07-06-2009, 12:14 PM
[html]
Maybe she had said too much at once. She should never have spoken at all, but the words had been there, and the taste of those last three words lingered about her lips as the smile faded from her face. She looked at him with a sort of helplessness. He was so close, the closest he had ever been, but at that moment he also seemed so far away from her. Had she reached him? Could anything reach him beyond those walls he had erected so tall around his heart? She had seen glimpses of his heart, into his true character, but she wanted more.
Geneva wanted him to let her in. She didn't want to fight for every inch. She didn't want him to give up, didn't want him to change; she wanted him, with all his sharp words and electric glances. She wanted to dispel every shadow that hung over his thoughts, wanted him to live with the knowledge that he was worth the time and effort and all the frustration. Because he truly was worth it. There was something inside him, something about him that she felt she could draw out.
There was shame written on his face, and she didn't know why. She had expected his anger and disbelief, but not this shame. She was the one who should feel shame, pushing him beyond the boundaries of his comfort zone. He was out of his element, but so was she.
She froze, stunned when he didn't move away. Instead, against all odds, he had moved closer. And before she knew it, Jefferson had put his arms around her. She choked on a breath, held it still within her chest as she waited to see what he would do. But he only moved in close. She let her arms remain passive at her sides, not wanting to frighten him away.
And then he apologized. His words floated to her ear from beyond her shoulder. Her features twisted into a soft frown, and she brought one arm up from her side to wrap it gently around Jefferson. She placed her hand on his chest to push him back and then reached up to touch the side of his face. "I'm not," she told him.
Geneva wanted him to let her in. She didn't want to fight for every inch. She didn't want him to give up, didn't want him to change; she wanted him, with all his sharp words and electric glances. She wanted to dispel every shadow that hung over his thoughts, wanted him to live with the knowledge that he was worth the time and effort and all the frustration. Because he truly was worth it. There was something inside him, something about him that she felt she could draw out.
There was shame written on his face, and she didn't know why. She had expected his anger and disbelief, but not this shame. She was the one who should feel shame, pushing him beyond the boundaries of his comfort zone. He was out of his element, but so was she.
She froze, stunned when he didn't move away. Instead, against all odds, he had moved closer. And before she knew it, Jefferson had put his arms around her. She choked on a breath, held it still within her chest as she waited to see what he would do. But he only moved in close. She let her arms remain passive at her sides, not wanting to frighten him away.
And then he apologized. His words floated to her ear from beyond her shoulder. Her features twisted into a soft frown, and she brought one arm up from her side to wrap it gently around Jefferson. She placed her hand on his chest to push him back and then reached up to touch the side of his face. "I'm not," she told him.