Gender: Female
Age: 31
Sign:
Pisces
Country: United States
Signup Date:
July 12, 2018
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05/18/2021 11:21 PM
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I know you're hurting but so am I.
I know you're hurting but so am I Betty had no idea their last touch was going to be their last until it was. Her own cowardice sealed her destiny as sporadic, tense conversation stretched into months, then a year. For the past seven years, no-touch has felt the same. Betty knows she's been touch-deprived when she gets embraces from her mother, sister, nieces, and nephews. She flinches at first, making Dagwood's lower lip tremble, so she crouches down to embrace him, Juniper follows suit, and it's all overpowering and confirming at the same time. The fact that she was held here, on this very front step, the last time she felt truly loved, does not escape her.
He asks to walk her home, his voice barely audible above a whisper but resonating loudly in the parking lot solitude. Betty isn't sure she can trust herself with words right now. She smiles and nods. "How come you didn't reach out?" His voice trembles with hurt—even a hint of petulance, like when he used to grumble that if she arrived at Pop's first, she didn't order anything for him. This Jughead isn't going to give it back. You could have, you know, reached out, is what it sounds like. Betty, on the other hand, wants to cry. Why would I do such a thing to myself? "I didn't think you wanted me to after you left me that voicemail," she says instead. She tries not to let her voice crack since she has repeatedly reminded herself, "Leave him alone, Betty." It's precisely what he desires. When there is silence around them, she encourages him. "On the night of your book launch?" Her words linger on her tongue, and his eyes flicker with a faint sensation of uncertainty. "I just assumed you weren't interested in hearing from me after that."
Those words, loud and hot with rage, are still bouncing around in her head. They reverberate throughout the dreams of those two weeks. Betty is unable to recall those weeks. She can't think about Jughead either, but it hurts less if she thinks about him, so he's been on her mind more and more. Betty is confused since he claims he didn't intend for them to make her feel that way. She wouldn't have taken them any other way. What more could they possibly be implying? They've walked this journey a million times together, from Pop's closer to town, down the side streets till they reach Elm Street. They could have kissed gently, hungrily, pleasantly while holding hands or being so engrossed in one other that they lean up against a street sign.
Now it's a million and one. Jughead jacket sleeve brushes across hers, and it's an electric jolt to feel him so near. They'd brush elbows if they moved an inch to the left, his hands pushed into jacket pockets and hers clutching to Alice's milkshake like a raft. With another inch of her hand exposed, she'd be dangerously close. She wonders if she crosses that line and leaves her hand out for her fingers to twine between his, he'll do the same. Is he clenching his fists to keep from reaching for hers? It would be effortless for Betty to grab Jughead's arm and beg him to explain himself. So, what was his intentions? Why didn't he pick up the phone again?  Oh, tears make kaleidoscopes in your eyes And hurt, I know you're hurting but so am I And love, if your wings are broken Borrow mine so yours can open too
Even if we can't find heaven I'm gonna stand by you Even if we can't find heaven I'll walk through hell with you Love, you're not alone 'Cause I'm gonna stand by you
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05/09/2021 11:32 PM
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everytime.
everytime When relaxed in her Quantico cubicle, she pays for the bottle of wine in triplicate, the light of the fluorescents exacerbating the dull pain behind her left eye. The extra coffee just makes her need to get up more often to use the restroom, giving her a break from the mind-numbing study of bank documents. Betty had always realized that her time with Charles in high school was not an ordinary FBI experience. Even though the agent in charge was a suspect himself, the amount of deskwork makes her wish she had followed a few of her more obnoxious classmates to Wall Street. It will be the same amount of nonsense, but with a monetary gain.
Not that Betty's efforts are unrewarding, but her contributions to this mortgage fraud case would not provide her with the same level of satisfaction as when she and Jughead worked on a case together in high school. She's been field-trained, has a service arm, and is well-versed with many of the government's interrogation techniques—but she doesn't use any of them in her daily life. Betty spends the next few days with her thoughts ping-ponging between financial statements and the bitterness in Jughead's voice in the message, thanks to the paperwork allowing her mind to wander too much.
It swirls with the crack in his voice that resurfaces in her dreams, leaving her more tired in the morning than she was before going to bed. The week drags on, and even Friday doesn't offer her much comfort because when she returns home, she finds a padded envelope on her floral welcome mat. When walking through the door and trying to tear open the box, she takes off her shoes and wrestles with her bag and blazer. When Betty falls asleep on the sofa, Toffee wakes up, irritated by the noise, but she remains seated in her armchair.
