huttslayer.

      ❝      no  .     ❞            this   voice   does   not   belong   to   her  .         how   unfair  ,      darling   girl  !         he   has   taken   so   much  ,      and   now   he   takes   your   voice  ,      too  ?         i   can   not   bear   it  .         but   she   will  .         again  ,      &      again  ,      &      again   ;      her   flesh   is   softer   than   she   will   ever   let   on  .            ❝      in   fact      ——     ❞            indignant  ,      stubborn  ,      she   wills   speech   from   her   failing   lungs  .            ❝      i   don’t   want   you   to   touch   me      ——      ever  .     ❞

               SPEAKING IS A good sign, no matter how her words bite. Anakin bears these wounds with silence; he’d planted this hatred in her, cultivated its mass with his absence. He became a concept in his children’s lives, given shape through overturned photographs && the lines around their mother’s eyes; as disposable as the birthday cards stuffed in the back of their closets. 

     ❝ Do you want me to call someone? ❞ They exist in stalemate, not quite at odds, but the breath between. He only wishes he could hold her without making it worse.