'I expected you to believe me. I trusted you -- enough to tell you what my version of the truth was.'
She's facing away from him now, and it feels like she can still feel his anger radiating off him in waves. It hurts her skin to feel it.
'I still trust you. And picking it over is the only way we're going to sort this rotten mess, so we can get back to what we both want. What we both need. A place where we can be intimate with one another, without fear of old wounds opening every time we let ourselves be vulnerable.'
That's what this dance feels like to her. Reel her in and cut her open, one slice at a time. She suppose she deserves it on some level, but it's not what she'd call fun.
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She's facing away from him now, and it feels like she can still feel his anger radiating off him in waves. It hurts her skin to feel it.
'I still trust you. And picking it over is the only way we're going to sort this rotten mess, so we can get back to what we both want. What we both need. A place where we can be intimate with one another, without fear of old wounds opening every time we let ourselves be vulnerable.'
That's what this dance feels like to her. Reel her in and cut her open, one slice at a time. She suppose she deserves it on some level, but it's not what she'd call fun.