When she touches the book jacket, it shines, smooth and shiny. She runs her thumb up and down the spine, unable to contain her pride at seeing his name printed on a physical book. Not in a million years would she have wanted Jughead to publish under his given name; she suspects the Jughead she met would not, but Betty is unfamiliar with this version of Jughead. Betty smiles a little when she sees Jughead's author photo on the back flap—dressed in a tweed coat and glasses, he looks every bit the academic cliche, and Betty knows that any version of him would have loved and despised that fact. There isn't much in the way of a bio: Forsythe is a graduate student at the Iowa Writers' Workshop in Iowa City. Betty is grateful because she believes that learning more about his life will bring her deeper into a downward spiral. She has no way of knowing if he still enjoys working in journalism, if he follows a local crime, if he has a significant other, or even whether he has a dog.
Toffee eventually joins her on the sofa, her face pressed against the book's corner. Betty opens the front cover with a tremor in her hand and feels the pleasing crackle of the spine's glue stretching. The words on his voicemail had persuaded her not to read it, but now that it's arrived, she can't resist. They keep telling me to let go But I don't really let go when I say so (Yuh, yuh) I keep giving people blank stares (Yeah) I'm so different when you're not there (Yuh) It's like something out of Shakespeare Because I'm really not here when you're not there
I've tried to fight our energy But everytime I think I'm free (Yeah) You get high and call on the regular I get weak and fall like a teenager Why, oh why does God keep bringing me Back to you?
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04/26/2021 11:15 PM
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follow me.
follow me The girls had discussed their losses and their struggles to comprehend their realities - the truth of being related; the idea of betty's aunt and uncle - Cheryl's parents being overjoyed that Polly was the mother of Jason's children. The thought of another family member being taken away from her sister, the fact that both of their fathers were killers, cursed with the poisonous blossom blood that she hoped had escaped Cheryl. They were too young - what should have been a sweet and tender age - and they had to unpack and grasp all of this and more. Nobody should have to go through what these teenagers had been through. When they awoke to realize this wasn't just some anxiety-induced nightmare triggered by the fear of growing up, no one deserved this relentless tightness in their chest or this weight in their stomach. This was their entire life. A complete shambles - the stuff tween books are built of. With the addition of a werewolf or vampire metaphor, you've got yourself a best-seller. They had to depend on themselves or each other now that they were adults. Their family was becoming increasingly smaller. Despite their many differences, the two girls could understand each other if anyone had told her from the start that she would lean on Cheryl at times. Betty will most likely laugh right in your face. It was okay because she had some relatives.
Her eyes didn't fill with tears as she stood there, her gaze fixed on the tarnished stone. There had been way too much of it recently. In this town, tears have been shed. And while the ones she'd dropped before were for their dearest Fred Andrews, she realized they were also for the loss of a parent, the one Betty thought she had. Unless you count the breakup of Jughead and Betty at the end of high school. She was now faced with the reality that her sister was most likely dead. Before she told anyone, Betty needed evidence that her sister was truly gone from this earth. Cheryl advised her to look for answers. You get closer in either case. When she was receiving responses, Glen arrived and told her mother. Betty had discovered he was working on a paper about her. Her life had begun to spiral out of control. Her breathing came to a controlled halt before her heart started to pound in her ears - her newest way of getting her back to the present.
"I was worried about you that day. Cheryl, I didn't want another member of our dysfunctional family to die." Her downcast eyes gradually raised to meet her cousin's porcelain features, both in color and delicate form. "I'm glad you picked up the phone. That's probably part of the reason I haven't given up on Polly. Without the two of you, I can't imagine my life." Her heart ached at the thought of her cousin abandoning her on a voicemail... Her weaker nerves couldn't bear the thought of what could have happened if she hadn't responded. Betty would have dialed her if she hadn't been quick enough. These two girls had the oddest of relationships, but she knew deep down (though not as deeply as the red-haired maple queen would like you to believe) that they clearly loved each other in their own way. Betty assumed her last words to her sister to be fighting. She wasn't sure whether she could do it. How about her children? Is she to blame for everything? Could she put up with it? Betty didn't come home as much as she used to unless she had to. She didn't want to have to deal with Jughead. The shame over what had happened and their inability to correct it, Betty didn't have that choice for a while. She was abducted and tortured. Is it in your head? Are you on the edge? Are you gonna turn your back? Are you gonna run away Or stay awake?
