the idea of tearing a piece of his flesh from his hindquarters. The only other miniscule emotion she can feel is relief that he cannot see the rise he ripped straight from the darkest, most shattered parts of her heart.
Jude swallows back the cold realization that she, too, changes to get what she wants. For a moment, she is completely still in her gripping reality: this is Jude in her most raw, seething and betrayed and undoctored. Perhaps this is a piece of her she hid from Vadar; perhaps she truly hid behind her mask for so long she believed it is truly who she is. Either way, this is her, and he is the first to see such ugly pieces of her.
That very fact simultaneously sobers and enrages her.
“Oh, sure, Vadar,” she sneers, honeyed voice remaining as sweet as the first time they met. Her legs are graceful and quick when they flit to his side. She whips around him, swinging her hips to the right to stop his retreat. The look in her lavender eyes is sick with sheer delight.
“I’m just so full of myself, aren’t I? As if your very demeanor and apathetic banter doesn’t speak of the very same thing.” Her teeth click together at the end of her sentence, mouth curved in a smile that refuses to leave. The ground beneath her squelches when she takes a step forward, a reckless fearlessness molten in her eyes.
“Do you want me to walk away from this feeling worthless? Like the worst kind of woman there is? You’ll have to try a whole lot fuckin’ harder, considerin’ you’re the exact same kind of horrible as me. Maybe if you could see through your own charade you’d notice you want under my skin just as badly as I want under yours.”
Jude’s chest does not heave when she is finished, though her body begs for full breaths; and, surprisingly, her eyes do not burn with anger. She is stoic, statuesque, lacking the quiver of emotion she felt before. Vadar can choke and die before her, and she would hardly bat an eye, though she thinks that might be the only way she will leave satisfied.
@[Vadar] whew......yikes......plz dont kill her