Frick, if only having a drink or two could make things better, easier. Lucy is by no means an alcoholic but there’d been a point over the last few weeks where she’d considered more than a couple of glasses. Possibly more than enough to give her alcohol poisoning. But she knew her limits, had never quite gone over them back home. The idea of having a drink with him, the half joke coming from him, she chuckled and shook her head. Liquid courage, it was a thing, and there should be no shame in resorting to it. However, Lucy felt as though now, while it was the perfect time for a drink, she had to consider the aftereffects.
Hearing and seeing him step in closer she had to resist the urge to step back, to recoil. Things felt too off-center still, for her. She had to remind herself that she could trust him and that he was the one who should have the worst trust issues. In fact, Lucy knew he did, and yet he... loved her. For god knows why. “I...” His fingers were at the side of her face, she was being coaxed into looking upward. Why was she hyper focused on the roughness of his finger pads? “I know you’re intense. You’re so fucking intense, Desmond, that I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into with you because I don’t know what this is. I hurt people. I hurt you, hell, I killed Clay! And yeah—yes, I know, you killed me. I shouldn’t even be talking to you, we shouldn’t have fucked around, yadda yadda. I know. I just... Desmond, I don’t know really what love is. The last time I loved anyone, it was my parents.”
As much as she wanted to lean out of the touch she stayed right where she was, continuing, her eyes gray instead of their usual bright blue, gaze searching his. “I don’t get it, I’m sorry, why you could love someone who’s intentions were never good.” There was a hint of desperation; she’d spent too long trying to twist it around, trying to make sense of her own feelings, of his. This. “What do I want? What I want is unattainable.”
For one, it was him that she wanted, but it was a constant battle between logic and feelings, head versus the heart versus that primal basic need.
no subject
Hearing and seeing him step in closer she had to resist the urge to step back, to recoil. Things felt too off-center still, for her. She had to remind herself that she could trust him and that he was the one who should have the worst trust issues. In fact, Lucy knew he did, and yet he... loved her. For god knows why. “I...” His fingers were at the side of her face, she was being coaxed into looking upward. Why was she hyper focused on the roughness of his finger pads? “I know you’re intense. You’re so fucking intense, Desmond, that I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into with you because I don’t know what this is. I hurt people. I hurt you, hell, I killed Clay! And yeah—yes, I know, you killed me. I shouldn’t even be talking to you, we shouldn’t have fucked around, yadda yadda. I know. I just... Desmond, I don’t know really what love is. The last time I loved anyone, it was my parents.”
As much as she wanted to lean out of the touch she stayed right where she was, continuing, her eyes gray instead of their usual bright blue, gaze searching his. “I don’t get it, I’m sorry, why you could love someone who’s intentions were never good.” There was a hint of desperation; she’d spent too long trying to twist it around, trying to make sense of her own feelings, of his. This. “What do I want? What I want is unattainable.”
For one, it was him that she wanted, but it was a constant battle between logic and feelings, head versus the heart versus that primal basic need.