temporary insanity | rose and luke
Sept 15, 2018 12:18:42 GMT -5
Post by alex 🐺 on Sept 15, 2018 12:18:42 GMT -5
r o s e;
You burst into the library, your sanctuary, a safe space that normally makes you calm but serves today to only give you pause. In dreams you wander here quite often, your feet padding silently. Your fingers tracing symbols over the worn velvet, the musty smell of books. You know that Luke will be perched lazily on the threadbare armchair, his long legs dangling over the arm with a notebook in hand. Fingers stained with ink and you both feed your passions the same way. He lives to perform and you live to sing and you just get him. You crave him in a way that you crave your family and maybe that’s exactly what he is. Two sides of the same coin and he breathes life into your soul with laughter. He threatens to throw you off axis but brings you back just as easily. You hold life in your voice, the same way Luke tears it all down with a quick word or biting piece of sarcasm.
You barely see him but know that he is listening. Your skin is wet - burning, tingling - with sweat and your heart is thundering in your ears. You are so damn stupid. Stupid silly girl with stupid silly thoughts of love and hope.
Your black tank is torn at the stomach where you thought that you could tend to Roan’s wound and your hands are shaking as you drag them down your face, collapsing in a heap on the wooden coffee table before Luke, chest heaving and head hanging low. Blood coats your fingers - Roan’s blood - and you ache to know the taste.
”I’ve ruined everything, Luke. Or maybe I haven't, I don't know,” you begin, knowing the words threaten to break you. Threaten to break your union of tortured souls. Your dead artist’s society. You’ve succeeded so far in keeping your feelings to the periphery but they had exploded forth in the gym and you almost let it break everything. You always knew you were the destroyer of worlds - his, your own. It didn’t matter. But you wanted, you wanted so damn badly for there to be something pure in this whole fucked up world. You thought that you and he could have been that purity. That innocence that saves it all. But you had to touch him, thousands of stars exploding as your hand stroked his cheek and you died a bit inside.
”I almost - “ you gulp in air and when you make eye contact with Luke, you know that you are making no sense and a shaky laugh breaks through your pink lips. Your spear lay forgotten on the floor of the training center and you will so be punished for that. That seems like the least of your worries at the moment. You can take punishments - you’ve been taking their punishments for thirteen years and they have yet to break you.
”I almost kissed Luke,” the words burst through your lips and you are up in a flash, pacing around the room and wanting to break something, anything. You want to break yourself most of all. You curl your fingers into your palms, your nails making crescent moons in your skin and this pain, you can handle. This agony is nothing new but it all feels so raw. It all felt so close.
You want to promise him the moon, promise him stardust, promise him anything to see that smile. You know you are not allowed to want him, the way your eyes followed his every move like trying to memorize his face cannot have gone unnoticed. You were never one for subtlety. You would lie if ever asked, but you know that Luke had seen it all. This would be no surprise to him.
You pour yourself out with reckless abandon, like a bottle of fine whiskey gone to waste. You are like a slow moving car crash, disjointed limbs and polysyllabic heartbeats, a thunderstorm in your heart and swear words dripping from you lips.
You whirl back around as if you are determined, as if you have come to some sort of epiphany, but there is no answer in your heart or mind.
”What -” the question dies on your lips. What do I do now? you ask yourself. ”But I didn’t, Luke. And that’s enough, right? That has to be enough.” You’re pleading and you need him to reassure you that everything is not in shambles. It isn’t burning, it isn’t on fire.
The earth was not crumbling around her, thrown off course. Their palace, under a monarchy, was still standing. The poison had not seeped through their skin. But didn’t she crave that destruction if only for the feeling of his lips on hers?
