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She's soft, and when she sleeps she curls around me, holds on tight. Her hair, shaggy and blonde, brushes against my face or my shoulders or my arms when she moves in her sleep, and she sleeps restless. I would too if I'd been through the shit she's had to endure.
She's not shy, Beth. It's been a long, long time since someone made me feel like a prize they picked on purpose and fuck knows I wasn't looking for anyone to sleep with. Or anyone to love, or anyone to love me and I'm pretty sure Beth doesn't love me. She just needs someone and I'm it and that's fine.
I was more faithful to Julia than she was to me. It felt like shit to walk in on her in bed with Vicious, like interrupting someone else's dream with your own nightmare.
So when I remember what it was like to be with her, to sleep with her, to make love with her... it's all tainted by that. But still, I would have given us another chance if they hadn't killed her.
Julia was desperation and hunger and despair.
Beth is exploration and curiosity and dreams.
Beth isn't Julia and I'm glad. Sure, she has her own shit -- of course she does. She's been through a piece of hell and came out on the other side, bruised but strong. I can't say stronger because I didn't know her before. I just know what it's like to know however much I do of her now: the way it feels to touch her, the way it feels to have her touch me. I don't let people in too easy because it leads to hurt, but I look at Beth and her eyes and her scar and the shape of her body, a survivor's body, all lean muscle except where curves make her softer, more supple, and I start to think: I like the way she touches. With her hands, with her lips, with her eyes, and when she's asleep and doesn't know she does it, with her words, because she talks in her sleep. Just subtle, bits of words here and there, some of it from nightmare and some of it not, and it's always followed by this little crease on her forehead like some deep inner battle's taking place and then she settles, and the worry fades and she holds me tighter, and when she does that I rub her back just to calm her, not enough to wake her up, because she touches something inside me.
I didn't think that could happen any more.
She's not shy, Beth. It's been a long, long time since someone made me feel like a prize they picked on purpose and fuck knows I wasn't looking for anyone to sleep with. Or anyone to love, or anyone to love me and I'm pretty sure Beth doesn't love me. She just needs someone and I'm it and that's fine.
I was more faithful to Julia than she was to me. It felt like shit to walk in on her in bed with Vicious, like interrupting someone else's dream with your own nightmare.
So when I remember what it was like to be with her, to sleep with her, to make love with her... it's all tainted by that. But still, I would have given us another chance if they hadn't killed her.
Julia was desperation and hunger and despair.
Beth is exploration and curiosity and dreams.
Beth isn't Julia and I'm glad. Sure, she has her own shit -- of course she does. She's been through a piece of hell and came out on the other side, bruised but strong. I can't say stronger because I didn't know her before. I just know what it's like to know however much I do of her now: the way it feels to touch her, the way it feels to have her touch me. I don't let people in too easy because it leads to hurt, but I look at Beth and her eyes and her scar and the shape of her body, a survivor's body, all lean muscle except where curves make her softer, more supple, and I start to think: I like the way she touches. With her hands, with her lips, with her eyes, and when she's asleep and doesn't know she does it, with her words, because she talks in her sleep. Just subtle, bits of words here and there, some of it from nightmare and some of it not, and it's always followed by this little crease on her forehead like some deep inner battle's taking place and then she settles, and the worry fades and she holds me tighter, and when she does that I rub her back just to calm her, not enough to wake her up, because she touches something inside me.
I didn't think that could happen any more.
