|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 16, 2007 22:37:00 GMT -5
Upon releasing his patronus, his wand arm fell rapidly to his side. The effort it had taken to both concentrate long enough and hard enough, as well as the actual business of conjuring the silvery companion, had drained just about all the energy he’d been saving over the past day. However, he considered it to be a worthy cause. Having to lie alone, with only the school nurse for company on the odd occasion, had caused only further damage, his mind being allowed to dwell on the most recent events of his life. Without any way to express or release his feelings, everything had sort of caved inward. Having tried, numerous times, to contact D’rorah, Dylan had nearly given up hope. One last heave of energy, and he was extremely grateful that his efforts had not been wasted, seeing a flash of silver peek through the door and pounce his way enthusiastically.
Producing a tiny, very barely noticeable smile, he allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment in an attempt to gather himself together. Such a thing had very little effect however, especially given his current physical and mental states. His condition had improved a bit in the few days he’d been residing in the Hospital Wing, though, and he had only Nurse Aku to thank for that. Indeed, she had been very good with him. Most of his wounds she had done as much as possible with, though a certain amount remained as he knew they would, given the dark magic which had been used to create them. The lines drawn by Sectumsempra had left the greatest marks by far, covering his arms all the way to the wrist, his chest, stomach and all of his back. His legs, for some reason, had been spared that particular torture. They had been reserved the honour of simply being coated in boils and his feet had been set on fire, though both concerns had been dealt with quite well. There remained only slight scarring on his feet and a lingering sensation that they were always hot, and the boils and been reduced to tiny bumps by now. The same held true for the boils all over his torso, those that had not been lanced off with sectumsempra, that is. The burns to his head had been reduced to the same state as his feet, and he now constantly had a headache. His hands remained a bit of an exception, only his left having gained one deep scar that stretched from a little way down his forearm to the centre of his palm.
His attention fixed upon the door as much as he was able, he found his concentration reverting back to the pain that generally resided just about everywhere. Hoping against hope that D’rorah had indeed been reached and had been able to keep up with his beagle, he realised that the patronus had vanished.
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 16, 2007 22:51:10 GMT -5
D’rorah watched as a patronus made its way to her across the ballroom. She had watched it enter and followed its progress, curious to see where such a thing was headed. To her surprise, it seemed bound directly for her. Having never seen Dylan’s patronus before, she hadn’t recognized it; though, recalling the beagle who seemed to have been Dylan’s best friend for many years now, the pieces all fell together in her head as Dylan’s voice issued forth from the small silvery protector. The weakness in his voice cut through her, to her very soul. She did not look around to see whether anyone had noticed her messenger. She was certain they would have. At this point, however, it did not matter. She needed to know where Dylan was and hoped fervently that he was safe… certainly, he sounded very weak.
Quickly and quietly, attracting as little attention as possible, she headed off after the beagle patronus, her expression set into its indiscernible mask. The heavy doors of the ballroom closed behind her with a resounding thud. She held herself in check until she turned the end of the corridor, waiting to be away from any lingering eyes. As soon as she was certain she was not being observed, she broke into a run, flying down the hallway in a rustling swish of formal robes. The patronus seemed willing to oblige her wish to greater speed, and led along as quickly as she could keep up in her dress shoes and robes, which was rather fast, all in all.
As they rounded the corner and she saw the beagle patronus heading for the entrance to the infirmary, D'rorah's heart seemed to skip a beat. Dylan had to be alive though, and in a relatively okay state in order to have conjured a patronus. She pushed through the doors into the infirmary without hesitation, spying the patronus as it headed toward a bed away from the main, busier area of the infirmary. Reaching Dylan's bedside, she slowed. "I came as quickly as..." she trailed off as she caught sight of him. The very image of him in bed, arms covered with scars and head completely devoid of hair and scalp covered with what looked like the last lingering traces of burn scars brought a million emotions and questions to her mind.
Her face, well trained in the art of remaining an indiscernible mask, betrayed little more than eyes widened a bit more than usual. "What happened?" she asked quietly. "Are you in much pain? What can I do to help? Who did this to you?" The questions came out one after the other. Though her voice sounded calm and quiet, her barrage of questions conveyed just how upset she was at the moment. Upset and confused.
