Survival takes sacrifice. Libby left Wren alone under a bridge and she's trying to leave Libby behind too, but she knows this place they're both in--this place where you tell yourself over and over that this is what you are now while what you were screams as you cut it apart. So they're lying to each other, and while Libby can't regret it for herself, not to become what she needs to become...she can regret it for him. Maybe he has to do it. She doesn't have to like feeling it happen to this boy who somehow knows how to touch her feathers, which for her is something that simply has never happened before.
But right now, she realizes, they don't have to be anybody else yet. She doesn't need James to be strong. He's fine like this, a snarky, irritated little fuck up--there is nothing wrong with him and she doesn't even know who she's pissed off at for making him think he has to change. What, the world? For not being fair? For making it that they are what they are and they both feel like there's an entire world precarious on their backs? She presses her face quick and tearless against his shoulder. Right now she wants to be Libby and he can be James, and they can just be fucked up. Nobody else has to know.
Then she ruffles his hair quick and steps back, a smirk reappearing even though it's tired: "Screw you too, dickface."
"Um--" she's not shying away from showing this, exactly, but it doesn't mean it's ever going to be easy to let her scars show like her feathers; everyone can see she's fucked up, but usually she can make them hate her fast enough that they don't care. She half-turns and picks up her own drink, swallows quick and fast. Every jump, and he says it like he means it. (He reminds her of Liam, right now. Not as dreamy, not as submerged in oblivion, but that way of saying things and meaning them. Decent guys get into you and you end up wanting them to stay.)
"Listen--you can't tell anybody about my sister, all right? She shows and--I don't know her, you don't know her. We're just clones. 'Cause in case you didn't notice I'm not exactly fucking popular and--you know. I have to protect her." She shrugs, but she's shaking with the realization of what she's just given him in her moment of searing empathy. He's got Larkspur in the palm of his hand and she just has to believe he's not the best liar she's ever seen. "And--personally I think that's enough downer fucking talk for serious a year. Whatev, you know, we get--we get our people back. I'm not quitting 'til I do."
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But right now, she realizes, they don't have to be anybody else yet. She doesn't need James to be strong. He's fine like this, a snarky, irritated little fuck up--there is nothing wrong with him and she doesn't even know who she's pissed off at for making him think he has to change. What, the world? For not being fair? For making it that they are what they are and they both feel like there's an entire world precarious on their backs? She presses her face quick and tearless against his shoulder. Right now she wants to be Libby and he can be James, and they can just be fucked up. Nobody else has to know.
Then she ruffles his hair quick and steps back, a smirk reappearing even though it's tired: "Screw you too, dickface."
"Um--" she's not shying away from showing this, exactly, but it doesn't mean it's ever going to be easy to let her scars show like her feathers; everyone can see she's fucked up, but usually she can make them hate her fast enough that they don't care. She half-turns and picks up her own drink, swallows quick and fast. Every jump, and he says it like he means it. (He reminds her of Liam, right now. Not as dreamy, not as submerged in oblivion, but that way of saying things and meaning them. Decent guys get into you and you end up wanting them to stay.)
"Listen--you can't tell anybody about my sister, all right? She shows and--I don't know her, you don't know her. We're just clones. 'Cause in case you didn't notice I'm not exactly fucking popular and--you know. I have to protect her." She shrugs, but she's shaking with the realization of what she's just given him in her moment of searing empathy. He's got Larkspur in the palm of his hand and she just has to believe he's not the best liar she's ever seen. "And--personally I think that's enough downer fucking talk for serious a year. Whatev, you know, we get--we get our people back. I'm not quitting 'til I do."