.: to build a home :: anzie :.

[k!ah]

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[/size]No light seeped in from the thick curtains that hung from my window, swaying slightly as some of the wind outside slipped under the windows sill. I close my eyes once more, trying to let my mind take me away from the thoughts that wandered freely. I didn’t want to listen to them anymore; I wanted to be in a place where everything came true. Where the skies are streaked with colour, where life always seems to plant a genuine smile on my lips. To a place where the people who are supposed to love you- actually loved you. But those dreams, the ones of happiness, the ones of love… they always seemed to avoid me. I had to think of my own happiness, I had to think of my own rainbows filled skies… But sometimes, sometimes, I just wished that those dreams would come by themselves.

I pulled my blankets tighter around my body- hoping to draw comfort from the familiarity of the rough sheets against my bare legs… But I felt nothing; I was truly alone in this world tonight. Sighing, I shove my blanket off me and slip into the small crapped hallway of my house. My long thin leg instantly have small bump grow on them, but I ignore the icy touch. Hugging my old flannelette shirt closer to my thin body I head towards the front door, my body eager to escape from the small place that I called my home.

My brother used to live here with me, he used to share the house with me… but that not anymore- he lived in the hospital now. Swallowing back the lump that formed in my throat I stepped out into the chilly night air. My shirt fell to my upper thigh, but I didn’t mine, the chill that spread through my whole body let me forget about my brother. Fighting back shivers I close the door behind me and begin to walk down the deserted streets. Usually I would have a smile on my face, a smile that would seem genuine, but would not feel real… but tonight I didn’t, tonight I just walked aimlessly away from my home, away from my worries, away from everything. I needed to have a moment to myself. I needed to have a moment to escape from the place that held my happiness, my life captive. It was all my parents fault. They were the reason I was like this today…. If it weren’t for them- who knew, I might be a better person.

I round the next corner, my bare feet becoming numb. I couldn’t feel them as I place one mindlessly in front of the other. But that didn’t matter, it helped- help me escape from this world and into a new world of my own.

Template credits to the amazing Zoe <3

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[анзие (Anz)]

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[attr="class","atemplate"]

there is simply nothing worse

L

achlan walks alone this night.

He's not entirely sure why he's walking, but walk he does, along the shadow-darkened streets of the place he should call home (but doesn't, because home is not a place, it's a person). There is not a soul out as far as he can see (but he can't see so far at all). He's alone, for once, for real.

Back at the place where he sleeps, where she used to sleep, Lachlan knows his mother is crying. He supposes that is the root of his reluctance to return. He'll hear her name cried out in the night, he'll have to face mother's distraught and accusing eyes in the morning (it's none of her business, she's his mother only in that she birthed him). He'll have to feel a tiny nagging guilt that hisses in his ear, 'You did this to your own mother. He'll have to smile and pull the mask tighter around his face, his eyes, and say, "How did you sleep, mother?"

Then he'll laugh at her face, at her stricken expression, like they haven't done this routine a dozen times before. (She betrayed him, she turned back to the pills he has to pay for- You forced her hand, his small, guilty side snarls, You forced both their hands.)

It's been so long, yet not long enough, since she died.

Lachlan pauses and rubs his eyes. Where did that thought come from? Clearly he's in dire need of sleep, if his mind is already tripping over itself to bring back memories (what lovely memories they are, of skin and bones and blood).

She's safest where she is.

He shakes his head. He could crash in the morgue, he supposes. Just curl in the corner with a cloth over his nose and mouth, let sleep take him over until it's morning and he can continue wandering. I'm not going home tonight, or tomorrow. Not yet.

(He's not afraid of meeting his mother's eyes. He's not.)

And he's certainly not afraid of walking through the door of his house past his sister's bedroom, where she used to stay with her hair loose and swaying as she walks, as she sings. Where he used to step in and smile at her to have her smile back with all the warmth in the world. Where she used to move barefoot through the house, out the front door and-

The girl in his line of sight - barely dressed for the cold - is not Amarante. She's not, but-

But she-

His chest tightens and he gasps out, "Amarante?"

than knowing how it ends

[attr="class","abox"]
Lachlan Callaghan

district 6
eighteen
male

[k!ah]

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[/size]The night was a rather cold one, and instantly I regret not throwing some other clothes on before hastily leaving my home. Hone… where was home these days? In that little shack I had managed to grab, or with my brother in the hospital? Home had never really been a place for me, I have never really been able to call anything my home. When I was a little girl I used to live with my parents, but the place we lived it was never my home, I wasn’t welcomed there, that’s for sure. I wasn’t welcome into that family, and neither was my brother… but I got him out, I got the poor boy out before they could take his life- he may live in the hospital now, but he was still happy- well as happy as a boy who couldn’t move his legs could get.

My eyes take in the dirt covered buildings that surround me, buildings that I have grown up around, the type of buildings that you find scatter all over the district. To me there was something unsettling about them, something that made me feel uncomfortable. But I pushed the unsettling feeling away, trying not to bring back the memories that were fighting to resurface. I didn’t want to remember anything, I just wanted to walk, walk with my mind clear, my mind blank- that way I could not feel sad, or angry or upset, that way I could feel neutral, relaxed even. Relax? That word seemed to foreign, how long had it been since I have had the chance to relax, the chance to have a moment for myself?

All the time I try to spend my days trying to please others, to do what others want so that they are happy, but when, when have I done something for myself? How long has it been since I have actually smiled? and I am not talking about that fake smile I walk around with like a badge on my chest I am talking about a real, genuine smile. It must have been years, years since I have been able to let my body relax, let something good come to myself. Wasn’t it about time? About time that I stopped worrying about everyone else, and concentrated on me? Even if it was just for a few hours. A few hours of me, well, that might not be such a good thing, but at the same time it might be something that I have needed for a long time, my own medicine.

I felt a stinging in my feet and I pause, my eyes searching the ground. It only takes me a moment to realise that the ground I walk upon now is littered in glass, and now, my feet seem to be too. The stinging in my feet intensifies and I look wildly around for somewhere to sit, to take the time and pluck each chard of glass from the soft skin of my feet. But my eyes find nothing. Dammit. Just my luck. Taking in a deep breath I take a step forward. Pain slices through my foot and up my leg, but I push it away, taking another step. The pain which had only started as a tingly feeling was now a sharp burning feeling, and it took me a moment to realise the tears that had begun to well in my eyes. I take another look at the ground to see that I was nearly clear of the merciless glass that seemed to stare up at me, daring me to take another step.

