s f м (mullets) wrote in valesco,
@ 2013-03-12 01:28:00

Entry tags:

howell!
She had shoved the ragged wand box under and behind the stack of her favorite books on her desk, but the corner of her unwanted weekend delivery was jutting out just enough that it could still be seen if one looked hard enough. Which she did, so Saoirse had, yet again, taken to fixedly staring her package, wrestling with what, if anything, to do concerning its disturbing appearance. Would it be better or worse to give her broken wand the attention it undoubtably deserved? Give into the simmering terror it had immediately created within her, or continue to push any emotion concerning it down because she would not let anyone have that kind of power over her? It was even difficult to decide if she should contact Thomas, for that sprouted a whole new slew of issues her mind felt haggard at the thought of dealing with.

Howell shuffling into her bedroom broke Saoirse from her tangled thoughts, though only temporarily. She turned to look at him blankly, unable to truly take in what he was doing or saying, as her thoughts had become all consuming. Howell would... she would want him to tell her if something like this was happening to him, and she wanted to tell him... but, she didn't want to burden him, or anyone else for that matter, as he had just begun to feel better, and with his birthday on Thursday... that sounded silly. Those excuses were trite and downright thoughtless, and she knew she couldn't hold to them, but everything would be at lot easier if she could. She had to tell him, she must tell him; she could not hide behind trying to make this development insignificant, because it was not.

Taking in a shuddering breath, her gaze raked back across the room. Unaware to Howell other than that he was present in the room, Saoirse quietly slipped over to her desk. She pulled her lips back, then quickly reached to slip the box out of its hiding place.

"Howell," Saoirse started softly, now clutching the parcel in her hand tightly. She turned finally to look at him, seemingly much more aware of him, and their surroundings. "I'm going to tell you something, but I don't want you to get upset over it."

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howl
2013-03-17 11:53 pm UTC (link)

For a moment, Howell did nothing but stand and stare. He hadn't actually believed what had happened, before the guilt washed over him. If he didn't get worried, she wouldn't have the feel like this…? He was the reason for those tears? Then, with his heart firmly gripped somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, his eyes darted back down to the box. There were times he just needed patience with Saoirse, to be unwavering in what he wanted but to also give her the space to come around on her own terms, in her own time. Today, he thought, right now, the hell with that. As much for his own comfort as he imagined it was for hers, he threw the box aside without a second thought and started after her.

Ducking in, he could see Saoirse curled in the corner and there was a strange, muted violence to the scene which simply sliced at him. It was the most emotion he had ever seen wrung from her, and that included more than one bedside visit when she was in St Mungo's. In any other situation, he might have been at a loss of what to do because of her tears, but his only focus now had to be Saoirse, had to be making sure she was all right—which she plainly wasn't.

On his knees beside her, Howell raised his hand to the side of her face, nudging it towards him. He couldn't let her hide away or shut him out this time. He didn't want to quiet her or stem her tears—perhaps it was finally time for those—but she didn't have to be alone, not if she was afraid. "If I can be upset," he whispered, stroking his thumb along her wet cheek, willing her to look him in the eye, "you can be scared."

Brushing back hair from her face, he swallowed around the thick lump in his throat at seeing her like this. "It's all right." He had thought them quiet people, with quiet emotions, but he wondered now if that wasn't because they had an insistence on burying anything stronger deep in the sand.

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mullets
2013-03-18 02:04 am UTC (link)

It felt like she couldn't breathe, and her head had begun to pound so harshly it felt like it would crack in half at any moment. Chills ran up and down her skin as her body shook, and while she had thought the dim lighting would be calming, it only seemed drive her more into feeling out of control of herself. Why was this happening, why, suddenly, now were all these flashes, pieces of what had happened to her all coming? Her tears continued to fall, and whether she was crying for the past pain she had endured, or the terror of what could potentially come, Saoirse was unsure.

