knots
When Remy slides into bed, she doesn't respond. She stares, sleepless, into the darkness of his old bedroom, stomach all knots.
"Anna?" He only uses her name in the most intimate of moments.
She cannot help but respond then, twisting around to bury her face in his chest.
"I'm scared," she admits, whispering because it hurts to voice her fears, even if she isn't telling him she doesn't like being here, with Belladonna, his family, everything he once wanted. She lets him think it's about control, something they never had.
Coward, she calls herself, knotting her fingers in his shirt.
"Anna?" He only uses her name in the most intimate of moments.
She cannot help but respond then, twisting around to bury her face in his chest.
"I'm scared," she admits, whispering because it hurts to voice her fears, even if she isn't telling him she doesn't like being here, with Belladonna, his family, everything he once wanted. She lets him think it's about control, something they never had.
Coward, she calls herself, knotting her fingers in his shirt.
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