[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]her name echoes from the door. her hands still and the dish in her grasp trembles.

”in here.”

it floats over from the kitchen.

his gallade stands a few feet behind her, awkward as it observes.

and when he comes into the room, she doesn’t expect to see a bundle of flowers clutched in one hand. she wants to smile at the sight of him. her lips even begin to quirk upward in that pre-warmth sort of way. and when they quiver, settle back into irritation, and the warmth fades from her eyes, it feels wrong in a way that’s gutting.

”what, not gonna attack me again?”

she’s seen this in movies before. the scorned woman and the apologetic boyfriend. the flowers even match, she thinks. they’re beautiful. even in her anger, she cannot deny he’s trying.

somehow… it only hurts more.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]she can’t help the escaping scoff.

”for what?”

her eyes narrow in accusation.

”lying? or is it for trying to hurt us?”

Eva Morales and herself… they had both been blind the entire trip through that damn mechanical kingdom.

and yet, her anger doesn’t stem from there. not fully, anyway. it’s taken on a mind of its own as every instance of her and him and their relationship is called into question.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]he hands her the knife.

and she wields it in a way that's hurtful for them both.

"how was it supposed to go, then?"

she chooses to ignore the way her voice breaks apart on syllables, on how emotion wants to suffocate her. he steps closer and she hates her body for bracing itself. tense, a string ready to snap.

"were you just going to keep fucking lying to me?"

her grip on the plate threatens to shatter it. good, she thinks in a faint sort of way. let it shatter before she musters enough rage to throw it at his head.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]"bullshit."

she practically spits it at him. the plate falls into the sink and she ignores the horrid sound porcelain makes against stainless steel.

"was it all a lie, felix?"

him. them. those three little words.

and despite the magnitude of her anger, she still feels so small asking this of him. weak. vulnerable. breaking apart at seams she can't repair fast enough. one wrong word on a trigger would threaten it all and perhaps, in some miniscule sort of way, it's her own fault.

her voice is softer when it returns. small, barely there.

"did it mean anything at all?"

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]she scrutinizes him. stares and stares, waiting for a hint of a lie.

and when she finds nothing but hurt, she's inclined to believe him.

despite anger, she still shrinks into herself. retreating, as if any half-built walls had ever kept him out in the first place. somewhere in the process, she registers tears springing into newfound life and spilling over no matter how stubbornly she tries to keep them unseen.

"then how could you do this?"

it doesn't make sense. if he loves her, why would he hurt her? why would he hide so much?

her mind screams for distrust. for her to open her eyes. for her to never believe in shared confessions spoken in dark corridors.

and she looks distressed, seconds away from crumbling into dust.

"how am i supposed to believe it hasn't all been a lie now?"

the unspoken part feels deadly: how am i supposed to trust you?

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]"i--"

she can't finish the sentence.

his hand reaches for her and she knows, somewhere along the way, she's done for. it feels like autopilot, fitting her hand in his.

and she holds too tightly. fear overtakes anger. nails dig into skin until knuckles are white and she's quiet. too quiet, perhaps.

any walls she can build aren't keeping him out. she's tried. failed. and there's no use in trying again.

she feels like an open wound. vulnerable, torn between mending or bleeding.

there's no fight left when she finally peels back layers. whatever rage she had is quickly dissipating into possible heartbreak.

"okay."

she avoids looking at him. somehow, her eyes drift to the bundle of flowers waiting on her table. tracing their petals, committing them to memory by pressing them into preservation.

Felix Gallagher