Will you follow me into the dark? Will you follow me into the dark? If you lose it all Will it fall apart? Will you follow me into the dark?
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04/19/2021 03:55 PM
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Believer.
Believer Her FBI history scrapes the surface. It's tossed out because she realizes she's capable of more than what the idiotic company attempted to show her. She's always known she's capable of more, but the proper investigation has never presented itself. It was her moment to shine before Jughead vanished and her whole world came crashing down around her. She shone brightly because she had found him. She found him with Tabitha's support, despite how much she despises admitting that Betty works better with someone by her side and how hard she tries to convince herself that Tabitha isn't acceptable.
They found him, and it makes no difference how many laws they violated because she is no longer subject to a higher authority. In a lawless place, it's just her and the local diner owner violating rules that don't exist and laws that don't matter. Laws don't matter because the only thing she cares about is finding Jughead. She never paused to consider what would happen if they did find him, as much as she suspected deep down that they would. She never paused, much less slowed down, to consider how things might improve, what she might do differently with him, or what would happen next. All moves at a hundred miles per hour. She has the impression that she is being dragged along for the ride at times. The fastest, most terrifying trip she's ever been on, cruising corners at a pace she shouldn't be able to handle, looking over the edge of a cliff she should be at the bottom of. And there's no way to get out of the car. All she can do is wait until the vehicle slows down, arrives at its destination, and lets her out.
She also believes she is the driver. She's speeding, reckless, and unconcerned with who could be in her path because all she can do is put her foot down and try to get to the finish line as quickly as she can. And she can't slow down because doing so would mean losing track of the road; slowing down would mean looking over the edge and feeling the drop rather than arriving at the bottom, ready to go again. Slowing down means living in a moment she doesn't want to be a part of. She says to herself, deep in the back of her mind, that once they cross the finish line, she'll slow down. That they'll find Jughead, that he'll be alive and well, and that she'll actually be able to stop.
It isn't going to happen. They track him down. They find him because they have no choice; there was no other way. On the other hand, seeing him sends Tabitha over the edge in the car she's driving, and she vanishes. Her adversary turned friend isn't there to warn her about the abrupt turn. She's on her own and on the verge of collapsing, but it doesn't matter because she finds him. Third things third Send a prayer to the ones up above All the hate that you've heard has turned your spirit to a dove, oh ooh Your spirit up above, oh ooh
I was choking in the crowd Building my rain up in the cloud Falling like ashes to the ground Hoping my feelings, they would drown But they never did, ever lived, ebbing and flowing Inhibited, limited Till it broke open and rained down It rained down, like...
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04/12/2021 04:11 PM
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slow.
slow "Last night, I had to take you to bed because you were so drained."
Betty couldn't even remember when she'd fallen asleep on the sofa the night before, thanks to the haze of memory loss that only comes with sleep deprivation. She hadn't been sleeping well for the past week, nightmares of the Trashbag killer's torment resurfacing in her subconscious against her will. Betty, against his advice and best judgment, had taken to attempting to fix the issue herself by various unhealthy coping strategies, the most common of which consisted of her trying to stay awake for as long as humanly possible before her body gave out. She was forced to sleep, but only for brief periods before waking up in a cold sweat from another nightmare.
Her daily caffeine intake had more than doubled, if not tripled. It was accompanied by a persistent lack of appetite and a gloomy demeanor. Both of them were going through a lot, and no matter what happened, they kept finding their way back to each other's lives. He knew just what Betty needed without blinking, and the blonde knew that if she mumbled the words "I'm okay," he would not take it as anyone else. "I understand..." Betty sighed as she leaned against the bunker's bed, her hands balled up in the long sleeves of one of his oversized shirts.
Guilt twisted together with the ever-present knot of nerves from constantly feeling on edge in her stomach. In her dreams, it didn't seem to matter if she was captured. She was terrified that he was back, that the Trash Bag Murderer had escaped and was now wandering the streets of Riverdale. After weeks of torturing her, there was still a part of him that felt guilty for not knowing where she was or reaching out in the back of her mind, and she had to note that it was the connection he'd drawn between them that had planted the seed in the first place. "Apologize in advance, Jughead." As she raised her wide eyes to reach him, she found her determination. "I swear I won't pass out before the end of the movie tonight." Despite his evident frustration and lack of sense of humor, her lips twisted upwards in an attempt at a joke. It wasn't fun, and the fact that she was trying to lighten the mood in such a severe situation was likely to shift the balance and send him into chaos. She didn't have the strength to fight right now. It's not like my brain's not rushing Every time you get too close It's not like I can't imagine Losing myself in your arms It's not like my skin isn't longing After the weight of your touch It's what if I mess this up?
