( shamefully, her stomach twists into cramping knots. she had thought the worst of what alia might do is leave her in this too-big bed in this too-big room with alina's too-big thoughts, giving her what she had wanted in the worst way — time spent inside the attic of her mind, alone to sort through the cobwebs and memories she's shoved into compartments. now, she sees herself splayed out vulnerably beside the same girl that had trespassed on it, sees herself made soft and defenseless by the promise sleep. sees the hinges of her mind cracked temptingly open, enough room for alia to slip inside as aleksander had, at night, an undetected shadow prowling in her head.
her throat squeezes around her swallowed fear, trying to digest it, as she reaches to cinch her fingers at the hem of alia's (alina's) rumpled nightgown. she hadn't intended it to be a test — but she thinks, maybe, she's designed it that way. set alia up to prove not all second chances are wasted. or — maybe she's just exposing herself to it like mithridatism, ingesting small doses of betrayal, so she can get used to the bitter taste of it in the back of her throat. so the symptoms are less and less potent, less effective at corroding her insides, over time.
even knowing the danger of laying beside her, alina can't stop herself from leaning into her like night-blooming jasmine, both craving and repelled by the threat of the sun. silent, she nods, afraid of what words will push past her mouth if she speaks. the fingers that hold fast to alia's hem slip beneath, innocently skirting up the slim line of alia's thigh, past her hip. they fan out against the notches of alia's spine, feeling the distant vibrations of alia's heart thump an echo against alina's palm. skin-to-skin contact, the way babies only stop their fussing once they're tucked into that warmth.
alina's sniffles dry up in the quiet of the room, too, small body slinking down in the sheets until she can nose between alia's breast. rise, fall. in, out. eventually, alina's breath peters out to the same pattern, comforting herself to sleep to the lullaby of alia's inhales and exhales. )
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her throat squeezes around her swallowed fear, trying to digest it, as she reaches to cinch her fingers at the hem of alia's (alina's) rumpled nightgown. she hadn't intended it to be a test — but she thinks, maybe, she's designed it that way. set alia up to prove not all second chances are wasted. or — maybe she's just exposing herself to it like mithridatism, ingesting small doses of betrayal, so she can get used to the bitter taste of it in the back of her throat. so the symptoms are less and less potent, less effective at corroding her insides, over time.
even knowing the danger of laying beside her, alina can't stop herself from leaning into her like night-blooming jasmine, both craving and repelled by the threat of the sun. silent, she nods, afraid of what words will push past her mouth if she speaks. the fingers that hold fast to alia's hem slip beneath, innocently skirting up the slim line of alia's thigh, past her hip. they fan out against the notches of alia's spine, feeling the distant vibrations of alia's heart thump an echo against alina's palm. skin-to-skin contact, the way babies only stop their fussing once they're tucked into that warmth.
alina's sniffles dry up in the quiet of the room, too, small body slinking down in the sheets until she can nose between alia's breast. rise, fall. in, out. eventually, alina's breath peters out to the same pattern, comforting herself to sleep to the lullaby of alia's inhales and exhales. )