DESPOINA
The conversation so quickly turns on itself, that it leaves her head spinning. She has never known what it is like to have a normal friendship—to have a normal anything. She can barely understand what it is that she feels for him except this bastardly hunger that rages in her chest, gnashing its teeth at the thought of him touching anyone else. All she knows is the insistent, painful need to reach out to him. The need to know what lies beneath the billowing smoke and darkness, the red eyes that pull her under completely.
“Breckin,” she forces herself to say the name.
Forces herself to whisper it.
It is like a dagger to the heart and the sharpness at which it feels to have it buried in her is more than she finds she can bear. Her breath comes whistling out and she instantly feels the shame of revealing so much of her pain to him. Of laying it before him. “Your child should be so lucky to be like you,” she whispers in her silvery voice, looking down because she cannot trust herself to meet his gaze. “Be so lucky.”
She wonders what their child would look like.
Realizes too late how desperately she wants to find out.
When he looks back up, his voice sounds harsh, to her at least, and she trembles slightly as though being admonished. It is the only thing that she knows how to feel—the only emotion she can comprehend.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I am so sorry.”
Of course he wishes they hadn’t met, she thinks. Of course.
“I didn’t mean to bother you.”
I guess the sound of your voice in the aching will just have to do