fuck it. also kisses her knuckles. maybe after a fight
it was stupid, and she knew as much. but that had never stopped her before. her hands had been bloody since she was a child, it was all she’d ever known. anger, fight. emotions had always been handled with swinging fists and bloodied knuckles. tonight was no different.
well— at least that part wasn’t. the fight itself had been ( in her mind ) unavoidable. the guy deserved it. his behavior? positively revolting. she’d watched him from her seat at the bar, his advances on multiple girls enough to make her fingers tighten around her glass. and when he’d made his way to her? there was no chance in hell she’d let it slide. a touch to her waist bad been quickly met with a slap. the slap led to her arm grabbed, and then the fight.. she was fine, save for the scraped up knuckles and a bruised ego. she really didn’t care— she was used to cleaning herself up..
what she wasn’t used to was gentleness.
his lips against the bruised skin had brought her back to herself, a shaky breath escaping tired lungs. it hurt, tenderness.. maybe because it was so unfamiliar. it was a foreign language, his touch to her shredded pride. in her experience lips were more for spitting venom, rather than providing comfort. for lustful distraction, nothing ever genuine.
she didn’t deserve it. that was all she could think of as his hand held hers. she didn’t deserve tenderness, or love. she wasn’t made for it. but fuck, did she want it. the way he looked at her, the way his touch made everything feel like it would be okay. she would pray at night just for the chance to feel strong arms wrap tightly around her, to squeeze her and hide her away from the cruel world that had bred a fighter instead of a lover. a fucking joke that only those who made her could laugh at.
" i’m sorry. " she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek as blue hues stayed affixed to the sanguine that had painted her skin. she wasn’t sorry for the fight. nah, the fucker deserved it, and she’d do it all over again. no matter how stupid it was. sorry that she’d caused a scene? maybe.. she hated causing him any issue. but that wasn’t quite it. no… she was sorry that he had to see this part of her. instead of the jokes, the humor, the passion.. he had to see the broken, the fearful… the rage of a prey animal backed into a corner, willing to do whatever it took to survive.
but right now, in this moment.. she was just tired. tired of the fighting, the running, the hiding. the mask she’d created of clever innuendo, veiled euphemisms and well timed punch lines fading away in the dim light of his office. it was just her. in all of her fractured glory.
" you don’t.. you don’t have to stay.. i’ve caused enough damage for one night. "
