#blamedyou

me: 

our first thread will be matthew killing joe

         𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡. you figure you can hear the mechanical grind behind his eyes when it slides off the tongue like that, or maybe it’s a quiet gnash of teeth of a man trying to keep his calm, because the more you grow and learn in a business that deals with men trying to “keep their calm”, the more you realise that all of them are as bad as each other.

of course, there are other things you could call him: retail clerk, eight seconds, something as humiliating as it is clever, because it’s a brand of poison that you deal so well. of course, there’s a whole goddamn ocean of differences between you and the man who trudges around with dirt on his apron and questionable posture, but if it’s what beck wants... she really does need saving from herself sometimes. 

                       “joseph,”   you say, and smile through -- even if it feels like pulling your own damn teeth from the back of your mouth and swallowing the crown. the bookstore is his home ground -- which suits; it’s more a hovel than you’re used to, and the near-constant stench of must and smattering of dust frames this place like a dickensian slum. you think it’s fitting.

tell me your honest opinion about my portrayal. sent in by :  @blamedyou

She wants to break into laughter at the absurdity of his question. He knows her, he had studied her, she doesn’t need to laugh for him to know what was going on through her mind. Stupid question, perhaps out of fear, perhaps a desperate attempt to, once again, turn the tables on her. Guinevere Beck wondered how long would it take for him to fall to his need, to plead for her forgiveness. Oh, the sweetness of that moment.