I was not about to let some glass beat me. Taking in another gulp of air I move my foot forward. As I lifted my food I noticed a bloodied footstep that had been left behind, and despite myself I smile, actually smile. I had gone on a walk to clear my mind, now I am engraved with glass and am leaking blood all over the district. It was ironic really, I had been seeking peace only to gain a good slice of havoc. Lifting my other foot I take that last step to salvation. Triumph well in chest, only to be doused by the fact that I still had glass in my feet, and that it still felt like- with every step- that I was walking in a searing hot fry pan, with pins and needles.

A sound in the distance catches my attention. I pause, dragging my gaze away from my messy feet to the distance. I see a figure, a figure of a person walking towards me. I couldn’t make out anything of the person, except maybe the fact that he was male. I squint my eyes, trying to see more detail- but I couldn’t. Sighing, I sit down on the ground, and look at my feet once more, my eyes taking in the blood and dirt over soles. Well, this was going to be fun.I look up once more, and the figure of the boy seems to be closer this time. Maybe, just maybe, this boy would be able to help me.

Template credits to the amazing Zoe <3

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[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

Lachlan Fenrir Callaghan

A long time ago someone threw Lachlan down the stairs. Whose landing he was thrown from Lachlan isn't really sure anymore, but he distinctly recalls being dragged out of someone else's bed. (He must have slept with someone's boyfriend or girlfriend, he's not really clear on that - there are too many faces for him to even bother, and besides there's only one face that matters, isn't there?).

It's the feeling of landing that he remembers with extreme clarity. The one of hitting the ground and losing all of his breath in a rush, as though he was thrown so fast that the air in his lungs couldn't catch up. Of feeling as though his ribs are crushing the organs in his chest, the tight and uncomfortable what the heck, what on earth feeling that has him realizing that life is a really, really bad idea.

(And maybe sleeping with that person, whoever they were - in hindsight that was a pretty bad idea too.)

That feeling comes rushing back to him in clear detail with that girl who isn't-is-isn't Amarante just meters in front of him. He has to stop to catch his breath, hands pressed to his chest to remind himself to breathe. In, and out. In, and out. It shouldn't be this hard to inhale, and the air shouldn't be so enthusiastic about rushing back out of his body. He clutches his head briefly but remembers a trick he saw someone once try. 'Cover your mouth and nose - just like that - and breathe slowly. Too much oxygen in your brain, or something like that, isn't it? Breathe in, breathe out.' Thank goodness for rationality.

When he's finally gotten a hold on his respiration he straightens up slowly, thinking sardonically, 'She must think you're a complete idiot, or just so madly in love with her that you can barely look at her without suffering a panic attack.' If she was Amarante she wouldn't be too far off the mark. 'But she's not, remember?'

He walks closer, forcing himself not to react when he sees the glass and the short trail of bloody footprints leading to the bleeding girl. Lachlan does pause when he sees the state of her feet- 'Shoot, that looks like it might have glass in it. Stupid girl, why is she walking around barefoot, anyway?'

"You're not too smart, are you?" he remarks. (Alright, so it's one thing to insult someone in his head where nobody can hear or get hurt, and quite another to tell her she's not too bright to her face. But in all honesty, who gives a bother? Not Lachlan, that's for sure.) "What happened to your shoes?" he asks (because he can hear Amarante's protesting voice in his head and see her lower lip sticking out in a pout and stop, stop, stop). "I get they're uncomfortable but they are maybe a little necessary, especially when there's glass about."

He's not being nice to this girl who looks somewhat like Amarante - not so much now that he's close up but there's a similarity and damn all that jazz. He's really not. But that doesn't really explain why he's crouched before her and slipping out of his jacket (not his shoes though, he likes his shoes on, thank you very much). Before he can stop himself he holds the jacket out to her, and then it will just be really mean of him to take back his offer. 'Fine then, give her the jacket, freeze to death. Who's stupid now?' "Here."

[k!ah]

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[/size]My fingers tips are covered in blood, my own blood. The crimson red liquid shining in the moonlit street, as my fingers desperately tried to pull out another piece of glass. Pain shoots through me and I try to hold back a grunt of pain. My fingers slip from the piece of glass that I had been clutching, my shoulder collapsing in defeat.. I had tried to remove the shards of glass that are stubbornly clutching to the soles of my feet. I had been unsuccessful, and removed only two pieces. Just a few hundred to go. Dropping my hand I sigh, and just stare at my mutilated feet, silently cursing that I had not thought of anything better to wear before I had left home. I had just been so upset, so angry I had to of left that place, I just couldn’t of stayed a moment longer. That’s why… that’s why I now walk half naked down the street, my feet a new home to the lonely glass.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have just thought I would take a long innocent harmless walk where I could think about myself, where I could work on building myself into a better person? When will I learn? When will I learn that in my little head there is no room for me, no room for the lonely Odessa Mazur, all the space is occupied by others. By my brother, by my parents, by my friends, even by the stray dog that I sometimes feed if I am feeling generous. But me? I am not up there… I just don’t have time for me, and this situation, this proves that I am nothing to myself. That this body I walk around in is just a shield, that it is just a way for my soul to get around to all the people who need me. I am a giver, not a receiver, and sometimes, sometimes that can be really hard on me.

"You're not too smart, are you?" The sound of a voice makes my head snap up. It was the boy, the boy I had seen earlier in the distance. Immediately, almost as if it was a reflex, I could feel that fake smile begin to slip onto my lips. But then I really thought about what the boy had just said, and for once in my life, I forced the smile to go away. Someone had just insulted me, and everything in my body told me to smile it away- how wrong could my body get? When you are insulted, you are not mean to smile, you are meant to get angry, you are meant to frown and throw around abusive words, not smile and tell him how gorgeous he is. So instead of smiling, I forced my face to turn into a frown, my eye brows sliding down slightly. The feeling was foreign, but I forced it to stay, words forming at the tips of my lips.

