( it’s deeply, agonisingly unfair to her. this push-and-pull, a cycle they’d fallen into even before she bailed him out of the latest hospital.
they help each other. she tries to get closer. he lets her. he snaps his teeth like a stray unaccustomed to tender touch, to the hope of safety and comfort and home. he bites the hand that feeds. she tells him she’s done with him if he keeps on walking down this path. he does it anyway. he goes away, might be dead as far as she can tell — he buries all semblance of a normal life and then he inevitably resurfaces, coming up from the underground. she lets him in again. he leaves again.
it’s no way to live. )
I’m sorry, ( frank says again; and it’s not about the late hour anymore. it’s everything. everything between them, and that he’s had such trouble addressing. has been terrified of addressing. he puts the nearly-untouched beer down on the dining table, then scrubs his face. digging his fingers into the metaphorical wound: )
Every time. I tell myself you’re better off without me, every time, and that it’s— fucking better if I just stayed away, that you don’t need to get sucked into my bullshit, not after everything. And then I do this to you, which kind of proves my point, but at the end of the day I just can’t. Stay away.
no subject
they help each other. she tries to get closer. he lets her. he snaps his teeth like a stray unaccustomed to tender touch, to the hope of safety and comfort and home. he bites the hand that feeds. she tells him she’s done with him if he keeps on walking down this path. he does it anyway. he goes away, might be dead as far as she can tell — he buries all semblance of a normal life and then he inevitably resurfaces, coming up from the underground. she lets him in again. he leaves again.
it’s no way to live. )
I’m sorry, ( frank says again; and it’s not about the late hour anymore. it’s everything. everything between them, and that he’s had such trouble addressing. has been terrified of addressing. he puts the nearly-untouched beer down on the dining table, then scrubs his face. digging his fingers into the metaphorical wound: )
Every time. I tell myself you’re better off without me, every time, and that it’s— fucking better if I just stayed away, that you don’t need to get sucked into my bullshit, not after everything. And then I do this to you, which kind of proves my point, but at the end of the day I just can’t. Stay away.