Posted in Headcanon

Tongue-tied

“I’m sorry.”

That’s a good start, she thinks as she clears her throat, her mind racing to form coherent strings of words to convey. “But I need a raincheck because something came up and it’s important–”

Bloody hell, way to make it seems like their mess is insignificant. “More important than our talk, that is. It’s… family business.” A beat. “About Cullen.” Another beat, before she finally can’t hold it back and says, “It’s a fucking good news about him, that’s what this is, and dammit John, you should’ve been here so I can tell you properly about it–”

Alas, he’s not there, and she have to bite her tongue to stop herself from rambling. This isn’t the proper time, and she can save her story for another time. When they’re back on talking terms and she can savor his elation.

“Just– shit, just get back on me about when you can spare the time for us to meet and talk this mayhem out, yeah?”

I don’t want to spend another night in silent tears because you’re shutting me up, she wanted to say. I don’t want this torment rendered me unable to enjoy this short moment of family reprieve.

Instead she just take a deep breathe, and in gentler voice say, “Because I miss you, alright? I miss hearing your voice and I miss talking to you. And I just… I miss us, John.”

“And I’m sorry, for being a mess and for not being okay back then, but I’m sorting my shit out and taking care of my unfinished business, and I’m doing far better.”

“So just– just do the same, get your shit together, and sort out your thoughts, and then came back to me, yeah? This- You don’t have to face this rubbish alone, you git. I’m still here for you, if only you’d let me in.”

 

“… I love you,” she adds, in a voice so soft it’s an almost inaudible whisper that he’d hear nonetheless.

 

Staring at her phone, she lets her finger stays on the recording button, before making a split second decision and drag her finger to the side, effectively canceling the voice message.

 

Some things are better left unsaid, she convinced herself.

 

 

 

Sides, she’s not sure he would want to hear her out anyway.

 

 

 

 

À la mort,

Prompt: Green Day’s Missing You.
“I’m missing you. You’re not around and I’m a fucking disaster!”

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Author:

An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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