Uncontrollable tears streak down her face, unending, as she clutches the male shirt that hangs loose and large around her tiny frame, looking like she desperately wants to rip it off herself as she fidgets with the buttons. She quivers on the spot, feet fumbling to find a place as her eyes fill with more tears and undoubtedly blur her vision.
She physically shakes, eyes cast to the ground as a cloud of shame surrounds her. A gut-wrenching sob follows.
"I'm sorry," she cries.
My heart crumbles as I spring to my feet and quickly pull her towards me. The last of her walls crash to the ground as she sobs, hands fisting my button-up in need of a lifeline.
She continues to mumble apologies between her tears, shaking her head violently. I struggle to catch my breath, at a complete loss for words.
Sitting down on the edge of the nearest bed, I pull her closer to me, uncaring of whatever situation we have between us. What on earth is going on?
"Quorra, it's alright," I comfort, stroking her shuddering back with one hand, although there is no strength behind my words.
Still, she shakes in my arms, breaths swift and shallow as she burrows into my neck and refuses to show me her dampened face.
"Slater, please, I'm sorry," she begs for forgiveness, drowning in her despair as my heart aches with a pain I've never felt before.
Unable to comprehend her apologies, I let out a short, frustrated breath, "Quorra, for what? You haven't done a single wrong to me. You've been perfect," I swear, lost.
At that, she screams out a completely heartbroken sob, "DON'T say that! That's what he told me! I'm not! I'm not perfect! I'm the furthest thing from it!"
She balls her hands into fists as I inhale a short breath at her reaction. Before I can further process her words, a small punch hits me in the chest. I immediately stop her other hand from making contact with me, instead pulling her arms behind me to wrap us in a hug.
She convulses around me as if caught in a seizure, arms falling limply as I feel her tears soak through my shirt.
Acknowledging that every curve of her body is pressed against mine, I tense up. For a brief moment, I close my eyes.
She's wearing nothing underneath this shirt.
All of a sudden, she pulls back, still not looking at me but rather down at her lap and her legs which surround mine.
A possibility dawns on me as I reevaluate the situation and its cause. My hands clench into tight fists at my side as I inhale a deep breath and try to push aside the idea. I refocus my attention on attending to Quorra, not even wanting to think about what could have happened to her, or who.
"Off, take it off," she demands, terrified fingers fumbling to unbutton the unidentified shirt on her.
She manages to get three buttons undone before I glimpse naked skin and the valley between her breasts and quickly stop her hands, looking away and biting my tongue.
"Quorra, you aren't wearing anything else, hang on," I murmur, as she furiously swipes at the tears running down her face, leaving angry red marks where she scrubs too hard.
I turn around and grab the shirt I slept in, not wanting to move her from her current position. When I turn around, she's already ignored my words and unbuttoned two more, struggling through her watery vision as she holds back more tears. I notice blotchy red marks all across her neck and upper chest, polluting her smooth skin.
YOU ARE READING
Enough | ✔️
Teen Fiction#1 enough #1 notenough #3 in lifelessons #15 relatable "They say you regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did do in life," I whisper, glad that I can still form a coherent sentence with him so abnormally close to me. I would bare...