But the boy cut me off-

"What happened to your shoes? I get they're uncomfortable but they are maybe a little necessary, especially when there's glass about." His voice is rather neutral- if not more on the colder side, and I felt my cheeks begin to heat up. I was about to start explaining to him why I didn’t have my shoes on, but then I think better of it and shut my mouth tight. It was not like this guy was being nice about it, so I wasn’t just about to spill out my whole life to him. For some unknown reason I felt the urge to say something rude to his face, to say something that I would never ever say. You see I was not a person who walked around the streets criticising people for how they looked, I preferred to keep the thoughts to myself, knowing that it would not turn out well if I told the neighborhood prostitute that I thought she might get aids if she kept throwing herself at any male – or female- who would pay for her services. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing that by saying that I would probably end of the worst.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the best option to tell the boy something that he didn’t want to hear, but I wanted to, like I have never wanted to before. I was about to say something when he started moving. He started to shrug of his jacket, and that’s when all the bad thoughts I had just been forming flies from my mind. I take one look at the guy beneath that jacket and I freeze, my body unable to move. Let’s just get this straight out then, shall we. He was hot, like really hot, and I could feel the rude words die in my mouth.

“Here,” He says and offers his jacket, I could feel the rejections slip onto my lips before I could stop it. [/color]“No, no, no really, it’s fine.”[/color] I say, my eyes dropping to my feet once more. They hadn’t changed, they were still bloody, and full if glass. “You better put that jacket on, or I might faint or something,”[/color] I add, a smile pulling up one side of my lips. I drag my gaze away from my feet and look into the boys grey eyes,[/color] “Have I seen you around here before?”

Template credits to the amazing Zoe <3

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[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

Lachlan Fenrir Callaghan

(She sounds nothing like Amarante, nothing, nothing like his late sister and he thinks he's grateful. He thinks he's grateful because if she does, if she is, he'll hurt her. He won't stop himself, he'll hurt her and-)

There seems to be more blood than Lachlan would have thought could come from glass in one's feet, but then again Lachlan really is only a student healer. He doesn't know all that much about how much blood someone can hold, though he's fairly well-versed in fixing up anything that's bleeding.

He leans in a little closer - inconspicuously he thinks - to study her injuries.

Lachlan has always been more than a little intrigued by the way people get hurt. Human flesh is so fragile that a kiss from a knife sharp enough is enough to split it like a ripe plum. A little use of strength and there is a wound under the skin turning black and blue. A sharp nip from any creature's teeth - even human teeth - and there will be blood. Lots of blood. The edges of glass slices through the skin as easily as it would through loose threads and hair. So it really isn't a shock that Lachlan feels the urge to inspect her feet closer, though it should be that he is more than a little distracted by her bare legs, barely hearing her protests.

(He still kind of thinks she's not all that together what with all the walking around in what could be night clothes and no shoes, but in all honesty, Lachlan doesn't think anyone from this district is. He's heard rumors of nasty things happening, though they don't go bump in the dark.)

As it is, the protests take far too long to register in his brain, and he really must look like an idiot right now.

“No, no, no really, it’s fine. You better put that jacket on, or I might faint or something... Have I seen you around here before?”

'Why would she faint if I'm the one with the jacket on? Wouldn't she be cold?' Lachlan wonders stupidly, then realizes and feels like hitting himself. 'Damn it, Lachlan. Ignore that for now, just act natural.' Like he knows what the word natural even means. 'Try charming her, see if that works out. Maybe you'll get a companion tonight.'

Lachlan studies the girl for a long moment before allowing a slow half-smile tug at the unmarred side of his face. "Only if the lady insists." But he doesn't pull the jacket back on; instead, Lachlan settles on the dry, hard ground just in front of her, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. (If he winces a little upon setting too much weight on his bad leg he doesn't say a word, though one hand instinctively curls around the calf and tightens on the brace, thinking, 'If I hadn't been born with-')

He breaks his thoughts in half with a brief shake of his head. "I don't know if you've seen me around before, but you stand out. I'm sure I would have remembered seeing you." He tilts his head a little to the side, studying her face. Yes, he would have remembered seeing her, if he has ever laid eyes on her before. He doesn't think he ever has.

A light breeze makes him shiver, but he's actually wearing clothes. He wonders if the girl is cold, immune or just plain crazy, and has half a mind to ask. (It's his sister's voice that tells him, reproachfully, not to). "You should really take the jacket before you freeze," he says instead. "Can I take a look at your injuries?"

[k!ah]

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[/size]I have never been one to shy away, always confident and radiant. But tonight? Tonight I could feel all my words die on my tongue- it like my tongue was a sponge, soaking up anything that slipped into my mouth. It had been years since I had felt this way, and liked it. I like the way my voice stopped, the way I had to avert my eyes. I have never been a shy girl, not really, but tonight, to night I had been rendered silent. It was something new, something different in my life that usually ran by one simple routine: Smile, make everyone believe you are alright, when really a small bit of you dies as the days go on. Die as you realise how painful, how tiring your life really is. I just needed a moment to myself, I needed a moment of Odessa time. How long have I been telling myself this? How long have I blamed my dark moods form having a lack of me time? For so long I have pared on what was really wrong, always telling myself that it was nothing, and that all I needed was a moment to myself… all this time, had I been lying to myself?

Sighing I push the thoughts to the back of my mind. Now was not the time to worry about me, to worry about my life. Right now I had to concentrate on my feet, and on how I was going to fix them. The air kisses my feet gently, sending spikes of pain through my feet and up my leg. But I try to ignore it. I couldn’t show weakness, I had to be strong, for my own sake. For so long I have been able to live behind a mask of a cheery face, this couldn’t be much different right. Gingerly I reach my hand out to touch my foot, my fingertips gliding gently over one of the pieces of glass. I cry out, pain ripping though my foot. Damn, this glass was sure in deep. Small tears gather in the pits of my eyes but I force them to go away, refusing to cry in front of this boy.

It seems to take the boy a moment to understand the words that had fallen from my lips in a rush. But never the less he gets there and one side of his mouth hooks up into a smile. My smile grows. The boys moment of confusion had made me forget the pain in my feet for a second. It was amusing to see the boy stumped by the words that had fallen so easily from me. It was like he wasn’t used to it, used to girls flirting with him. Cause that’s what I was doing right? Flirting? I wasn’t quite sure, it hadn’t occurred to me before. Flirting had never really been in my forte, usually my friends were the ones with the right words, the ones who knew exactly how to talk to guys, to get them wanting them. Me? I usually just watched as the guys turned from guys trying to play it cool to guys who looked like love sick puppies. It was amusing to watch the way they changed when a girl offered themselves up to them.