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 16, 2007 23:12:42 GMT -5
Hearing a voice that he recognised to be D’rorah’s, a small smile cropped onto his face. “Dee…” was just about all he could manage at present. Not quite hearing what she said, he at least heard that she trailed off of her initial sentence. Dylan could only assume that her eyes had trailed over his body. Even knowing exactly what covered her own body, he found that he was extremely self-conscious about his current appearance, especially the lack of hair. He’d never considered himself vain before, but times like this were really the only test of such things.
Finding a small happiness in her presence, his eyes lifted to view her and found the expression he had upon first meeting her. Her eyes said quite a bit more, however, and Dylan thought that he would happily endure his torture and the aftermath one hundred times over if it meant she wouldn’t have to go through what he imaged she must. He knew exactly how he’d feel, or rather, exactly how he felt when he’d seen the images of her directly after her escape from the Shadow Realm. Wishing there was something he could do, he knew that he needed to focus on looking after himself right now, and afterall, seeing himself get better was probably the only thing that could really help her anyway. All in all, it sounded like a good plan.
Knowing that he needed to respond to her questions, he took a few moments to collect his voice before speaking. “Attacked,” he stated simply, answering her first query. Of course, he assumed, she could have easily discerned this anyway, but he still felt the need to say it. Perhaps it would help it sink in a bit more. “I’m not in much pain,” he added very quietly, being rather truthful. Considering how much he’d been in on that night, it wasn’t really a lie. His pain level was tolerable at the moment, more of a general ache with the occasional stinging sensation. “I don’t know who did this, Dee, they were disillusioned,” he said, choosing to answer her last question before the remaining one. He decided not to expand on his thoughts at present, considering his voice was getting weaker and weaker. “And just you being here helps more than you could imagine, my love.” Raising his hand, he found hers and attempted to squeeze it. Such a thing appeared a little beyond him at the moment, however, and he was simply content that his arm didn’t falter and allow itself to be taken by gravity.
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 17, 2007 11:16:33 GMT -5
Seeing Dylan’s hand rise toward her own from his bed, she stepped closer and took his hand into her own. Gingerly seating herself on the edge of the hospital bed, so as not to jostle him or cause him any discomfort, she brought the hand to her lips and kissed it softly. A million thoughts were racing through her head at the moment, thoughts of anger and revenge, but foremost was guilt. She felt as though she had brought this upon him… surely, only the Mage would order such a savage attack on someone. Her other hand moved to the side of his face, caressing it softly. “I am so…” a small pained sound escaped from the back of her throat, as though she were fighting back tears, “so, sorry.”
“If I had known. I did not know where you were.” A tear slipped from her eye, looking rather odd as it suddenly formed on a face completely devoid of emotion, as though a sprinkle of rain had suddenly found its way through a window and onto her cheek. She wouldn’t barrage him with questions now, wouldn’t try to solve the mystery while the wounds were so fresh. She had never figured out who the three men were who had killed her parents and attacked her that fateful night that seemed as though it had happened so many years ago… she couldn’t truly be that old though, not at seventeen…
She leaned down and kissed him softly, her hand still entwined with his. “If my presence is helpful, I will not leave your side. I will have to be forcibly taken from the room if anyone wants me to leave. Is there anything at all you need? I can bring it straightaway.” Suddenly she could only feel incredible guilt over the fact that she had barely seen him all week long. All those hours she had spent in the library or poring over her texts, avoiding contact with almost every other human being at Hogwarts, seemed so foolish. Those were hours she would now never get back, and perhaps… perhaps she would have been able to do something to prevent the enormous amounts of pain he must surely have endured.
Trying for some stroke of normalcy, something to light the mood, she put a small smile on her face and sat up. “I cannot believe you would stand me up for such a minor injury, Mister Cooper. Especially after I went to all the trouble of dressing and charming my hair.” She gave him a smirking smile. Even though he was injured and looked somewhat different, nothing had really changed between them. The only difference was that now they had a mystery to solve of who had done this to Dylan… and when she found the person or persons responsible, he, she, or they would beg for the chance to undo the pain that had been caused.
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 17, 2007 18:29:56 GMT -5
Smiling lightly as she obliged his hand with a small kiss, Dylan was simply glad that she was here. His eyebrows, the only hair left upon his head, creased slightly as she apologised. “Dee… no, this wasn’t your fault,” he replied quietly. Yearning to stroke his thumb across her cheek, to kiss her softly, he was resigned to the fact that he could not do any of those things. Even holding her hand had started to become a supreme effort before he’d been allowed to have the bed and D’rorah support it. He remembered well the conversations they had had where she had expressed her concerns for him regarding their close relationship. But Dylan had known the potential consequences, and he’d accepted them freely; a sentiment that he by no means regretted. One minute spent with D’rorah was worth all the torture one could provide him with, and his mind had not changed even after experiencing such pain.
