for the wip, hicsqueak + kiss
“But I meant romantically. What would it take for you to trust a partner?”
Pippa hesitates. She doesn’t want to get into this today, doesn’t want to bring up the wound so close to the surface; fears scratching at it will make it bleed. She doesn’t have time for that, not today, especially.
“I don’t know,” Pippa says finally, with a shrug. “I suppose… they would have to trust me.”
“And what does trusting you look like?”
She thinks of a small cold hand. Of stars, and long, soft hair between her fingers, plaiting it so carefully. She thinks of whispers under the covers with a flashlight, of a first kiss, a last kiss. Thinks of standing in a ballroom, alone.
Shifting, she glances out the window and says nothing. It’s a story she’s hashed and rehashed with her therapist, her family, her friends.
A story she should be over by now, but she isn’t. Still, isn’t.
[ send me a word (+ship?) and I’ll give you a sentence of a wip! ]
