[ the part of caroline's brain that's memorized the dialogue to the notebook wants to scream out something romantic. you, i just want you, she could say; the words linger at the tip of her tongue, roll around her mouth, beg to be spilled out in a breathless huff as his lips skim over her own — but she doesn't say them.
part of her is afraid. there's no denying that. he might know what she is, might have seen what she can do with her hands, but there's bloodlust and bloodshed and danger that spills out far beyond a little light show — and while he might be okay with the abstract of it all, she doesn't have much faith that that'll stay the same once everything comes to the surface. asking for something serious, for something real... there'd be no way around those truths. they'd come out, sooner or later, and then what?
rejection, she assumes. she'd rather avoid it. ]
I want you to do that again.
[ that's easier to talk about. it's still true... but not quite as damning as the emotional clusterfuck that is her head. ]
no subject
part of her is afraid. there's no denying that. he might know what she is, might have seen what she can do with her hands, but there's bloodlust and bloodshed and danger that spills out far beyond a little light show — and while he might be okay with the abstract of it all, she doesn't have much faith that that'll stay the same once everything comes to the surface. asking for something serious, for something real... there'd be no way around those truths. they'd come out, sooner or later, and then what?
rejection, she assumes. she'd rather avoid it. ]
I want you to do that again.
[ that's easier to talk about. it's still true... but not quite as damning as the emotional clusterfuck that is her head. ]