Seeing a tear slip down her face his heart ached to make things better. His eyes expressed a sadness that only the pain of one he loved so much could create. Albeit, he’d been slightly afraid that her actions toward him would change, her feelings toward him would change. He knew that he’d actually quite easily accepted her and her body, but that was the only D’rorah he’d ever known. Before, she had known him to be whole, a feat which he could no longer mirror. Feeling her lips meet his, however, began to assure him of some things. At least she could bare to do so, anyway. “I’m fine,” he said quietly in response to her question. It was only after he spoke the words, however, that he realised just how stupid they sounded coming from someone who was in his physical state.
As she pulled back, his eyes lost their sadness slightly and gained a happier front. Her usual teasing tone had returned and strangely enough it set him at ease. As long as things had not changed from how amazing they were before, he was quite content. Suddenly, however, her words impacted on him. Tonight was the Masquerade. “I… You must have thought I stood you up…” he commented weakly, his expression falling. “I’m sorry, I gathered a patronus as soon as I could,” he added, feeling terrible. What must she have thought when he hadn’t shown up?
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 18, 2007 0:03:14 GMT -5
Seeing Dylan's expression fall and hearing his words, she shook her head. "Do not apologize. Unless you attacked yourself, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I know that you contacted me as soon as you were able." She squeezed his hand lightly. "I am amazed you were able to conjure a patronus at all in your current state." She leaned down and placed another light kiss at his lips. "However, if you ever stand me up again, I shall not be so lenient," she finished with a mischievous smirk.
She glanced around the room briefly before returning her eyes to Dylan. "Are you certain there is nothing you need? If there is anything, anything at all that I can do for you, please do tell me. If not..." she reached her free hand forward and rested it on his cheek. "If not, rest for now dearest. I will be here when you wake. That, I promise you." So many might have spoken those words lightly, but she truly meant them. Now that she knew where Dylan was, she didn't intend to allow anyone to drag her away. For all she knew, the person who had attacked him could be biding his or her time, waiting for an opportunity to do more damage... or finish whatever it was he or she thought he had started.
She burned to ask questions about what had happened, to start gathering clues about who might have possibly done this. The thought that someone within the school... it must have been someone in the school, right? Dylan had not left the grounds as far as she was aware, so certainly this had happened on school grounds. Oh, there were so many questions vying for answers in her mind. But there would be time to answer them later; later, when Dylan was more recovered and rested.
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 18, 2007 4:02:35 GMT -5
Wishing to nod, he resisted such a temptation as she spoke, excusing his apologies. Smiling lightly at her teasing words, he was incredibly glad that they were okay with each other. Had he lost D’rorah on top of everything… Well, he didn’t like to think on it too much. Feeling as if she were a beacon of light in such times of darkness, first the funeral and now this, Dylan managed to conjure the strength to return the slight squeeze of his hand. He still felt the weakness within him, however, and it was only a very brief action.
“I’m alright, Dee, honestly,” he said, smiling lightly. Not for the first time this week, she was appearing to fuss over him and he found that while he didn’t particularly revel in the concept, it was tolerable merely for the fact that it was D’rorah herself who was doing it. The school nurse, Professor Aku, had been fussing over him a bit over the past few days and while he appreciated it, he would not have accepted it but for the fact that he knew he could not cope with everyday things by himself. Eating, for instance, was a bit of a challenge, and as a result he had a slightly waxen complexion, appearing to not have been properly nourished in days. As soon as he had told her that he was alright, he felt his stomach rumble. Considering how little food he’d had recently, it was rather painful, too. The slight pain went unnoticed upon his body, however, given the extent of the physical damage.
A soft smile remaining resolutely on his features, one who knew him might well notice that it still did not reach his eyes. Not by a long shot. Leaning into her hand at his cheek slightly, he enjoyed the soft touch; compared with the rough washcloths and such that had been just about the only thing he’d felt for the previous little while, it was heaven. “In that case, I may get some sleep…” he commented weakly, feeling his exhaustion catch up with him at her words. Feeling as if he’d like to ask her to keep him safe throughout the night, he assumed there was no need. Not only that, but he felt rather embarrassed the only the thought of requesting such a thing. His nerves had been incredibly taut since the night of his attack, however, whenever he’d been conscious enough to even register them. He continually had to scour the area for shimmering lights in the white room, especially given that the Hospital Wing so reminded him of the room in which he’d been held captive.
