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religieuse Part 2 - a TGOD story
NOTE: THE STORY IS PART TWO! If you would like to see the first part look in my stories, or click this tag to find it: #religieuse
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Sully turned away from him and silently, loudly poured himself a cup of water. He took a big painful gulp, then gestured to Aesaelion questioningly with the pitcher. “No, thank you,” he answered. He waited in the terse, buzzing emptiness as Sully drank, thinking of worse days than this that he had done just the same.
“...Should I go?” Sully asked with his back to Aesaelion, who grimaced, trying hard not to bite his own lip. “I mean, if you want me to leave...”
“I DID want that, right before you forced your way into my company, mind you-- but that is not what I want now.” He rapped his fingers on the table, trying to distract himself enough not to soften the blunt point of what he needed most to say. “You don’t get to do that, Sully, you don’t get to push on me then run away once I start making points you don’t want to hear. I don’t need you to demonstrate how much you care about me, I--” he stopped for an instant, nearly losing all of his momentum, because his throat felt so tight and his body felt so clammy and cold, he wanted to lay down and drink water, to not feel on the verge of dizziness-- “I, I, I need you to understand how hard this has been. How hard it always is, but how much… how much more it was, this time.”
He thought of the letters he’d sent over the course of his journey, writing and writing, whether his hand hurt too much to do it or not – how he was only ever stopped when his mind itself wouldn’t cooperate, too fogged with pain and exhaustion to put the words into proper order. The countless crumpled sheets of smudged, precious, pricey paper, when he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, when his hand would quiver and jerk and ruin the lettering. The times when he’d look at it all and be certain it was too much to share, too much burden and pain to let his friends see and still keep them, and he would start all over again.
“I never want to be having these fights with you,...
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Sully turned away from him and silently, loudly poured himself a cup of water. He took a big painful gulp, then gestured to Aesaelion questioningly with the pitcher. “No, thank you,” he answered. He waited in the terse, buzzing emptiness as Sully drank, thinking of worse days than this that he had done just the same.
“...Should I go?” Sully asked with his back to Aesaelion, who grimaced, trying hard not to bite his own lip. “I mean, if you want me to leave...”
“I DID want that, right before you forced your way into my company, mind you-- but that is not what I want now.” He rapped his fingers on the table, trying to distract himself enough not to soften the blunt point of what he needed most to say. “You don’t get to do that, Sully, you don’t get to push on me then run away once I start making points you don’t want to hear. I don’t need you to demonstrate how much you care about me, I--” he stopped for an instant, nearly losing all of his momentum, because his throat felt so tight and his body felt so clammy and cold, he wanted to lay down and drink water, to not feel on the verge of dizziness-- “I, I, I need you to understand how hard this has been. How hard it always is, but how much… how much more it was, this time.”
He thought of the letters he’d sent over the course of his journey, writing and writing, whether his hand hurt too much to do it or not – how he was only ever stopped when his mind itself wouldn’t cooperate, too fogged with pain and exhaustion to put the words into proper order. The countless crumpled sheets of smudged, precious, pricey paper, when he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, when his hand would quiver and jerk and ruin the lettering. The times when he’d look at it all and be certain it was too much to share, too much burden and pain to let his friends see and still keep them, and he would start all over again.
“I never want to be having these fights with you,...