"Only if the lady insists." He folds the jacket slightly, placing it to the side, out of the way. Then to my surprise, he settled himself on the cool ground in front of me, crossing his long legs as he found a spot that I would assume, was as comfortable as he was gonna get on this hard ground. His faces screws up for a moment, his hand moving to clutch his leg. He looked like he was in pain, but a moment later his face was clear again and I felt my worry slide away with it. "I don't know if you've seen me around before, but you stand out. I'm sure I would have remembered seeing you." His next words, again, catch me off guard and I drop my eyes to the ground once again, finding it hard to maintain eyes contact with the boy’s intense gaze.

"You should really take the jacket before you freeze," I hadn’t realised until now how cold it actually was out here. Goosebumps climbed my arms, and I could feel my fingers shake with the cold. I take another look at the jacket lying beside us and suddenly it seemed very welcoming. It looked warm, and soft and… and just well very nice. Sighing, I reach out with my hand, grabbing the jacket- careful not to let my blood touch the material. [/color][/size]“Thank-you,” is all I say as I slip into it, instantly feeling much better, my body heat no longer escaping through the thin material of my shirt, caught captive within the thick walls of the jacket. I smile, warmth returning to my sore body.

"Can I take a look at your injuries?" I glance at my feet once more. I guess it wouldn’t hurt me right? It was not like he could make them any worse. With a small shrug I bring my gaze back to the boys.[/color] “I guess so. They are a bit of a mess, you know, but nothing I can’t handle… I just need to get home… and get some tweezers… I should be fine… right? Just a few pieces of glass.”[/color] My voice trails off. I knew that I was going to be fine, it was just glass, but not just a few pieces of glass, that for sure. Shrugging again, I offer my feet to the boy.

Template credits to the amazing Zoe <3

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[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

Lachlan Fenrir Callaghan

It feels a lot less like running away when he's got a purpose. (He's not running away from anything.)

Lachlan has fled from a lot of things before, but cuts and wounds are not some of them. Crying people, on the other hand, are not creatures he necessarily wants to associate himself with. Especially when they are, well, crying. He's a little bit grateful that this girl ('Whose name you don't even know, good job Lachlan.') does not seem like the sort to cry when she's in pain. And if she is, then she's doing a fantastic job in holding her tears in. In any case he appreciates her effort, whether she knows it or doesn't.

When thrown into the position of the soother, Lachlan can only find himself awkwardly patting the back of the teary-eyed creature in silence (not for the lack of trying, but all his words seem to hurt and twist the knife more deeply- Lachlan's just really bad at calming people down).

The responsibilities Lachlan has sometimes abandoned after Amarante passed are fairly minor, or so he thinks. (There will always be guilt nagging at him about what he's done, leaving his mother alone like that, leaving her to fend for herself. But like a moth to a flame, he's drawn back to his mother who is the closest link to his deceased sister. He hates her, he saddens her, yet they are both bound, inexorably, by blood. Blood that is both on his hands and in their veins.) He finds that the guilt that gnaws at his heart can only be alleviated by throwing himself into work that takes up the part of his mind that oh-so-casually brings up mentions of mother, sister, dying, dead, drunkard, beaten, your fault.

('That isn't fair,' he protests, 'That just isn't fair.' But why he can't even articulate properly; how is that sneering, snide part of him going to ever listen if his debate is only about fairness?

He hates the part where he has to face that version of himself.)

Lachlan studies the girl's face (and hopes the strange sparkle in her eyes he just noticed is more from the flirtation than they are from tears). He offers a smile again, more awkwardly (he's not sure that she sees as she reaches for the jacket lying beside them).

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, looking a little less like she might shiver herself into nothingness and more... just more- 'What are you going to say there, Lachlan? It better not be beautiful,' his own voice snips in his head with a snicker. He reaches up to rub his temple briefly. 'She's not Amarante... So act like it.'

And why did that voice sound so like his sister?

It takes him another moment to register the girl's response to his question. 'Your demons are really out to get you,' the girl in his head who sounds like his sister comments. He tries to swat his thoughts away. 'I probably really need to sleep.'

“I guess so. They are a bit of a mess, you know, but nothing I can’t handle… I just need to get home… and get some tweezers… I should be fine… right? Just a few pieces of glass.”

Lachlan raises an eyebrow slowly at her, thinking, 'Only if you really want to cripple yourself for the next couple of weeks or so, that'll just make the wounds worse. Don't be stupid, there are other ways to get the glass out.'

Aloud, he says, "That won't work." He takes her proffered feet and - careful to be a gentleman - runs a finger gently along the side of one bloody appendage. "Did you try to walk on these even after you got hurt?" 'Stupid girl.' "Some of them might be pretty deep, for as far as I can tell." And he adds casually (offhandedly, without even knowing where he's speaking from or why), "My name is Lachlan, by the way."

'Well,' he reasons with himself, 'You can't go around calling her stupid girl forever. And since she's to be your patient, you might as well know her name. Right?'

Lachlan lowers her feet gently and lifts his gaze to hers, mind working (sluggishly). He can take her back to treat her feet (and other things, maybe?), but that involves trying to avoid his mother (and her nightmares). He's not sure if her house is an option, though it's worth a shot. "Would you mind if we went to your place?" he says, dropping his voice a notch, and with a playful smirk he adds, "I can fix your feet better if the both of us are not shivering and in the middle of a street."

In any case, he can well take her to the morgue and hope she doesn't pass out from the amazingly romantic spot.

(He's not sure where that came from, either, and he certainly doesn't want to know.)

[k!ah]

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[/left][/i]
[/center]
[/size]Life was like a circle. You do something wrong, and BOOM! Karma hits you like a bomb. The thing that you did wrong, the thing that made this all happen to begin with, almost seems so insignificant amongst the bombardments of tiny little punishments that push you further and further of the edge of sanity. That, that right there happened to my mother. She did one, one terrible thing that destroyed her whole life. It took everything that she loved and threw it away. One thing. One thing turned her whole life around. So what has this got to do with the situation I am in now? Nothing… But sitting here, sitting here under the moonlit sky, my feet home to hundreds of shiny little pieces of life just made me think. Made me think of how my life would have spanned out of my mother could take it all back. Would I still be here, now? With this boy? Would I still be this person who lived behind a mask?

