Mercy, after the fact
by Jaclyn // [email protected]
08.21.03
*
She whispers things when she thinks he's sleeping. Soft confessions brushing up against his neck, punctuated by whimpers and staccato puffs of breath as Lilah holds back tears. Usually he can't make out most of the words, but that's not really the point, and Wesley's wise enough to know it. The specific miseries she's responsible for-- don't matter. Only that she still remembers them.
And so he tries very hard not to move, or stay too still, or alter the rhythm of his breathing. He doesn't tell her he knows, and he's certain she remains unaware. Every morning, Lilah folds herself into her designer suits and heads off to do the things she'll murmur at night. She can't change; she made her choice long ago, and now she's stuck, too firmly rooted in her own determination, too fiercely unwilling to give in to anyone, to anything.
It'll mean nothing in the end, these faint confessions.
But they mean everything to him.
END