So just take it slow 'Cause I'm scared to let go And my heart is struggling Not to get hurt again Just take it slow
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04/08/2021 06:23 PM
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out of touch.
out of touch Her hair had been left unwashed for days, unkempt and messy from a lack of energy to get out of bed long enough to shower. She was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants that were stained with food and drink that had been thrown at her haphazardly without her attempting to sit up in bed for better aim because she didn't care. She was dressed in an out-of-style fading cardigan sweater. She was still cold, no matter how many layers she piled on while watching endless episodes of whatever television show was next in her Netflix list. She didn't seem to have changed clothes in days, never leaving the walls of her college dorm for anything other than nicely timed late-night trips to the bathroom to avoid inadvertently crashing into any of her roomies.
Her complexion matched that of her room's white-painted cement brick walls, which closed in on her and threatened to swallow her whole. Her body's muscles were weak from atrophy and lack of use, giving her a sunken look, but no matter how much she slept, it was never restful and never seemed to satisfy her body's need for more.
Countless unread emails from professors about class attendance and failing grades loomed nearby on the screen, with impending intervention from the university itself. Betty had locked herself entirely inside as if the rest of the world didn't exist. He'd come, of course, but he didn't realize how bad things had become because she'd avoided his calls and, when they did speak, she'd adopted a false tone of happiness and often changed the topic to avoid having to outright lie to him. It was easy enough; things in Boston seemed to be going well for him, and he'd even made a few friends with whom he spent his evenings. As a result, Betty withdrew even further within herself, using his absence as an excuse to allow herself to fall to pieces further. She told him she'd be gone for three weeks as she prepared for the FBI training. She had been kidnapped and tortured. Betty would have to speak with him at some stage. Betty wants to communicate what she's feeling. It would be Jughead if Betty talked to someone. She wasn't able to tell him anything. Why she's at her worst. He was so lovely to her, wasn't he? Even though they blew up seven years ago, she was the one to blame.
For him to be standing there now was too much for her, and she was trembling for no reason and yet all at the same time. It was the weight of emotion she didn't understand that was all-consuming and suffocating her with its unrelenting sorrow, and she was unable to pull herself out of the waters that were pulling her down. He sat next to her, his thumb delicately brushing across her cheek as if she would crumble if he squeezed too hard to wipe away her tears as they fell. He would hold her without doubt or hesitation because he loved her and was afraid of what would happen if he let go. You love me when I'm low, when I'm down in the basement And don't give me up when I test your patience You always forgive, how could I forget? You don't run away when I'm acting ugly No, you never sugarcoat and that's why you're the greatest, yeah
Who's gonna tell me I'm out of touch When the lights come on and I'm still f***ed up? It's true I hope it's you, yeah Who's gonna call me on all my sh*t When I go too far and you're sick of it? It's true I hope it's you
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04/04/2021 03:20 PM
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carefully.
carefully It's not the same sherpa-lined flannel jacket she wore in high school, but she didn't expect it to be. But the tactile memory of it under her fingertips as she swings a leg over the bike behind him has her blinking lip quivering. The pins from his beanie rest on the lapel, having been painstakingly cleaned of soot and ash after burning their first host, to be fastened onto the new one, only to be removed again a few months later. She can't see them from her sitting position, but in her fantasy, they're hazy shapes, like when bright lights linger after you close your eyes.
Betty thinks she might crawl out of her skin wrapped around him on this bike— if only to save herself from making another wrong decision. It feels so natural to meld herself to his shape, and it would be so easy to succumb to muscle memory: press her cheek against his back, tighten her thighs, run her fingers up his thigh at red lights. Instead, she sits pin-straight—her posture is so sweet, even Alice would approve—and maintains as much distance between them as she can without being dangerous.
She wants Jughead to show his displeasure in the same way she does, but he remains unconcerned. She tells herself, of course. He has moved on and no longer wants you to be like this. He's helping you out. No average person would be this consumed with their high school sweetheart long after it was socially appropriate. She chants in her head, "He doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, Jughead doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, Jughead doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, Jughead doesn't love you." (Would he, though, be able to?)
He puts his hand on her. He put his hand on her shoulder again, as he had done so many times before. To reassure her, draw her closer for a kiss, and keep her steady in bed. She is so startled that it takes her a few moments to recover her equilibrium and realize why she is here. There is a sense of mission and urgency. Now is not the moment or the place to be breaking down. Not with Jughead Jones touching her for the first time in more than seven years. Nonetheless.