There was just so many questions, so many ifs… But there was no answers- because if you do something, if you say something, in this life- you can’t take it back. It is out there, out there for the whole world to see. You can’t just press a button and everything rewinds, giving you a second chance. No you cant. But just because you make one mistake- that does not mean that you have to live your life making that same mistake over again! You have to forgive yourself, you have to allow yourself to move on, to learn from the error, to atone for what you have done. Now that, that is what my mother failed to see. She did something, something so terrible and then she was hit- hit with a waterfall of consequences…. But she did not learn, learn from the errors that she made. She just kept repeating them, moving closer and closer to insanity until she could take it no longer. She fell. Fell right into insanity’s welcoming arms. That’s- that’s when she really lost everything that she held dear to her heart.

The gentle kiss of pain brought me out of my thoughts. The boy had taken one of my feet, gently in his hands, one long elegant finger running over a sharp pieces of glass that protruded from my foots flesh. "That won't work." At first his words confuse me, until I realise that he had spoken the words to himself. A frown slips onto my face. Of course tweezers would work! I mean, it was just glass, and it would take a few hours…. But I would be able to get the job done. "Did you try to walk on these even after you got hurt?" I could feel my frown die, my face beginning to glow a deep red. Yes, had walked on them. To get past the rest of the glass- wasn’t it obvious? It was not like I was just going to stop; I had to get past the shiny trap of pain. He must of thought I was crazy- or stupid even- for continuing my stroll even with the glass in my feet. But- but how could I explain to him that by walking further, I had been able to escape more of the glass entering my feet? It sounded stupid! I should of just hobbled to the side, or something, something more reasonable. As the thoughts raced through my mind, I realised how stupid I had been to continue walking. Silently I scold myself, my face now redder than it had been a few moments ago.

"Some of them might be pretty deep, for as far as I can tell." Rolling my eyes I look at him once again. Of course they were deep. I had walked on them; I had been a stupid girl and thought it would be smart to walk on my feet while they were infested with glass. So now the shards a deep? What a genius. Guilt slips though me as the words race through my head, luckily I had kept the words to myself. "My name is Lachlan, by the way." Lachlan. It was a nice name I decided. Not a common name around the district, not one I recognised either. So I didn’t know this boy after all.

Gentle Lachlan places my foot back on the ground. I bring it close to me, pulling both my feet away from the boy, tucking them away to the side. I didn’t really want to look at them any longer. Blood still oozed around the edges of some of the pieces, and my stomach wasn’t really in the mood to watch as my blood turned from red to a dirty darker colour as it dried, forming a crust around my small feet. . "Would you mind if we went to your place?" The question catches me off guard, and unconsciously I pull the jacket closer around my body, my hands moving to cover as much of my bare legs as they can. To my place? The place that I had just ran from? My place, the place that would be empty, meaning that it would just be me and this boy- a stranger to me? I could feel my stomach turn in a tight knot, a knot that almost made me double over. "I can fix your feet better if the both of us are not shivering and in the middle of a street." He adds, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. He only wanted to help me. I reminded myself, forcing my tight body to relax a fraction.

[/color]“Uh, sure.” My voice catches for a second, but I manage to smooth it out, hoping that Lachlan could not tell that I was suddenly nervous. “Oh, Odessa. My name- its Odessa.” Well that came out rather awkward, I think to myself. I just had to calm down, why all of a sudden was I becoming to nervous? He just wanted to help, come on pull yourself together. Placing a hand on each side of me I tried to push myself to my feet, but as soon as the soles of my feet touched the ground I felt as though I was walking on white hot coals. A groan escapes my lips as I tumble back onto the hard earth. “Dammit,” I curse under my breath, trying once more to climb to my feet.





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[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

Lachlan Fenrir Callaghan

There isn't a lot that Lachlan considers dead wrong, but the tension in that girl's body does not suit her. It's a far cry from the ghost of a false smile she was about to give him before - he can't put his finger on it, but it just doesn't add up to his observation of her. (He thinks it's too real, but how can anything be too real? There no extreme of an extreme - either it's real, or it's not.) He's no expert at reading body language, but he thinks it's his suggestion that's thrown her off.

Lachlan studies the taut lines of her frame and thinks (he's only a little bit annoyed), 'She can just say she doesn't want me in her home. It's not like it's going to offend me.' And for a moment he's mentally thrown backwards; he thinks, remembers, feels as though he's looking upon his sister's fear once again and he feels sick anger coil in his middle. He wants to throw it up but he can't. He can't.

(He takes it out on the ground with his fingers digging into the unyielding dirt, he'll take it out on the ground because fuck the ground, fuck it, fuck the others, he'll put them in the ground again. He'll put them in the ground for as many times as he wants to.)

Lachlan closes his eyes for a brief second. He takes his time breathing (but only for a moment and then he has to breathe normally again) and runs a hand through his hair, thinking. 'She might not like the morgue all that much - or at all, really, you're the only freak who likes the morgue. Where else will be a good place with clean running water that isn't guarded?'

It really shouldn't be this difficult to figure out a place. "Just make up your mind, Lachlan, I don't mind where we go." (And his heart really shouldn't jolt like that at a phantom audio memory or he'll have a premature coronary, 'And won't that be a ton of fun,' he thinks sourly.)

She said that for her fourteenth birthday. They were going out to celebrate, just the two of them, mother was busy but she promised she'll have dinner ready for when they get home... he tries not to let the memories overwhelm him (she was in a pretty pale yellow dress, the ribbon he bought her proudly tied in her hair. She insisted it matched even though he personally felt that the lime green clashed with everything she wore. He let her win that argument because of that genuinely happy smile on her sun-kissed face... she's the one person he knows can trust) and clears his throat, the sound shattering in his head the messy build of thoughts like a bomb about to 'splode. 'I really need to sleep sometime.'

He rubs his eyes before sitting back to look at her thoughtfully (and doesn't let his gaze wander downwards, doesn't think she looks very much like his in that jacket). 'I can just ask her where she'll prefer... can't I?'

He doesn't yet because she tells him her name, and Lachlan stifles a smile. He likes her name (and likes the way she says it, almost like she's too embarrassed or maybe like she's a little bit taken with him. 'Good.') and says it in as audibly low a voice he can, "Odessa. It's unique." (A part of him wonders if she'll realise that he means she's unique, but he really doesn't mean that, not one bit.) "So, Odessa, do you have a better idea where to go?"

