She doesn't think about how she ended up here -- in his room. And she does. Both the steps her feet took, and the one she took in the past. So much not thinking. So much action. Reaction. So much inaction she could have taken, but never did. The choices she made. They made. Without she thinks, actually deciding them. With weighing the true risks. Selfish. Willfully blind.
She doesn't think about how she ended up here -- her head pillowed on her arms, cross on the side of his bed. This little sparse room, with touches of him everywhere, and Sylvi curled up in her lap, finally asleep, finally the reason Jo closed her eyes, even if she couldn't sleep. She had to know before she could sleep, before she could do anything again.
It didn't matter if everyone else on the island had. It mattered if he did. Would.
If she was going to cry, she might do it, now, finally. But she doesn't. She just lays there, feeling the ache spider cracks widening in her.
Time passes too fast, too slow, before suddenly the bed moves, weight that wasn't there only a second ago, shifting and Jo has to look up. Almost a hiss for someone interrupting her in here, daring to touch the bed, after she told Merlin and Gabriel both no. That they couldn't be here. With her. Except not in those words. A single no that brooked no other question, no argument, while she ignored both their expressions. She was selfish. She'd been selfish. She was going go on being fucking selfish tonight, this morning, whatever.
Which is a piss poor thought to have left in her teeth, when she spring from the floor, upsetting Sylvi into a sharp yelp and nearly tumbling Thorfinn right back down on his bed, when she pulls him in close. Hard against her.
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Date: 2016-11-27 05:46 pm (UTC)She doesn't think about how she ended up here -- her head pillowed on her arms, cross on the side of his bed. This little sparse room, with touches of him everywhere, and Sylvi curled up in her lap, finally asleep, finally the reason Jo closed her eyes, even if she couldn't sleep. She had to know before she could sleep, before she could do anything again.
It didn't matter if everyone else on the island had. It mattered if he did. Would.
If she was going to cry, she might do it, now, finally. But she doesn't.
She just lays there, feeling the ache spider cracks widening in her.
Time passes too fast, too slow, before suddenly the bed moves, weight that wasn't there only a second ago, shifting and Jo has to look up. Almost a hiss for someone interrupting her in here, daring to touch the bed, after she told Merlin and Gabriel both no. That they couldn't be here. With her. Except not in those words. A single no that brooked no other question, no argument, while she ignored both their expressions. She was selfish. She'd been selfish. She was going go on being fucking selfish tonight, this morning, whatever.
Which is a piss poor thought to have left in her teeth, when she spring from the floor, upsetting Sylvi into a sharp yelp and nearly tumbling Thorfinn right back down on his bed, when she pulls him in close. Hard against her.