curbside confessions

He says her name, captures her attention fully in those words and a low breath rumbles from her jaws, unaware that she has been holding it back. Of course he knows you, idiot, her mind hisses, inwardly chiding herself and she relaxes slightly, infinitesimal. He speaks more, and she listens, twists her ears back against her narrow skull and she knows she is wrong, knows he has every right to loathe and scorn her and push her away but she wants nothing more than his embrace, wants nothing more than to remind him that they have loved. "I..." You what? The angry little voice in her head snarls, and she falls silent, her jaw working, trying to find words that do not come, smacking uncertainly on naught but air. Her feet stomp against the earth in frustration for the fact that she cannot make sense of her discombobulated thoughts, let alone form them into words and it is a whine that flees her jaws, her lean body pacing in a few tight circles before she whirls to a halt, facing him again, her muzzle arching with a huff and lowering again with a grunting sigh. "I-I-I-" she slurs, a rush of air that stumbles free in an inconsistent stutter and she clacks her teeth in frustration once more, flared nostrils puffing and her forepaw repeat that awkward little jittering dance upon the earthen floor. "I'm not worthy," she finally manages, and once she has forced that sentence from her lungs, the rest are easier, "of you or... or anyone. I owe myself to you, I'd be dead without you but I keep... fucking it up. I love you so much but I keep running away and- and- and I don't know why." But you do, you liar, the voice in her head reminds, and she stays it with a hiss disguised as frustration, flustered and bothered. She flees because she fears rejection, because she is imperfect, because he deserves better than this.

Secret Santa 2013