[ there is a full second or two before olivia even dares to drop her gaze from his face to his hand, that spark of defiance still crackling like her diminishing energy. her expression still set in lines that are hard, pulled taut with her own frustration and stubbornness. truthfully, she does not wish to retreat, not now that she has dared to become so bare in the first place.
it's not that she wishes to fight, for this friction carves gashes into her heart that burn more than any wound she has ever encountered, but she so rarely speaks up that the few times she does, she almost feels it an injustice to drop back down to a whisper again. and she wishes now, more than ever, so desperately to be heard, because for once she does not doubt her words or her conviction.
and his dismissal here hurts, though he certain hears her, she does not think him willing to listen. she has to wonder if perhaps that is the best she can hope for now, or ever, and such a thought leaves her feeling more hollow than she has ever felt before.
finally, a sigh escapes her lips, and her hand reaches up to seek the familiar heat of his own as she brings herself back up to her feet. it is a concession to meet his concession, a silent impasse that will probably rub her raw late at night, when she tries and fails not to think about it. but he tires just as much as she does, and she knows she would not have lasted much longer had they continued. ]
What kind of wife would I be if I didn't, [ she finally answers, though her words sound more like resignation than a promise. ]
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it's not that she wishes to fight, for this friction carves gashes into her heart that burn more than any wound she has ever encountered, but she so rarely speaks up that the few times she does, she almost feels it an injustice to drop back down to a whisper again. and she wishes now, more than ever, so desperately to be heard, because for once she does not doubt her words or her conviction.
and his dismissal here hurts, though he certain hears her, she does not think him willing to listen. she has to wonder if perhaps that is the best she can hope for now, or ever, and such a thought leaves her feeling more hollow than she has ever felt before.
finally, a sigh escapes her lips, and her hand reaches up to seek the familiar heat of his own as she brings herself back up to her feet. it is a concession to meet his concession, a silent impasse that will probably rub her raw late at night, when she tries and fails not to think about it. but he tires just as much as she does, and she knows she would not have lasted much longer had they continued. ]
What kind of wife would I be if I didn't, [ she finally answers, though her words sound more like resignation than a promise. ]