Lachlan felt a surge through his chest as her hands came to rest on his chest. It would be the last touch they shared. The feeling of her hands on his chest, to push him away and create distance, would be what she gave him to remember her. He didn't blame her. He wanted her to be happy, and had he not been so desperate for any light at the end of the tunnel he might have told her much. If happiness meant choosing the other man, one who was easy to be around and who loved her so much that his Lachlan's love was worth throwing aside, he would have to live with it. He would let her go, and he would sit on his couch and think of what might have been. He would wake up the next day and repeat the last few weeks of his life, trying to do physical labor until one day he either could or accepted his lost strength. Then he would think about how he should have been stronger for her, should have done more.
It would be an endless cycle. The pain, the denial, the pain, the withdrawing into himself. It would go on and on until he hardened his heart and his face to the outside world, just as he'd endeavored to all those years ago. He felt so small despite the fact that she hovered over him; it wasn't difficult to feel that way when she held his heart in her hands.
And she crushed it.
She did not push him away—no, if only it had been that easy. They'd been building up to that this whole conversation as Lach made one last ditch attempt to sway her heart. He knew she would go back to him. If he hadn't been enough for her before, he certainly wasn't doing himself any favors by becoming increasingly melancholic and desperate. But by pulling him in, she only made the pain worse.
He kissed her back, feeling a stinging pain in his lip that had either come from the pressure or one of their teeth. He didn't know, he didn't care. He didn't have the strength to pull away. He stepped forward until she was good and truly pinned against the couch, and only then did his hands slide down to her bottom to lift her up onto the back of the sofa. He knew this was a bad idea. He wouldn't regret it, but she would. She would pull away, wipe her lips, and then return home unable to say that she'd broke things off cleanly.
He pulled her tighter. His hands were everywhere—her back, her waist, her shoulders, and then her hair, where he'd wanted them only moments ago. He made a noise, but even he wasn't sure what it conveyed. Pain. Desire. Happiness. Anger. All of the above.
He wanted her to love him. To love only him. To choose him.
She did. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
It would be an endless cycle. The pain, the denial, the pain, the withdrawing into himself. It would go on and on until he hardened his heart and his face to the outside world, just as he'd endeavored to all those years ago. He felt so small despite the fact that she hovered over him; it wasn't difficult to feel that way when she held his heart in her hands.
And she crushed it.
She did not push him away—no, if only it had been that easy. They'd been building up to that this whole conversation as Lach made one last ditch attempt to sway her heart. He knew she would go back to him. If he hadn't been enough for her before, he certainly wasn't doing himself any favors by becoming increasingly melancholic and desperate. But by pulling him in, she only made the pain worse.
He kissed her back, feeling a stinging pain in his lip that had either come from the pressure or one of their teeth. He didn't know, he didn't care. He didn't have the strength to pull away. He stepped forward until she was good and truly pinned against the couch, and only then did his hands slide down to her bottom to lift her up onto the back of the sofa. He knew this was a bad idea. He wouldn't regret it, but she would. She would pull away, wipe her lips, and then return home unable to say that she'd broke things off cleanly.
He pulled her tighter. His hands were everywhere—her back, her waist, her shoulders, and then her hair, where he'd wanted them only moments ago. He made a noise, but even he wasn't sure what it conveyed. Pain. Desire. Happiness. Anger. All of the above.
He wanted her to love him. To love only him. To choose him.
She did. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
— way too attractive set by mj <3 —