Betty takes a seat two yards away from him in his chair. It's the only way she believes she can keep focused. Betty snaps out of Riverdale Betty and into FBI—trainee—Betty, unsteady. The only thing she wants to do to Jughead after hearing the term the mothmen is flicking the back of his head. The frustration lightens the trip back. But that doesn't make it any easier to step away from his warmth, sincere concern, and quiet, "I'll let you know if I hear anything more substantive," before returning to his job. Betty believes he walked out of his shift for her. What went wrong? She feels compelled to shout it at his vanishing figure. I'm only human I spent the last years running But since I met you, I ain't running from nothing Baby, you could be Just exactly what I need
Cause I'm strong in the way that I know how to show you my fragile I'll be gone in a minute if you don't know how lucky your hands are
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04/02/2021 01:11 PM
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Fades to black.
fades to black "Jughead is missing." Three words. Three little words she never expected to hear again. Three words that strike her like she's crashing into a brick wall at full speed, preparing to run right through it. While Tabitha says them, the atmosphere comes to a halt around her. Her voice is calm, calmer than it should be, and quiet. Even if it sounds unfair that the diner where they're sitting will go on as if three sentences haven't broken her whole life, it has. They have to be silent because there are people around them, Tabitha's clients.
Betty, on the other hand, is bursting at the seams with frustration. She needs to panic, cry, yell, throw things, panic, scream, and beg for someone to tell her, And she's desperate to find Jughead because she can't live without him. Tabitha continues to speak, her low rumble only audible to Betty and the girl, the woman, sitting next to her. The woman who is Jughead's boss. She's not sure whether it's a friend or an ex-girlfriend. And she knows now isn't the time to be envious or read too much into the two women who seem to be involved in her Jughead's surroundings, but she can't help herself. He's not her Jughead, not after she screwed over him in high school, not since that voicemail that told her he didn't want to see her again.
He'll always be her Jughead, though, because she's desperate and wants him. She has no idea why she's still here, why Betty sitting in a somewhat booth at Pop's when she should be out looking for him. She should be on the lookout for Polly as well, and what if they're related? What if Jughead is in the same place as Polly? What if Polly isn't dead and he's being held hostage alongside her? He can't be, and neither can they. It's all... No, no, no. She must pay attention. She wants to learn the truth, what they already know, what happened before, and why isn't her training working? She spent all of her time as a junior in high school and as an adult after college studying for the FBI, but it's now totally useless. When it came to Polly, it succeeded, but the immediate danger Jughead is in, and what that means to her, has seemed to open a door in her mind.
Her feelings for Jughead, the ones she's kept locked in the dark corners of her mind since they parted ways, the ones she told herself she'd never disclosed because he deserved better, three simple words smash through the carefully constructed lock with ease. And they're coming in. They're going to drown her. All she'd told herself she'd left behind, all she'd tried to keep secret even after seeing him again after such a long time, all came crashing down on her at the exact moment. She's met with passion, affection, anxiety, doubt, and remorse between terms like psychedelic and handcuffed and blood. She can't seem to focus on Tabitha's words, and is the other woman speaking as well? She tries, really tries, to listen, but she feels like she's drowning, that everything she's worked for the past five, six, seven years has been worthless, that everything is meaningless without Jughead.
F*** everything. When did Betty revert to being a love-sick girl? But it isn't like that. She understands that it isn't just lust. Her ability to locate Polly is not fueled by love in the same way that it is now. Sure, she adores her sister, but there's something more. Perhaps a combination of anger and a sense of disappointment. She'd let her sister down before, arguing with her the morning of her disappearance, and she now regrets it all. She wants to find Polly because she misses her sister, Betty wants to find her for her mother, and she feels responsible for her mother's safety.
She wants to find Jughead; no, she needs to find him for one apparent reason: she clearly loves him. But it isn't easy, and there isn't just one explanation. Will you follow me into the dark? If you lose it all, will it fall apart? Will you follow me into the dark? Will you follow me?
There's no turning back It all fades to black No trying to pretend We know where the story ends Don't hold your breath
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03/26/2021 03:28 PM
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You better run.
