sewn together | {Byrony/Ventus}
Jun 20, 2014 0:23:11 GMT -5
Post by pthalorarity on Jun 20, 2014 0:23:11 GMT -5
I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens
I sigh as I gather the last of the ingredients I need in the market. My grandmother has decided to go on another baking spree and as it is my day off, I was more than happy to accept her invitation to help. What I was not excited about was having to answer her when she suggested I invite Ventus Blanchard along with me. Of course, that really wasn’t anything new… but the reason had changed. I have spent the last several nights laying awake at night wondering and waiting for him to call on me. I haven’t seen nor heard from him since the Reaping… since he kissed me…
There is a stabbing sensation in my heart as I think about it. I had finally let my guard down and given him an in… and then he disappears. It’s reasons like this that I know I can only trust my family, and sometimes not even them. The worst part is every time I close my eyes, the nightmare of Reaping Day replays itself and goes much more horribly wrong, and I have no one to tell, no where to hide from it… I suppose it doesn’t matter though whether Ventus leaves me in a dream, because he’s left me now in reality as well. I wonder what I did wrong? Did his feelings change? I always knew he was too good to be true in the end. There was no reason for a guy like him to be with some broken joke like me.
I’m about to leave the market with my haul when I hear the usual hoots and hollers of the gang of alpha males from my year at school. Usually when I’m with my brother or family they don’t bother me too much, but today, I’m alone. I know instantly I’m in trouble when I hear the first shout my name and soon enough they are all upon me cracking various jokes and nudging me. I try to ignore it and keep walking despite the burning blush of anger and humiliation that stains my cheeks. I can’t disregard them anymore though once the first pushes a bag of apples out of my hands, sending the content spilling across the dirt road.
“What is wrong with you?” I muster as I quickly try to collect the fruit.
As usual I am met with laughs and jeers as another pushes me when I return to stand.
“More like what is wrong with you!? Still crying about those nightmares big baby Bryony?” one chants.
I contort my face and glare as hard as I can. There’s nothing I can say back that I haven’t before, and it never does me any good anyway. I try to keep pushing forward past them, but another blocks my way before shoving me back as they practically circle me. My instinct is to call for help as I’m not too far from the market, but I know that would only earn me something worse from these guys in the end.
“Come on, Bryony, why don’t you grow a pair and put up a fight.”
Another laughed, “Yeah, what would you have done if it was you getting Reaped, no one would have volunteered for your sorry ass.”
“Probably would have been killed first.” The group laughed.
“Come on, I said fight!” the first one said again, this time ramming himself into me.
I’m able to brace myself well enough not to fall over, but I can tell me shoulder was going to bruise. Before I have time to prepare myself for another hit, someone else has charged in, but instead of hitting me, I am being shielded. His voice rings in my ears and the memory of his scent envelops as my face is buried into his back. The urge to cry hits me strongly again because the hurt of this last week hits me anew and I am simultaneously mortified and embarrassed that he is seeing me like this. This was one of my fears from the very beginning.
Laughing, the group of guys rolled their eyes and began to back off. Ventus was older and clearly well muscled from his line of work. The group of merchant boys weren’t as bold when it came to him.
I can hear their snide comments about being lucky I had a “boyfriend” to protect me now and that we would meet later. I swallow back the lump in my throat that I didn’t even know was there, and I bend down to start picking up various items that had fallen out of my shopping bags in the process of getting tossed around. My eyes are welling with tears before I can stop them so I remain low to the ground as I try to muster words. “I… I could have handled myself…” My voice cracks, even meeker than usual as I try to hide the pain in each word. I know he can see it in my burning cheeks though, and I hate myself for it—for not being good enough for him...