adelphoi | (no subject)

[ being in insomnia again is.. strange. the city is the same as she had remembered, and yet so different, so strange after so many long years in tenebrae. this city seems so enormous and sprawling, sharp and stark in comparison, bright and chrome and full of people. though she remembers her time here, her earliest years, she was still quite young when her parents swept she and her brother back to the motherland, and those tender years of growth had been spent in a city very different, a home that she had grown used to, settled into.

and now they are here again, political tensions spurring her father to emigrate here, to lucis again. the empire has been still and quiet, and there have even been talks of treatise, but alisaie trusts her father's judgment, for all his political involvement. more than national pride, he hopes for his family to be safe and secure, and short of living in the bush, insomnia had seemed to him the ideal location. with the wall so strong, such a city must be impenetrable, yes?

alisaie does not know the details of it all, her father would disclose only so much - she and her brother were to focus solely on their studies, bettering themselves, and not to worry about such things outside of their control. lucis might not be a large nation, but insomnia is safe, and secure. it suits their needs just fine.

still, settling in, for alisaie, is not necessarily easy. unlike the rest of her family, smooth-talkers with political savvy, she has a hard enough time simply getting along with her own peers. her friends in tenebrae had been few and distant, their relationships thin and civil but little more. to have to start over again is.. a nightmare. but she is not here to make friends, she is here to finish her schooling, to graduate and prepare for university and beyond. there's nothing to be afraid of.

yet her knuckles are white around the books clutched to her chest as she climbs the stairs that first day, eyes forward, chin high, and it takes less than a week's time for her to earn a reputation as a haughty, conceited little snob, the little rich girl sort who is far too good to waste her time with those she deems beneath her - everyone, apparently. this is not entirely the case of course, but it suits alisaie's needs just fine. let them think what they want, so long as it affords her a wide berth and quiet time to herself, without the terrifying distraction of working her way into, and maintaining her place within, a social circle.

the weekend seems to take an eon to arrive, but friday is here at last. alisaie sits outside at a table on campus, alone, peeling the crusts distractedly from her sandwich, her advanced chemistry textbook open in front of her. three afternoon classes, and this horrible week will be over.. ]

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It...it doesn't matter now. I-I...I got what I wanted from you.

[ He feels ill, physically, from head to toe. His head throbs, his vision blurs, his throat aches, as his entire world comes crashing down around him, and it's all of his own making. She won't listen, so what does he have to do to get her to accept this? He has to make her angry. He has to make her so angry that she...never wants to see his face again.

It's...for the best. ]

Already got in your skirt, so what's the point of sticking around?

[ i'm so sorry i'm so sorry i'm so sorry i'm so sorry ]

You're just like...every other girl...

[ He no longer sounds like himself, he's no longer crying. ]

[ what?

she would have been ashamed to admit, before, that there had been a time where she'd feared something like this. when first he was attempting to befriend her again despite all the evidence otherwise, when he was trying so hard to convince her that he wasn't what she had thought. she had considered that maybe, just maybe, his motive might not be so clean.

but he had proved her wrong with his smile and his kiss, with how gently he touched her, with his bright, sunny laughs. she had fallen for him so quickly, so easily.

and now.. a lie? no - no, he'd been so genuine. so open. there's no.. there's no way. but even now he sounds so hard, his gaze is sharper than she's ever seen it and it's enough to make her heart clutch in her chest, gripped by an icy fist. he's.. he means it. how can he mean it? ]

No.. no, that's -

[ she'd given him everything. everything. ]

You're - you're lying.

Why would I lie about something like this?

[ Amazing, how much easier it is to talk, once he's gone numb, once he only seems to witness this unfolding from a distance. She looks horrified, and she should. Of course she should. He's saying awful, unforgivable things to her. He deserves all her spite and anger and hatred. He always has. ]

Dammit, Alisaie, do you always have to be so stubborn? I'm trying to break up with you! How many godsdamned ways do I have to tell you before it'll stick?!

[ please leave, please, please please ]

I don't want you anymore.

[ for all she does not want to believe it, can't believe it, there is no more room to fight it. he's clear. he's adamant. what she wants to believe does not matter.

it's over.

he used her.

it feels.. cold, to think it. to consider that he might mean it. that it might be true. tears flood her eyes in earnest now, thick and hot, obscuring her vision, spilling in fat droplets down her face. alisaie's jaw sets, her hands clenched to fists at her sides, white knuckled. ]

H-how.. how dare you..

[ she says, her voice a harsh whisper. ]

I loved you.

[ crack. like lightning her hand lashes out, slapping him open palmed across the face, hard and unforgiving. she had never thought that she would feel this way, used, sullied, and by - by him -

there is so much more she could say, so much pain and fury in her heart, but she would not have breath enough to voice it. with a sharp inhale she turns, before he can say anything further, before her heart can be wounded any more than it is, and then hurries away. ]

[ He's finally gotten through to her. He recognizes it when she goes silent, when she starts to consider...that yes, this is really happening. She isn't fighting back anymore. It...really is over. He did what he came here to do, and now his life is empty and colorless, cold and nauseating, and he were he not pushed so far back in his own mind, he would scream.

But she's not done yet.

Then she tells him she loved him, and her hand connects with his face with such force that he staggers backwards, knocked down, his head spinning, his whole body stunned and shocked, though it's difficult to say which had the greater effect.

She...loved him?

He whimpers, a mournful, wounded sound, arms curling up to cradle his chest as if his heart might fall out if he does not. She loved him? And now he — he's ruined everything — ]

N-no, p-please...

[ But it doesn't matter. The damage is done. She is gone, out of his life for good, and it feels as though a flame in his heart is snuffed out completely.

He curls in on himself, and at last, lets himself sob brokenly. ]

I...love you, too...