Before he can say any more (be any more disparaging), she's pushing herself to her feet and he thinks, 'If she doesn't fall over on those feet I'm going to have to be impressed.'

It's a good thing that she does with a muffled curse ("Dammit."), because then Lachlan doesn't have to feel impressed. But it's also a bad thing because it means Lachlan is going to have to do something to get her from point A to point B, and he thinks he can see where this is going.

'Lachlan, please?'

Her.

'Don't you f- don't you dare,' is all he can think, but he's on his feet, rubbing his arms for what little warmth friction can give (he's cold, it's not because he's going to do anything stupid like pick her up). He tries to stop himself testing his leg to see if the brace is holding but he does. And he really doesn't want to take the last step closer to Odessa, at this point he's like a passenger in his own body because he's leaning down and lifting her, bridal style, in his arms.

(He doesn't take what he hopes is a soft, inconspicuous breath of her scent. He's not the one in control of his own body right now, damn it, it's not his fault.) Lachlan looks down at the girl who's now in his arms and exhales.

'Fuck.'

[k!ah]

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[/left][/i]
[/center]
[/size]The earth beneath me refused to allow my feet stand upon it. Each time I tried to place a bloody foot on its cold hard surface pain would racket up my leg, filling my body. I try to hold back the monas of pain that threaten to escape, not wanting to look weak in front of the boy- but it was hard, hard not to let a little gasp escape my lips as I try to gain my balance before tumbling onto the ground once again, like a tower that might have been hit by one of the hover crafts that the Capitol flies around in. Sighing I finally collapse onto the ground, my legs on either side of me, my hands clasped tightly around my face. My long locks of dark hair fall around my face hiding my expression from Lachlan. My chest rose and fell in quickly, the pain slowly ebbing.

Come on Odessa, push the pain away, don’t concentrate on it, concentrate on something else. My mind flew to my brother. My brother who was tucked away in one of the hospital wards, on his own, with no one but some other disabled kid to talk to. I knew he loved me… but did he resent me? And the freedom that I possessed over him? was he jealous? I knew that no matter how hard I tried he would never be that boy again, the one who smiled all the time, the one that dance around in excitement at the thought of going to the park, the one that was always cheery, always ready to make you laugh. He would never be that boy again… never- and it wasn’t my fault, no- once again my mother was the reason why we lived the way we did, once again she was the reason why I was a girl who lived behind a mask. I just- she just hurt me o much, and-

No. I was not going to do this to myself once again. She was not going to revolve around my world, she was not going to rule- dominate my thoughts. Pushing my mother to the back of my mind I release the grip on my face. My hands slid through the lose locks of my hair, pulling them away from my face. I turn my eyes to study the boy in front of me, words falling from his lips. "Odessa. It's unique." My name rolls off his tongue, and I smile. It sounded nice. The way he said it: soft and gentle. I try to think of something to say, maybe I should say something about his name, but I shrug the thought away. That would sound silly, and silly was not something that I wanted to sound like.

I needed to get to my feet. Dropping my eyes once more, I try to climb to my feet, but once again I fail, falling to the ground in a heap. Lachlan had asked a question, but I had lost his words in the rush of pain that had surged through me. I was about to ask him what he had said, but before I can even speak he was moving towards me. One hand snakes under my legs, the other cradles my back lifting me off the ground and into the air- into his arms. A gasp escapes my lips and I fling my arms around his neck- more to catch my balance than anything else.[/color] “What- What are you doing? You’re- you’re going to hurt yourself!” I squeal trying to not fail around in his arms.

Lachlan looks down at me, and I feel this weird urge that he doesn’t really realise what he is doing. Hesitantly I give him a small smile, “Hey you don’t have to carry me, you know. I can walk… I can, I might just need a shoulder to lean on, that’s all.” My voice is small, my breathe coming out in small gasps- I sounded breathless almost. Never, not even once, had I been this close to someone before and I wasn’t really sure about the social code. Unlike my friends I was shy, scared to do anything. They always pressured me to come out with them, to loosen up and play around with the guys, but I never went- always politely declining their offers. I had rejected them so many times now that I was sure they thought I might be a lesbian. But I wasn’t, I was just shy. Not sure how to talk to the opposite sex.

“So, were we going to my place?” I ask, trying to stay as still as I could in the boys arms. At the thought of going to my place my stomach did a flip, but I tried to ignore it, pushing it away. He wanted to help, and my place was probably closer than any other place. Silently sighing to myself I lock my gaze with the boys once again. “It’s not far from here, actually, just around the corner really.”

[/size]
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Template credits to the amazing Zoe <3

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[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

Lachlan Fenrir Callaghan

He stares down at her for the longest time before his brain starts to catch up with his body. He remembers - a little vaguely, but he still remembers - the motion of picking her up, feeling her weight (that surprises him, and he's not sure if it's a good or a bad surprise but he wasn't expecting her to be so light) on his arms, the slight strain of carrying another person on his back. (Lachlan also kind of puts away the memory of her scent for reasons he can't identify, maybe he thinks she smells really good or he just wants to know what exactly she smelled like, it's hard to tell.)

Lachlan finds himself returning slowly back to the pilot seat of his body. His arms tighten gently on the girl as he steadies both himself and her while she flails (but it's only a little flail).

The girl - 'Odessa,' Lachlan reminds himself - seems nervous. “What- What are you doing? You’re- you’re going to hurt yourself!”

It's funny that she thinks he will hurt himself when she's done so much damage to her own legs. Ironic, even. He gives her as skeptical a look as he can manage, shifting to hold her more comfortably against him. It's good that her arms are around his neck; that way he has less of a chance of dropping her.

When she's finally done wriggling about and, essentially, freaking the fuck out with small panicked breaths and her big scared eyes he gives her a smirk (and thinks, belatedly, that it's probably the wrong thing to do considering she's already scared and alienating her against him might probably not end well).

"Are you sure you have the right to be telling me that I'm going to hurt myself?" Lachlan asks pointedly (and feels the weight of disapproval heavy on his mind). His eyes move down slowly, significantly, to her bloody feet, then back up (and tries not to notice the attractiveness of her body). He tries to make his tone lighter to avoid his own guilty conscience bringing Amarante back to life in his mind. "Besides, if you walk on your own two feet there's no telling what damage you'll do to yourself. It's a bad idea in every scenario."

