living_proof: (006)
Liv Moore ([personal profile] living_proof) wrote in [community profile] sixthiterationlogs 2018-08-02 11:02 am (UTC)

I get it. And maybe if we're going to tally up all our demons, he's got me beat, what with that 70-or-so-year head start on doing awful things. But I still get it, and when I straighten again, I stare at him along moment, resisting the urge to shake him just to get him to give an inch.

Not that I can really talk.

"I shot my boyfriend in the head," I soberly say, and swallow hard against the emotion suddenly crawling up my throat. "I loved him and I knew exactly what I was doing, and I did it."

I never talk about Drake. Ever. And I'm not trying to get into an angst-measuring contest here, but this pulling away, this shuttered look like I don't have any idea of what he might feel like is bullshit. Maybe it's a drop compared to that big ol' sloppy bucket he's carrying around, but it meant something to me, and I'll never be over it.

I drop my gaze and heave a sigh. "I'm sorry, I— Look. This is a lot. All of this. Today, you, me, our apparently painfully tragic backstories." I glance back up to Bucky, suddenly just feeling tired. "If you could maybe not shut me completely out after all of it, I'd appreciate it. I know it's complicated, I get it. But it's out there now." I hesitate a tick, and then add, "And thank you for telling me. For trusting me."

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