don't you wanna call it off / [krueger & will]
Jun 13, 2023 21:57:22 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jun 13, 2023 21:57:22 GMT -5
He hates that his heart aches for familiarity in the wake of his own decisions, a hand held up to volunteer and a heart taking the beating for it. His mind plays tricks on him in the way it bends and melds his own memories, cigarette burns against his skin turn to the craters of touch against his flesh, remembering fondly the way him and Brody slept underneath the seats of a broken down bus in the woods of seven, the swinging fists of a man tethered to a bottle not worth the bruises that would have been left over.
He hates them, and he wishes them well. He loved them, all of them.
They won't miss him, that's the kicker. The stage will set and the curtain will pull itself forward and he will have his final show once and for all, cannon sounding and a coffin lowered. His body won't make it back there, and he doesn't know if his ghost will either.
Maybe that's why he makes his way over to the girl from Twelve, eyes the knife she's holding warily and thinks of the way walking on eggshells so oddly reminds him of home. He's met a few people from Twelve in his life on the road and learned to keep his distance. There's lives that were worse than his, he knows that, but it makes sure the people who survive it know how to fight back against whatever's wronged them. In other words, he knows she's dangerous enough.
"Y'know, I met a Willow back on the road a few years ago."
She was a stone cold piece of shit. "Nice girl."
