Vignette: Bad Week
Who: Laelle
Where: Bed, mostly, I think.
What: Laelle looks back over the past handful of days.
It was a bad sevenday.
Not all bad, maybe, but bad.
She should have been thinking about that job. Roa's assistent. What that could mean, what she should do. But her brain was all full of the weckage left behind by men. Men touching her, men closing in on her.
Her spine felt twisted, like she couldn't straighten it. It had felt like that since that night in the baths. She hadn't told anyone. Not Seleda. No one. But she had bathed the next day with her cousin, in the morning when the baths were full. She had done so quickly and had not lingered. It had been that way every day this seven.
She had laid in bed that night, staring at the hand that took that man by the face, staring at it like a stranger, like a weapon, like the only part of her with any strength.
For a few moments, in the Captain's office, she felt normal again. Or more normal. But that had gone south quickly. How could she explain it to him? It was like seeing flashes of something good behind bramble and trying to clear the branches away. But he always laid down more branches. It was a waste of her time to seek that shining thing. She could only tarnish it anyway.
How had she walked away from that? How had she held herself up? The force of her will. The force of her will kept her from bowing her head, from shuddering under more unwanted touches. And pity. Pity let Jensen get away with things she would loathe more wholly from other men. Pity for that thing stuck in its briar cage.
She'd just wanted to talk. She'd wanted that glimpse of something normal. She'd wanted to smile. She went back.
It was a mistake. He took everything the wrong way. He smacked her hand when she offered it and grabbed at it when she pulled it away. And when he'd held her up in the hallway, she wasn't there. She was emptiness, staring up, asking for something simple, anything simple. A touch that she wouldn't want to wriggle free from.
Now -his- touch. Those were touches she had to force herself to leave, instead of forcing herself to withstand. The rumble of his voice that ran through her like thunder, that made her hunger and left her sated all at once. She hated that he'd seen her in the baths, seen her with her claws out, cornered and weak. But she'd wanted nothing more than to sit near him afterwards, to talk about something stupid and feel him near.
What kind of ridiculous thought was that?
And in that alcove, she felt something in her turn liquid to have his tongue on her skin. It happened again just remembering.
She had thought once that he was a creature of instict, no thought, no restraint. She could not say that now. It was control that kept her in that alcove. Not hers. Not his hand's or the looming press of his body. His control is what drew her, draws her, made her feel released and powerful all at once.
How could someone so dangerous make her feel so... safe?
These were bad thoughts. There was no room in her life for such thoughts. She had studies to focus on, Seleda to tend, people to learn, to navigate, to impress, acts to pull off, things to hide, a job to consider.
She needed something to settle her mind, to set her spine straight again, to erase the twisting sickness of unwanted hands, to erase the sad softness that had made her weak, to remove safety as an option. There is nowhere safe, no one safe.
She needed something to settle her mind.
Where: Bed, mostly, I think.
What: Laelle looks back over the past handful of days.
It was a bad sevenday.
Not all bad, maybe, but bad.
She should have been thinking about that job. Roa's assistent. What that could mean, what she should do. But her brain was all full of the weckage left behind by men. Men touching her, men closing in on her.
Her spine felt twisted, like she couldn't straighten it. It had felt like that since that night in the baths. She hadn't told anyone. Not Seleda. No one. But she had bathed the next day with her cousin, in the morning when the baths were full. She had done so quickly and had not lingered. It had been that way every day this seven.
She had laid in bed that night, staring at the hand that took that man by the face, staring at it like a stranger, like a weapon, like the only part of her with any strength.
For a few moments, in the Captain's office, she felt normal again. Or more normal. But that had gone south quickly. How could she explain it to him? It was like seeing flashes of something good behind bramble and trying to clear the branches away. But he always laid down more branches. It was a waste of her time to seek that shining thing. She could only tarnish it anyway.
How had she walked away from that? How had she held herself up? The force of her will. The force of her will kept her from bowing her head, from shuddering under more unwanted touches. And pity. Pity let Jensen get away with things she would loathe more wholly from other men. Pity for that thing stuck in its briar cage.
She'd just wanted to talk. She'd wanted that glimpse of something normal. She'd wanted to smile. She went back.
It was a mistake. He took everything the wrong way. He smacked her hand when she offered it and grabbed at it when she pulled it away. And when he'd held her up in the hallway, she wasn't there. She was emptiness, staring up, asking for something simple, anything simple. A touch that she wouldn't want to wriggle free from.
Now -his- touch. Those were touches she had to force herself to leave, instead of forcing herself to withstand. The rumble of his voice that ran through her like thunder, that made her hunger and left her sated all at once. She hated that he'd seen her in the baths, seen her with her claws out, cornered and weak. But she'd wanted nothing more than to sit near him afterwards, to talk about something stupid and feel him near.
What kind of ridiculous thought was that?
And in that alcove, she felt something in her turn liquid to have his tongue on her skin. It happened again just remembering.
She had thought once that he was a creature of instict, no thought, no restraint. She could not say that now. It was control that kept her in that alcove. Not hers. Not his hand's or the looming press of his body. His control is what drew her, draws her, made her feel released and powerful all at once.
How could someone so dangerous make her feel so... safe?
These were bad thoughts. There was no room in her life for such thoughts. She had studies to focus on, Seleda to tend, people to learn, to navigate, to impress, acts to pull off, things to hide, a job to consider.
She needed something to settle her mind, to set her spine straight again, to erase the twisting sickness of unwanted hands, to erase the sad softness that had made her weak, to remove safety as an option. There is nowhere safe, no one safe.
She needed something to settle her mind.