You Better Run It takes four days to complete. Betty's tenseness increases with each passing day. Betty's pain cries from every pore, and she begs someone for help; there are so many moments that Betty's feelings are out of control, and she has no one to turn to. Except for Cheryl, who she relied on for help. Cheryl, like Jason, realized what she was going through. On the fifth day, she can almost sense a deadline approaching in her mind. Polly's almost out of time; Betty can practically see the words. She has worked herself to the bone and, as she has done so many times before, she thinks an angry thought. She should be required to carry it. Without breaking down, she can't even look at Jughead. All was overwhelming.
So, on the fifth night, she rises and walks to her room, her face flushed with fatigue. Her head droops as she yawns once more. She's tired, but she's not going to sleep. She won't let the case go unattended for even a few hours. It's why she's been doing all-nighters for the past four days to ensure she knows someone is still watching. Betty, on the other hand, seems to be on the verge of collapsing. She falls asleep in a matter of minutes.
Two days later, they receive a call. Blood was everywhere in the same phone booth they had visited less than a week before. Was that all there was to it? The sobs are loud and heaving, almost pushing her to the ground in a fetal position. Having Betty Cooper's family circle shrink and shrink shatters her more than anything else in the last few years has. Everything she could think about was the fact that she had called Betty for assistance and that she had been unable to reach her. She couldn't do anything. Betty needed to regain power.
Betty was in desperate search of answers. She made her way to the highway. She was trying her hardest to find out what had happened. Since then, something has struck me as if nothing else matters. She was threatening and questioning every truck driver about what they had seen. Betty was ready to bring the puzzle together. She had one of the truck drivers cornered and battered with a gun to his head at this moment. "No one was looking out for those girls, no one was helping those girls, she couldn't protect Polly," she kept saying. Betty drew her gun and about to fire it at the guy. She clicks the button when she found a familiar ring in her pocket. She took a breath and answered the phone by lifting it to her ear. "Jughead?" It's the quiet in the distance And the stumble in the dark The static in the shadows And the thunder from afar
It's the weight above the footsteps And the clouds of ash and dust The will, the faith, the power To do what must be done
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03/20/2021 11:42 PM
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Hold on.
Hold On Her pupils dilated from the waning adrenaline from her all-too-realistic dreams, and her head turned sharply to face him full-on, the terror and desperation still shockingly evident in the comprehensive set of her eyes. "I guess... we have no idea it's over." Her voice was still soft and frail, and he would not have been able to make out her expressions if he wasn't slouched over her so tightly. Betty swallowed, attempting to regain her composure, and for the first time since being startled awake, she realized she was thirsty. Her body's inherent flight or flight reaction to save energy from what her brain perceived as a danger, even though it was just reliving the worst of her trauma instead of actually experiencing it, left the back of her throat parched, almost painfully dry and raspy. "He's already out there; he might figure out I'm here and then do it all over again if he sees me again. Return me to that location-" She was rambling, a nervous habit she'd always had but which this time took on a life of its own as she spiraled out of control before cutting herself off. Eyelids squeezing shut tightly as though she could cover herself because if she couldn't see, she couldn't be seen.
Betty curled up even more profound, the heat of her body turning to cold sweats, and if her teeth weren't clenched together from fear, the sudden dramatic changes in the body temperature would have caused her teeth to chatter. Too many physiological reactions were coinciding, too many feelings were filling her mind, and she felt the recognizable fear rising in her chest. "I can't go back there; I'll never be able to go back there." She said the words to herself, not to them, the mantra she'd vowed even when imprisoned and tortured against her will within the ground. Her muscles were tight as she braced herself for anything other than the soft, safe grip she had on herself. Betty was working herself up again, the remains of her night terrors still gripping her and closing in around her throat.
Not because of the warmth and kindness he gave, but because the way she was folded in on herself with him around her made Betty feel like she couldn't breathe. She slid to the edge of the bed. Betty swung her legs over the side, barely brushing her toes against the worn living room carpet below but allowing her to sit upright to her full height and take a full deep breath and calm down. her head dizzy from the sudden recharging of oxygen but physically stronger than she'd felt minutes before. "I'm either too hot, too cold, too terrified, or I don't feel anything at all. I either can't relax, or I sleep the whole day away... I'm a complete mess. I'm in shambles." She shook her head slowly, hung down in defeat, unable to glance over her shoulder to see where she'd left him in the middle of the bed, amidst all the tangled covers and sheets. Loving and fighting, accusing, denying I can't imagine a world with you gone The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of I'd be so lost if you left me alone
You locked yourself in the bathroom. Lying on the floor when I breakthrough, I pull you in to feel your heartbeat. Can you hear me screaming? Please don't leave me.
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