You Never Have To Shut Him Up - Blog Posts
her hand lingers on his chest longer than it should. like she’s not sure whether she’s holding him BACK or holding him UP. the heat beneath her palm is blistering, not from his rage, no...she’s felt that before, watched it shatter men like glass. it's something older, deeper — that relentless ache between them that never stops, only roots and blooms stronger than the last time. there's nothing made of coldness in her eyes, they never are with him and maybe that's part of why she's letting it all CRUSH her. they’re tired, though. tired in that bone-deep way that comes from years of standing just outside the life she maybe could’ve had by some shift of luck. but that's not made for people like her, rewards for unforgivable deeds. ❛ no... fuck, i don't know! ❜
and there it is. that band hitting the dim lighting just enough to coax every bit of guilt eating her from the inside out to the surface. gloria stares, choking down penance and letting the barbed wire cut into her throat. the worst part was that it never stopped her. not once. she pulls her hand back, cradling it like a third-degree burn against her chest. a step back, but it doesn't matter how far she goes, he'll always HAUNT her and she'll always let him. ❛ i don't know what to do, you're not mine. ❜ the fight in her voice is gone, and what's left is so much worse. a quiet devastation, worn thin at the edges. trembled in dewy honey eyes, her arms thrown up with a defeat she can't escape. she could imagine it as some surge of fading adrenaline, from de-escalating impending dread. from the even more fucked up part of her that wanted frank to pummel that handsy fuck into the dirt. but it's so much more than that. ❛ i don't do it to hurt you. ❜ almost a plea, entirely mournful. ❛ i have to remind myself that there's a world outside of you, frank, cause if i don't, i'll keep drowning in you. ❜
anger doesn't just simmer inside him, it boils over — violent, clawing at his chest like something alive. one minute he's nursing a drink with the squad, laughter buzzing around him. the next, he spots the brunette locked in some stranger's orbit, their bodies too close. he watches the guy's hand slide from her arm to the curve of her waist, and something in him snaps. now, he’s the center of gravity — surrounded by too many eyes, all waiting for the kind of show that starts with a punch and ends with smears of blood on the asphalt. it doesn't come to that, thanks to gloria.
palm pressed to his chest, he tears his gaze from the man walking away and leans back against the wall, shaking his head like it might clear the heat rising in his throat. the words are there, coiled tight, but they won’t come out — not when she’s looking at him like that, not with the weight of the ring on his finger. “ what do you mean i can't? what the hell do you want me to do, gloria? you want me to sit back and smile while he has his hands all over you?. ” right now, he wishes the other guy would've swung at him. it would've given him a reason to let the poison out, to crack his knuckles on his skull and stake his claim on her, somehow. “ why do you always gotta do that shit in front of me. ” the anger’s still there, but it’s dulled now — muted by something heavier. that quiet, bitter frustration he saves for himself. the kind he’s been carrying too long, the kind that keeps him up at night with the thought of her.