Gasping for large breaths of air, she held her arms close to her chest with her eyes shut tight--- until a gentle hand brushed up against the side of her face and guide her dropped gaze away from her knees. With eyes open wide Saoirse momentarily quieted as she fully stared at Howell. Her embarrassment concerning him quite possibly being one of the few, if only for a very long time, people to witness her crying had not yet struck her, so she spoke freely.

"But I don't want to be," she let out feebly, in an almost child-like manner. "I don't like how it feels, I don't want to give them the satisfaction of doing this to me." Saoirse immediately felt dumb for thinking it, let alone saying it, but it was the truth.

"Nothing's alright," she let out miserably, feeling lost again with Howell's final words. How was anything alright? She was currently paralyzed in her closet because the people, person, that had kidnapped and tortured her under a year ago had mailed her old wand back like the foreboding message of darkness that it was. And they was winning, she was letting them win---

Saoirse pushed herself back into the wall forcefully to remind herself that it was still there. Desperate now for Howell's embrace, but unable to move much at all, she released her arms from within their hiding place between her knees and her chest to quickly find his free hand. Both of them held onto his one tightly like her life depended on it for a few moments, before pulling it closer to her with the hopes that his body would follow.

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howl
2013-03-18 02:50 am UTC (link)

He couldn't have stopped himself from being drawn to her even if he'd wanted to. The thought of where they were, cloistered away in a dimly lit cupboard, mattered not at all. He didn't have the heart, or the strength, he admitted, to move her from that spot on the cramped floor. Instead, he pressed closer, fumbling in the dimness to half-scoop Saoirse into his lap as his hands came around her tightly.

As Howell rested his cheek on the top of her head, stroking his hands up and down whatever part of her they could reach, he felt useless. Useless and helpless, with his fear and panic steadily turning to rage at the idea of what she'd had to suffer, that she was suffering again and he couldn't stop it. Impotent rage that he hadn't had cause to feel in a long, long time. The slight vibrations of Saoirse shuddering in his arms fought through that red haze enough to ground him, to remind him to let it go because there was nothing productive he could do. Though Howell wanted to, and the words were on the tip of his tongue, he couldn't promise her everything was going to be all right, he couldn't tell her he would never let anything happen to her. Because everything wasn't, and something would.

"You'll get through this," was what he could say to her instead. Because when things hadn't been all right, when they couldn't stop them from happening, they had gotten through it. In their own sad and horrible ways, Saoirse and he had the stamp of survival on them. "I promise you that we will get through this."

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mullets
2013-03-19 07:02 pm UTC (link)

The unadulterated tears she now had no control in stopping continued to fall, and in an attempt to hide them, Saoirse pushed her face into Howell's chest. She bunched the fabric of his front in her hands, still desperately needing contact despite feeling his arms around her and his hands seeking to comfort her in anyway they could. While the effort was appreciated, she was unsure any amount of tight holding, or the smallest closet in the world, could help her currently feel less terrified.

And, then, Saoirse begin to cry harder at his words, as they gripped at her heart in ways she could not discern. Had they moved her, or weighted her down further with the verbal acknowledgement effectively dragged Howell into this? Perhaps a bit of both. Or, even more significantly, did they sieze her so tightly because they made her realize she had much more to loose than the time before?

In attempt to nod her head feebly, which resulted to be just a plain poor attempt, instead Saoirse curled closer into him still, facing as much of herself as she could against him. Saoirse knew she would endure this, like she had all other difficulties in her life, but knowing better, she understood that making it through an ordeal didn't leave you without scarred remnants. Going through it in itself... the thought exhausted her. It emotionally drained her, and after a while it seemed her physical exhaustion met her emotional one, crying herself into quietness.

"I believe you," she murmured tiredly, as soon as she could manage, and in spite of feeling quite the urge to smack him for almost partly being behind her emotional display. But it was a weak annoyance, one that didn't last and had no merit, and passed as easily as she did leaning in more comfortably to his protective arms. Closing her eyes, Saoirse took a final long, shuddering breath before willing herself into sleep.

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