#priv. we don't have to call it love / we just need a human touch.

[at-staticveil]

     “glad we’re on the same page.” a lie. it’s not as if she expected any less of a response, nor any more. her head on the pillow, she refuses to turn her head. instead, gaze fixes at the cheaply repaired ceiling of the hotel room they’ve checked into for today’s escapade. as toxic as this cycle between them may be, there’s something about each meeting that has been slowly healing the broken parts of her...only for those healed pieces of her to break open again in moments like this. she only brought it upon herself. kara nearly convinces herself that if she lays there for just a few more moments, the magic epoxy will come and mend the fractures. foolish.

      she swallows emotion trapped in her throat before shifting, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as she sits up, pulling discarded sheets from the foot of the bed to cover skin she’s willingly bared moments prior. she’s afraid if she speaks again, regret will come pouring out in the form of confession. for her sake, and for his: that can’t happen.

continued. / @thewillfulones

[at-staticveil]

RANDOM DRABBLE for @thewillfulones​    

♡ WE DON’T HAVE TO CALL IT LOVE...

    she’s familiar with hotels, with how they sometimes reinforce the feeling of being far from home. home. kara would smile fondly in its memory, if she were ever allowed to return. no, that’s something she’ll never have again. It’s just one item on a long list of pleasantries that have been ripped from her grasp.

   she’s sitting up in bed, theirs until required check out the following morning, with the television turned on but the volume on low. her inability to sleep isn’t exactly rare, but given his state of slumber, she does not seek to wake him from his found calm.  why should he suffer due to her shortcomings and fears?

   strange that she’s not paying much attention to the documentary she’s chosen and instead has focused on the sight of him curled up beside her, his head stealing the bare skin of her abdomen as a pillow. she can feel the steadiness of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest against her hip as fingers decidedly release the television remote in favor of running through his mop of hair, untidy from their earlier acts of appeasement.

    kara takes a breath as her hand travels from his hair to the landscape of his shoulders, lingering there to allow digits to draw various whisps and loops against his flesh. strange how for her, it fosters a welcomed peace.

    she catches herself smiling and worry starts to spill, outpouring from cracks beneath her flesh: what if she somehow has found a home again? and what if it is within these sequestered moments in hotel rooms that are abandoned just as quickly as they’re christened, with a man who will never know the real kara, nor the horrors she’s faced.

   for a moment, she considers the consequences: leo not knowing the life she’s left behind, as it turns out, could be considered positive. what really scares her? the conceived notion that she has unwillingly given a piece of her heart to a man who would never give his...and the fact that she’s convinced herself that even so, it would be enough to simply continue in this cycle of pleasure, of false security, they’ve entered into by mistake.

                                                                              ...WE JUST NEED A HUMAN TOUCH ♡