all our searching, adna

[adna]

I will commit my soul to your door tonight, and I'll last 'til the gas fumes float on higher

She holds it back.

She stands there quietly and lets him rant, breathes it in deep and tries to hold onto the anger that she has let lash out at him so many times. She just settles it into her bones and lifts her head, watching him carefully, letting each and every lash find its home on the curve of her back, the ridges of her spine.

But, finally, the dam breaks.

Finally, it snaps within her and she feels it flood throughout her.

She tastes copper on her tongue—that buzzing quality of poison.

But it’s too late, it’s too late.

“What the hell do you want from me, Beth?” Her sage green eyes are sharp and there is a relief in just letting her feel the rage instead of feeling the bone-aching, marrow-deep pain she had before. Fine. If he wanted to fight then she would fight. “I’m never good enough for you. I’m the cause of all of your problems. I ask too much, push too hard, demand things from you that you don’t want to give.”

She draws in a breath and she is shaking from the effort. “Do I look like I feel better to you? You absolute insufferable ass.” She bites her lip until its bleeding and then continues. “I wasn’t making you a punching bag. I misunderstood and was trying to tell you I was happy for you. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t yelling. I never fucking asked a thing of you.” She is shaking now. “But if it makes you feel better, by all means. Go ahead and tell me all of the ways that I am the worst thing to ever happen to you. Tell me all about exactly what I think and feel and do because you seem to know me oh so well.”

She shakes her head, finally furious.

“Let me be your punching bag, Beth. Have at it.”

in a dying love I'm nothing but a stone cold liar but, oh, I got an iron in that fire

Adna