He kind of wants to put his nose in her hair and take a sniff. It's probably a pretty creepy thing to do so he doesn't.

'What am I doing? This... this isn't me.' Lachlan shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, but it doesn't quite work as well as he thought it might. He tries his best to focus on other things besides the girl all soft and warm in his wind-cold arms. Like how cold the night is.

This never happens to him.

Odessa speaks again: “So, were we going to my place? It’s not far from here, actually, just around the corner really.” He's not sure if he's supposed to notice, or if it even exists, but he hears a tremor in her voice - nerves, he supposes - and tries to imagine what she might be thinking. 'Put yourself in her shoes. You're hurt, you can't run, you're in the arms of a strange man who literally came out of nowhere in the middle of a deserted street and he wants to go to your house.' No, it doesn't really sound all that great in his head. 'Panem knows I only wanted to help.' Except helping without payment isn't really his style. 'I wasn't going to ask her to sleep with me, but if she wanted to then who am I to say no?'

Lachlan shrugs in a late response to her statement and begins walking. "I can probably bring you elsewhere if you're uncomfortable with me being in your house," he says mildly. "Wouldn't want daddy throwing me out in the morning, after all." That was the wrong thing to say. But what makes it even more wrong is that he gives her a lascivious grin that he knows just looks predatory and therefore completely wrong for this kind of situation.

(It's almost as though he's young again, trying to find out how to best gain a girl's attention. But he's not twelve anymore. Is he?)

Lachlan has never felt more like an arsehole.

[k!ah]

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[/size]Lachlan practically snorts when I shriek about him hurting himself, his eyes moving down to my bloodied feet, his gaze freezing there for long enough to say what he did not need to say. I was in no position to start walking on them, they were infested with glass, some buried deeper than others. I sigh and try to be as still as I can in his arms- not wanting to make it any harder for him to carry me around. The warmth of his strong arms pressed closely to the bare skin of my legs makes my heart jump, and I try to ignore the way my skin seemed to react to his touch. I felt as though someone had placed a rock that had been sitting under the sun for hours onto my skin- it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, no it was quite nice, a feeling that made me feel warm all over. "Besides, if you walk on your own two feet there's no telling what damage you'll do to yourself. It's a bad idea in every scenario."

The sound of his voice cuts into my thoughts and I pull my mind away from the feeling of my skin on his and back into the situation at hand. He was right, I knew that, but I still felt as though I was a burden, something that he came across and felt that he had to help. I felt as though I was just an inconvenience. But it was not like he had t help me- I hadn’t even asked for his help. So why? Why was he helping me? Did he think that he would get some reward for helping the damsel in distress? Did he think he would be getting lucky tonight? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Closing my eyes for a moment I sigh, my shoulders sagging slightly in the boys- Lachlan’s- tight hold.

Lachlan shrugs slightly before taking off down the empty street. The sudden movement made my whole body jerk and a surprised sound slipped from the prison of my mouth. My checks turn a soft colour of a rose petal as I realise that the sound that I had just made might of sounded rather odd, a sound that you would not really expect to hear from a girl clasped in your hands. (a cross between a groan and a yelp? I don’t even no, but what I do know is that it was a sound that I never wanted to make again, that’s for sure.)

"I can probably bring you elsewhere if you're uncomfortable with me being in your house," his voice is mild and I get the sense that he may be slightly offended that I was a bit nervous of being alone in a house with him, but I try to ignore the tone. I hadn’t meant to offend him, I just couldn’t help it, help feeling nervous about a total stranger in my house, a boy who I had only known for a few moments, during the middle of the night and not being able to run if it came down to that. I mean seriously, could you really blame me? I was small, much smaller than Lachlan, and injured… so I had the right to be a little nervous. But it was his next words that really brought a frown to my face, "wouldn't want daddy throwing me out in the morning, after all." I felt as though I had been slapped- right across the face.

My face flushes a deep red, anger flooding into my body like a tidal wave. How are he! How dare he bring my father into this! A man who abused me to no ends, a man who- along with my mother- destroyed my life. Yes he may not of been the one hitting me, but he might of well have been! He used to watch, watch as my mother brought her fist down across my face, making blood paint the ground in which I would lay whimpering. He used to cheer when I could no longer get to my feet! Actually cheer1! Cheer the woman on as she then moved onto my brother- who would only have been 7! The raged that filled me made my whole body stiffen. My dark eyes blazed as I stare down Lachlan. There were no words that I could throw at him the would express the wave of emotions that filled me, no words at all.

[/color]“I- how- I can’t,” I stumble over words, trying to find the right ones, the ones that wold reveal to the boy just how far he had gone. But none came. “Stop. Put me down.” My voice is filled with rage, but I don’t scream, I keep my voice low. I didn’t even want to look at him. I just wanted him to put me down and walk away. I never wanted to see his face again- ever. Suddenly the words I had been looking for come flying at me in one huge wave, “How dare you! How dare you speak of him! Do you know what he had made me go through? He doesn’t even deserve to have me as his daughter! He destroyed me, he wrecked my life- turned me into someone I am not! I can’t even- that man I just wish he were dead, I just wish he never walked into my life, I just wish… wish…” and suddenly I was no longer angry, no I was much worse. Tears filled my eyes as my voice broke. My whole body began to shake as I lost control. I hated him, I hated the man- my father- so much. The tears leaked down the side of my face, an endless stream of salty water. I pull my hands away from Lachlan’s neck, digging my palms into my eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears…

“I’m sorry… I’m so so sorry… I’m sorry,” I am not sure how many times the words slip from my lips, but I know I lose count, but it doesn’t matter. I just repeat the words softly- to myself or to Lachlan I am not quite sure.

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[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Carrois Gothic SC:400;"]

Lachlan Fenrir Callaghan

'There's no need to be offended or anything. Not at all, Lachlan. Of course Odessa won't be offended by the act of mocking and demeaning her every chance you get - every fucking chance, Lachlan - or even your completely uncalled for looks and demeanor tonight, and maybe we'll add to that your entire freaking existence.' The voice in his head agrees that Lachlan is overstepping the line right there. Heck, even Lachlan thinks he's overstepping the line. (He doesn't want to think about what the other voices in his head will think, the ones that popped up seemingly out of nowhere. Screw those voices, they're all dead.)

