God every single word out of her mouth hurt. She didn't have to actually stab him, she was emotionally stabbing him over and over until he was fairly certain he was bleeding on the inside from dozens of wounds. These were the things that Desmond said to himself before, when Lucy was dead and he was trying to stay sane, because thinking she was a bitch, a betrayer, a traitor, it was an attempt to feel better about what happened. Nothing made it better. Instead he killed her and she never cared for him, used him, he was nothing to her. Tears sprung to his eyes the more she went on.
No. He didn't believe her. Some of it was true but not all of it. She cared about him, she wanted him. Desmond experienced enough of that here he was holding onto it like a lifeline. She just saw him kill her, and she was losing it, and he had to be the strong one. He had to be the strong one. He was breathing raggedly because of holding back from speaking back, or from fighting her, which didn't help when the blade nicked him.
She jerked back and Desmond realized she was going to run again. She was going to get killed out here, and he couldn't let her. She wasn't able to be reasoned with, he saw that now. He forced himself to go cold. He was dangerous, more dangerous than she knew, because he contained much of it, outside of fighting for his life. But he killed more people after she died, he used what his ancestors taught him to be a machine.
He moved quicker than she might have expected, jumping to his feet and catching up to her in much less time. He never used his strength and skill against her before, but he did now, immediately ripping the knife from her hand so she couldn't try to stab at him. Desmond couldn't bring himself to actually hit her or knock her out, even if that would make this much easier, but he did simply whoosh her right off her feet like she weighed nothing. He slung her over his back, his arm firmly gripping her knees together so she couldn't kick him, his other arm moving to his back so if she tried to hit him he could block it.
no subject
No. He didn't believe her. Some of it was true but not all of it. She cared about him, she wanted him. Desmond experienced enough of that here he was holding onto it like a lifeline. She just saw him kill her, and she was losing it, and he had to be the strong one. He had to be the strong one. He was breathing raggedly because of holding back from speaking back, or from fighting her, which didn't help when the blade nicked him.
She jerked back and Desmond realized she was going to run again. She was going to get killed out here, and he couldn't let her. She wasn't able to be reasoned with, he saw that now. He forced himself to go cold. He was dangerous, more dangerous than she knew, because he contained much of it, outside of fighting for his life. But he killed more people after she died, he used what his ancestors taught him to be a machine.
He moved quicker than she might have expected, jumping to his feet and catching up to her in much less time. He never used his strength and skill against her before, but he did now, immediately ripping the knife from her hand so she couldn't try to stab at him. Desmond couldn't bring himself to actually hit her or knock her out, even if that would make this much easier, but he did simply whoosh her right off her feet like she weighed nothing. He slung her over his back, his arm firmly gripping her knees together so she couldn't kick him, his other arm moving to his back so if she tried to hit him he could block it.