Sighing lightly, he attempted to dismiss such thoughts in an effort to find minimal amounts of comfort in a light doze. Considering that the last few days and nights had only been plagued with visions of a nameless attacker, something that this particular incident had in common with the murder of his foster father, Dylan thought that perhaps he would actually gain more comfort simply by being awake and with Dee. He knew that he needed rest, though, because he could feel very well how much energy had been expended this night.
And with a small, relatively weak “goodnight, my love,” Dylan faded into the realm of nightmares.
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 18, 2007 12:48:03 GMT -5
As Dylan bid her good night, she replied quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Sweet dreams." It was a hope and a wish at the same time. She knew the nightmares which had plagued her own dreams in the aftermath of her first attack by the Shadow Mage's minions and knew well how difficult it would be for him to sleep well. Hoping he would not mind, and promising herself she would not even glance at his memories, she moved her hand closer to Dylan's temple. Gradually, she eased into his mind, erecting a barrier which would guard his mind while he slept, ensuring his night would be peaceful. It would be somewhat draining for her to maintain such a barrier throughout the night, but he certainly looked as though he could use a good night's sleep.
Though he had bravely smiled for her benefit, she well knew that he was far from happy or content, given his current physical state. Being quite familiar with his facial expressions and features, she could see that his smile had not quite reached his eyes, she noted to herself that he looked quite pale, almost as pale as she. She wondered when he had last eaten, and she decided that she would see to his nutritional needs when he awoke.
Finding some pleasant memories, she forced herself to think only of those pleasant thoughts, ensuring that Dylan's dreams would bolster his state, rather than hinder his recovery. So she sat, perched on the edge of his mattress, one hand resting at his temple, the physical contact somewhat easing the process of maintaining the mental barriers she had erected for him. And so, her vigil began.
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 19, 2007 1:21:52 GMT -5
The beginnings of his recently recurring nightmare stirring within his mind, Dylan went from viewing himself as he entered the Room of Requirement in a dream-like state to watching images of something completely different. There was no sadistic voice, promising him of pain to come, nor the actual remembrance of pain at the memory of his head and feet alighting. There was no terror, no feelings of utter helplessness. Instead, there was a pleasant trail of memories, far from frightening in any respect. The calming nature of the images contained within his mind allowed him to sink deeper into sleep, unrequired as he was to suddenly jolt awake in case of a memory too violent.
Unbeknownst to Dylan, the touch and close proximity of D’rorah also aided him in relaxing. And so it was that when he finally re-awoke, it took him a few moments to remember exactly where he was and why he was here. For one thing, though, his perspective on things seemed to have improved somewhat; something he attributed to the unusually good night’s sleep that he’d just had.
Looking surprised at the presence of someone else so close to him, he jolted away, his eyes widening. Then the realisation hit him; it was only D’rorah. Sighing in light relief, his eyes saddened slightly with the weariness of the accumulated exhaustion that had invaded his every action. Despite the unusually healthy sleep of the night, which he attributed to the woman beside him, he still very much felt the effects of little food and bad sleep from the previous few days. His pleasant sleep had served as a brief revitalisation, however, and that was really all he could have asked for.
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 19, 2007 22:05:01 GMT -5
D’rorah pulled back from Dylan as he jolted away from her. She had grown a bit weary herself in guarding his mind through the night and had been unable to quell the reflexive action that had been spawned by his own fright. Seeing him relax as recognition hit him that she was the one at his side, she smiled reassuringly. “Are you alright? Did you sleep well?” It was a struggle to keep the weariness from her voice; she had not slept nearly as well after their return from Tel Aviv. Her nights had been consumed with research and her sleep disturbed by her own usual barrage of nightmares. She had been able to train her mind so that they had gradually lessened in intensity after having joined with her Elemental Master, but would likely never be able to completely quell them while sleeping.
Taking his hand in her own, she squeezed it reassuringly. “You should have breakfast. What would you like? I can have the house elves bring something straightaway.” Her voice was barely a whisper, observant of the quietness that seemed appropriate for so early in the morning. Bringing his hand to her lips, she kissed it softly. “How did you sleep? Well?” She made no mention of the fact that she had guarded his dreams that night, thinking he might be upset to learn that she had not slept herself and somewhat embarrassed at the fact that she had manipulated his mind without asking his permission first. Typically, it was something which would have been abhorrent to her, to access another’s mind in any way without express consent, but she felt this was a special circumstance of sorts. And, she had made the effort not to discern any of his own thoughts; she had merely put up a barrier for him.