He should not have brought parents into this. It would have been quite simple, really, to shove his foot into his mouth and just not say a word; though rather more challenging with his limp and the girl in his arms, it's still possible. Lachlan should really have not mentioned her father at all, for the simple fact that Lachlan has not had the best of experiences with parents and thus parents should be kept out of conversation at all costs. For fear, of course, for a reaction such as hers.

"Stop. Put me down." Her voice does not seem to shake with the anger Lachlan can feel pouring from her very being. He can do nothing but obey, setting her as carefully on her feet as he can - but he allows her to lean on him, if she needs him there. 'She acts like she hates me already,' a part of him thinks, but the other hisses, 'Better now than the next day.' She doesn't seem to want to let go just yet, so maybe all is not actually lost-

That is, typically, when she actually explodes.

Her words come as a tidal wave over an unsuspecting district, a hurricane through a city, an apocalypse of hurt and pain and destruction. Her words leave Lachlan standing alone amongst the wreckage, leave him to see the damage that has been done to a despairing soul all on its lonesome in a desolate plain with nothing and no one to lean on (and god he shouldn't be able to recognize this place, no one should, not him, not Amarante and certainly not this girl. It's the same place that placed him amongst bodies and so much blood on his hands). 'I wish they were dead all over again.' They're dead. 'Again.' He wants to kill him. 'Her father needs to die.' He can already see the red staining his hands again, see sightless eyes still full of fear (those eyes aren't anyone's eyes that he knows). He can. He wants to.

'Don't kill anyone,' Amarante's voice pleads. The rage is hard to rein in. He presses his face gently into Odessa's hair, breathing to flirt calm into his being. Lachlan's arms are shaking but he tries to hide it from the girl by holding onto her tighter as she cries. She helps; she calms him by being there, crying into her hands as her tears seep into his shirt and under his skin. 'Amarante, is that you?' he wants to ask her, but he doesn't because she's Odessa but she feels too much like his sister to ignore.

She whispers apologies for crimes she didn't commit on repeat and it kind of hurts him (and is his mask cracked or can he pull himself back in before she sees his lost and helpless expression? He couldn't help Amarante, what makes him think he can help Odessa?). 'You shouldn't be sorry, I should be sorry.' Is he though? He tries not to think about it and very hesitantly goes to press a kiss to her hair, keeping it light and giving her both time and space to pull away if she wants to. He whispers, "It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have said it." The first step to admitting he has a problem and he thinks he's passed it with flying colors. "I'm sorry."

(He feels the guilt, feels the inability to calm down a girl creep over him and pin him down as low as he can. He doesn't know how to deal with crying children- people. He doesn't deal with tears.) Lachlan can't fake glory this time, can't lick his lips or run his hands through his hair and send a smile over as though he doesn't care. He can't find his bravado now.

[k!ah]

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[/size]I felt like my world had been tipped upside down, it had been so long since I have allowed myself to break down, to just strip away the paint that had held me together. But today- tonight I hadn’t chosen to break down- the paint that held me together had not been stripped away by my hands, but had been snapped by the words that had sent me spiralling into this state. I had not meant to break, I had mean to hold myself together, I had meant to throw harsh words around in my way of defence. Yeah, it had worked for a few moments… but not long enough. Tears slipped silently down my checks as I tried to force them to go away. But they didn’t stop, they kept spilling, a lake of tears that represented my own misery. The apologies still fell from my lips in an endless flow, connecting with my tears. I didn’t know what else to say, or do. I was lost, truly lost in my own storm of raging emotions.

I was on the ground now, my glass ridden feet pressing against the hard cement. Pain roared through my feet, climbing my legs- but I didn’t flinch, I didn’t groan. I let the pain fill me; I let the pain become one with me, trying to distract myself from my actual issues. Concentrate on the pain, let the pain take you away from the thoughts that flowed through you like a tidal wave. Suddenly I begin to press my feet harder into the earth, letting the shards of pain dig deeper into the soles of my feet. Spikes of pain shot up my legs but I welcomed it, I longed for it… it took away the thoughts of my crashing world. Slowly the pain brought me back in to the real world, the world were my father did not exit, not really, not in my eyes.

Lachlan’s arms were still around me- strange, but still warm, still comforting. I moved into them, longing to feel something solid, something real to take away the pain, the mental and the physical. His arms encircled me, holding me as my body shook, holding me as I tried to control the mess that swarmed on inside. I felt him press his face to my hair and I welcome it, I welcome the way he hold me tight and secure. I was not sure if he realised the comfort, the security that his hold brought to me.

Finally my apologies die away, and I stand in his arms in silence, drawing comfort from him, from the silence.

Almost shyly Lachlan presses his lips to my hair, before whispering, “It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have said it. I’m sorry.” I let the words sink in. But was it really his fault? No. It wasn’t. How was he to know what my father had done? How was he to know the monster that had raised me? And the reason I am like this, this mess, it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. I had held it in for too long, I had bottled up the emotions- practically begging them to explode, practically encouraging them to break me like a twig would break in a blowing gale.

Gently I pull away, a shaky hand moving to wipe away the last remainder of the tears that clung to the pale skin of my face. Pain raced through me, but I ignored it. Now wasn’t the time to turn all feeble and weak kneed. Taking in a deep breath I turn my tear gaze to meet his. [/color]“I am sorry, I shouldn’t- I didn’t mean to break down like that. And no, no it’s not your fault; you weren’t to know… you weren’t to know about my past.” My voice shakes a little at first, but a few moments I gather myself enough to allow my voice to be steady and strong.

That’s when I decide that maybe I should take a seat, my knees collapsing in on me as I land on the ground, my legs on either side of me. “You know what, I might just take a seat here… for a moment.” I say quietly, before resting my head on the palm of my hands. “I am sorry to have inconvenience you this fine night… I didn’t know it would turn out like this… I didn’t know I would be such a mess. I am sorry, and I don’t blame you of you want to leave- especially after the way I spoke to you.” I say finally, lifting my eyes to meet his pale ones. I could see the way his faced moved, he looked as pale as a ghost- and I didn’t blame him. he had just had a raging girl turn into a needy one in a matter of a few moments.



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Template credits to the amazing Zoe <3

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