01-09-2020, 10:08 AM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
There’s hardly more that he can do than watch her. The steeliness of their eyes remain steadfast when they lock, neither flinching from the increasing frigidity of the conversation. Sochi is unfazed by his confession, her lips pursed in a thin line as she stares into the fiery depths of his heart and soul. Castile lifts his chin, his eyes narrowing underneath the unruly nest of his forelock. What smile had been on his face has since dissipated, chiseled away by the distance she keeps between them.
Skepticism rises inside him and uncertainty sinks its nails into his throat, silencing him when she finally speaks. The words are weighted, and he considers her carefully. Every ounce of love seems washed away. Every fiber of her being appears decided and firm, but still, he doesn’t resign or buckle underneath her unspoken accusations. ”I’m not apologizing for anything,” when he finally answers her, it’s with a rumbling baritone that emanates his own confidence and unwillingness to fold. ”You asked if I had diplomats with me,” his mind pieces it together and mulls it over. His eyes flash with surprise and question. ”Are you threatened?” He assumes that would be the only reason she asked, the root of her leading questions and cold eyes.
Castile rolls his shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath his taut skin while his jaws clench, frustrated.
”Why do you sound like you’re giving up at the drop of a hat?” All the years they’ve spent together, the nights huddled close, and the children borne between them, flash feverishly before him when he looks at her. The battles for a home, the war. They’ve been at each other’s side, but Sochi’s grip loosens now. ”… On a whim…” he adds as an afterthought, casting his eyes away in a moment of concentration before bringing himself to look at her again. Once, years ago, he would have crumbled in front of her, but he was weak then and still so broken. She has lifted him from the ashes, but even then, he doesn’t retrogress. Even if she is the core of his strength, he doesn’t fall to his knees as she begins pulling the rug from underneath his feet.
Both stubborn, both proud.
A heavy breath sighs from his lungs, black smoke pooling out and billowing into the space above him. He stares at her through the cloud, piercing his mismatched gaze through her. ”You haven’t been happy,” it’s the only reason he can muster, the only wedge that comes to mind in his frantic search for answers. ”Why?” He finally asks, not realizing how heavy the question truly is until it leaves his lips.
Skepticism rises inside him and uncertainty sinks its nails into his throat, silencing him when she finally speaks. The words are weighted, and he considers her carefully. Every ounce of love seems washed away. Every fiber of her being appears decided and firm, but still, he doesn’t resign or buckle underneath her unspoken accusations. ”I’m not apologizing for anything,” when he finally answers her, it’s with a rumbling baritone that emanates his own confidence and unwillingness to fold. ”You asked if I had diplomats with me,” his mind pieces it together and mulls it over. His eyes flash with surprise and question. ”Are you threatened?” He assumes that would be the only reason she asked, the root of her leading questions and cold eyes.
Castile rolls his shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath his taut skin while his jaws clench, frustrated.
”Why do you sound like you’re giving up at the drop of a hat?” All the years they’ve spent together, the nights huddled close, and the children borne between them, flash feverishly before him when he looks at her. The battles for a home, the war. They’ve been at each other’s side, but Sochi’s grip loosens now. ”… On a whim…” he adds as an afterthought, casting his eyes away in a moment of concentration before bringing himself to look at her again. Once, years ago, he would have crumbled in front of her, but he was weak then and still so broken. She has lifted him from the ashes, but even then, he doesn’t retrogress. Even if she is the core of his strength, he doesn’t fall to his knees as she begins pulling the rug from underneath his feet.
Both stubborn, both proud.
A heavy breath sighs from his lungs, black smoke pooling out and billowing into the space above him. He stares at her through the cloud, piercing his mismatched gaze through her. ”You haven’t been happy,” it’s the only reason he can muster, the only wedge that comes to mind in his frantic search for answers. ”Why?” He finally asks, not realizing how heavy the question truly is until it leaves his lips.
castile
@[sochi]