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 20, 2007 0:57:58 GMT -5
His expression slightly apologetic as he settled back down, he felt glad that she smiled. It would not do him any good to have a hormonal teenager with nothing more on their mind than themselves right now. Suddenly, he realised how unusual such a thought was. Surely, he himself was being slightly selfish in wishing for such a thing, and though he could perhaps explain it away to others as a result of the attack upon his persons, Dylan could by no means convince himself of such a thing. Not only that, but he had not been brought up to blame circumstance for his actions; his actions were his own, afterall, not the result of any event.
“I slept unusually well, actually. Perhaps it is simply your presence,” he responded, a small smile of his own cropping up. He found himself in unusually good spirits after such a good night of sleep. He didn’t remember the fact that his dreams had started as per usual, so as far as he was concerned, every single part of his night-time doze had been pleasant. Feeling the squeeze of his hand, he wondered at her being awake before him. She had said, and he knew very well that she was an early riser. However, Dylan knew D’rorah better than anyone, and he knew that, were their positions reversed, he would not have slept. Suspecting much the same was true of the young woman at his bedside, he was nonetheless glad that she had kept watch over him, disregarding whether she had done so intentionally or not.
At the thought of breakfast, his stomach churned uncomfortably. Ever since that night, he hadn’t had any particular cravings for cooked food. He’d also found himself exceptionally happy that he wasn’t the Elemental Master of Fire, and berated himself numerous times for not once thinking of using the room to his own advantage; he was the Elemental Master of Earth, and he should have remembered that, known that, and used the materials of the room to help him. Such a thought had been running through his head so often that it usually just worsened his headaches.
His eyes re-focusing after their brief but common stint in the realm of ‘what if’, Dylan blinked a few times in quick succession. Briefly considering telling her that he was not hungry, he supposed that she would never accept such a thing. It would be quite evident to anyone that he wasn’t eating properly, and in fact hadn’t in over thirty-two hours. In any case, he definitely didn’t want anything cooked, didn’t want anything too sweet, and didn’t feel as if he could quite stomach toast or anything similar. Resigning to the fact that there was really little choice, he found himself slightly appreciative that he had such a broad palate. “Maybe just some fruit?” he requested lightly, feeling as if he could do with the refreshing taste of seasonal fruits.
Feeling the impact of her lips upon his bound hand, his eyebrows furrowed in a slight sadness; one that was almost imperceptible to most of the population. He knew that D’rorah, however, would almost certainly see it, and he urged the sadness from invading him. Casting his eyes quickly down to their intertwined hands, he felt guilty for having to make her go through this. Guilty that she had to worry, to perhaps even blame herself; for he knew that he would, if he were in her position. It was not that it was her fault, it was simply what society often termed ‘survivor’s guilt’, though in this case, Dylan had not died. He didn’t know if there was a term like ‘non-tortured, loved one’s guilt’, but he assumed that it applied anyway.
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 20, 2007 21:07:04 GMT -5
D’rorah had smiled at bit at his request for fruit, happy that he had not attempted to dissuade her from making certain he ate properly. However, she noticed what could only be sadness in his eyes as she kissed his hand. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had done something wrong, had said something incorrect. What was he thinking? It was times like this when her telepathy was most tempting, the urge to simply reach into another’s mind to answer her own confusion was an incredible draw. However, that was something she would not do merely for the sake of alleviating her own discomfort. “Dylan? Is everything alright?” she asked, concerned. “If I am bothering you in any way, or if you would simply prefer to be alone for awhile, I can go.” She understood; there were times when she herself simply wished to be alone, away from others. Of course, she felt that their relationship was at a point where such things could merely be said plainly, rather than one member holding his or her tongue for fear of upsetting the other.
A house elf, true to form, showed up at that moment, knowing his services were required. “Did you be needing something, Miss?” he asked in a squeaky voice.
“Yes, thank you. Whatever fresh, cut fruit you have available and perhaps some cheese.” Her voice was light and pleasant as she addressed him. Within a moment, he disappeared with a small pop, apparently already bound for the kitchens to fill her request. D’rorah turned her attention back to Dylan, still waiting for an answer to her previous question, truly ready to do whatever it was he asked of her, but hoping he would not ask her to leave.
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 20, 2007 21:14:31 GMT -5
Hearing a pop that resounded within his head, Dylan’s eyes widened in anxiety. He couldn’t see who or what had caused the noise, but he soon heard a little squeaking voice. Putting two and two together, he assumed a House Elf had arrived. Hearing D’rorah make their request, he swallowed and began going over her questions in his already full head.
Taking a moment before raising his gaze, he knew his eyes would still betray his feelings, just as they always did. Her own admission of the idea that she might be the direct cause was slightly worrying, but he pushed it aside considering he would probably assume much the same. “No, Dee… It’s fine, I just…” Dylan honestly didn’t really know what to say, how to communicate his feelings and thoughts. In the end, he settled with just saying what he felt and expressing it as best he could. He had a sense of brief contentment as he thought of the prospect of being able to do such a thing; many other females at this school might be too sensitive, causing him to have to articulate his words to suit them. D’rorah, however, was not one of them; she was more mature, something which he was coming to appreciate more and more.
“I love you, and you know that…” he replied quietly, casting his eyes anywhere but into her own. “But I’m different, Dee.” He decided that stating it right-out was the best move. It was no use dancing around what he meant, because things could get lost in the translation and what a waste of words it would be. Dylan being someone actually quite reserved, he liked to keep his words close, only using what he must. Raising his head once more, he found her eyes and knew he conveyed the self-same sadness, though it had intensified slightly. “I’m not Dylan,” he added quietly, his eyes resting once more on his hands, a habit he seemed to be forming of late. Truly, he didn’t regard himself as the same person by any means. Not only had his appearance changed drastically, but so had his personality, his temperament. In his mind, he was not the boy she loved.
|
|
|
Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 20, 2007 21:45:47 GMT -5
D'rorah listened to his halting speech, her heart breaking with every word. Was he trying to break up with her? To spare her from... from what? No, surely not. He had been emotionally and physically traumatized. D'rorah leaned closer, her eyes full of all the love she held for the one before her. She allowed on hand to pass lightly over his arm. "This, is only flesh. It has nothing to do with the man I love." She pulled back her own sleeve, "Any more than this would deter you from me."
She grasped his hand softly as she continued. "I understand that right now you feel as though you are not the same person. Whatever happened was obviously quite horrible and traumatic. I do not want you to talk about it now; I can appreciate that your mind may not be ready to deal with it so blatantly at the moment." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it softly. "Though I have not been in exactly the same situation, I believe I am in a position to understand better than most exactly what it is you are going through. I know, that the same Dylan Cooper I know and love is still right here, even if he acts a bit differently or looks a bit different." Her eyes met his, glistening as though they held tears which she would not permit to fall. "I love you. I want to love you. Please, do not push me away now."
|
|
|
Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 20, 2007 22:15:08 GMT -5
Wishing for her to declare her love for him, to state that nothing had changed, that she would be there with him through everything, Dylan felt torn between the dreamlike quality of those concepts and the fact that everything he had said was correct; he was different, and she might be better off without him. He did not know what frightened him more, dragging D’rorah down with him in his despair, or losing her at such a critical time in his life. She had been his everything for their time together, and he kept his gaze downcast as his feelings threatened to overwhelm him and tears threatened to pour from his eyes.
Feeling the touch of her fingers upon his scarred arm, he resisted the urge to flinch. No-one should have to touch such raw wounds on one they loved. Flicking his eyes to her arm as she presented it and the scars she herself bore, Dylan accepted what she said but couldn’t help to think that it was different. She had come with those scars, but he had not. He had accepted her, gratefully, exactly as she was. And she had done the same, but this was not the young boy she had stolen the heart of. She had found someone whole and complete, someone without these scars, someone with hair, no less. He had changed from the person she had accepted, and he wondered if such a change were too much for her to even want to handle.
Failing to reciprocate the grasping of his hand at this stage, he cast his eyes away from her arm and down to view their entwined hands. He did not follow its progress as she brought it to her lips, his eyes accepting the loss of a target before quickly being satisfied to see it once more. Unable to stop himself, his eyes found hers as she concluded her soft-spoken words. Suddenly, he turned his self-pity outwards and directed it to whomever had cast such significant physical, emotional and mental wounds. Knowing now that he could not lose her, he clung to her final few words. All at once, his hand squeezed her own, his eyes rid themselves completely of the ever-threatening tears, and he used his hold on her to draw her forward and into the tightest embrace he could muster, which at this point was not too significant.
|
|