#billiedeansbitc

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 (𝐬𝐟𝐰)

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Note: this one's been sitting in my drafts for so long now I don't actually remember anymore what was going to be ending because I left it like halfway but uh, I stirred my brain for something and came up with some angsty shit you're welcome. (And it's smut free! Yay!)

Warning/s: grief and loss.

You pushed your chair gently as possible but you were tired, exhausted and drained, so it scraped the floor, the sound scratching your ears. You winced and muttered an apology half-heartedly for the noise. You felt her gaze lift from her plate to look at you. “Are you done?” she asked, still watching you. You hummed and nodded, bringing your plate to the sink. Words ceased to exist after that. 

When you returned to the kitchen table she was done as well. You watched her pick up her plate and deposit it to the sink, you helped her around cleaning the kitchen, both of you moving in silence and keeping your way out of each other but as you wiped away the table and she was tucking the chairs back in, you felt her warmth against you.

You didn’t look or react. Keeping it all in a tight lid jar.  You resume to wipe the table until the faint marks disappear to your heart’s content. She didn’t say anything either. She was first to withdraw, though her hand fleetingly brushed the small of your back and you turned. You turned to look at her, you couldn’t resist the temptation nor you had the will to just ignore it.

That at least you let yourself to devour. And despite the constant arguments these days, you still couldn’t wait for the moment where your eyes met.

Your heart was hammering against your chest. You felt as though you were about to faint, there was sadness in her eyes, nervously fidgeting with the ring on her finger. “I’ll be in the study if you need me.” 

You gave her a nod. You saw her eyes slowly falter from looking at you down to her feet, ashamed. “Wait” you wanted to say however your lips remained pressed together. She left, taking small steps to slow down, waiting, still waiting for you to say something and silently hoping but you didn’t until she was closing the door of her study and paused, just thinking, she should leave it half opened remembering how you always stick your head in just to check for her. The fond and bittersweet memory rendered her helpless from all the guilt.

It was a little later, maybe past ten o’clock when you abruptly awoke to the sound of shuffling, the vague noises from the television stopped, the room was dim without the vibrant colours from the screen. “You fell asleep,” the voice said, unsurprised, it knew…she knew and she paused whatever she was doing in her study to check on you.

You hummed, rubbing the sleep off of your eyes. You felt her hand on your shoulder, silently asking you to get up. You had half a mind to hold her hand right there, to savour the feeling of her touch and kiss it. Kiss all the pain away. But you decided against it, afraid it would be too much. So you stood up. 

It felt cold–your hands, you looked at them, and they were empty. So lonely and empty. It broke your heart. You wanted to hold her hand but she was so far away, walking in front of you. 

When was it going to end?

She called your name softly as you unconsciously sank deeper into the abyss of your unending thoughts. Your name, not my darling, my sweetheart, or my love. Once more, your heart broke. You miss it, the way she would affectionately call you names, drawing the biggest grin on your lips and you would leap into her arms, burying your face into her neck. You miss her.

“Yes?” you looked up to see her undoing the pins in her hair, her blouse was half open and untucked from her skirt. It reminded you of the bliss as you two ran around the house, going after each other barely having any clothes on and giggling like girls once you cornered her–you knew for a fact she let you and not because you were swift and strong enough to pin a 6’3” woman with a body mass twice as yours were–and then you’d kiss her and she’d kiss you back, both breathless in the end with smiles on your faces.

She asked if the set of pyjamas she laid for you on the bed were to your liking. Your cheeks warmed, and you told her it was perfect. Little by little, you reminded yourself, everything would be better.

You sucked in a breath, fingers automatically unzipping your dress from the back but getting stuck halfway. It was little inconveniences like this one that really felt like the last straw after a particularly having a bad day that struck a nerve, “The fuck is your problem!” you muttered, trying to pull the tab down but it won’t slide.

Larissa saw you getting upset over it. It was one of your downsides—getting easily frustrated over the most mundane things when you couldn’t do it right the first time—she interfered, tapping on your shoulder and telling you to turn around before your head could explode in anger.

She smoothly pulled it all the way down, her eyes following the path of skin it revealed, she longed to feel you with her lips. 

Larissa stayed there for a moment, unable to retract herself from you. She thought that maybe if she kept herself close to you, like this, her sadness would melt away, that her longing for you would shrink even just by an inch. Her arms ached to hold you. She wanted to kiss you. Fill you in with so many kisses until you decided it was enough. She missed you.

And you missed her so much—that, perhaps, was actually your last straw. You broke down, tears spilling from your eyes that you tried so badly to conceal with your hands on your face. The little sobs came, the shaking of your breath and light twitches of your shoulders.

She pulled you in her arms, gently giving you time to resist. You showed none and willingly buried your face on her chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” the words repeated again and again, broken in between with sobs and sharp intake of breaths.

“I’m sorry we lost the baby.” 

It stung like a freshly cut wound for Larissa. She never blamed you, she never breathed out a word about the loss of your child, not a single one. She sat in this awful gown after the procedure was done, unblinking. Not a twitch of emotion or a tear. She somehow turned cold and completely shut the world down. It all changed, she changed. 

And she blamed herself.

Every time she’d see your face she was reminded of how hopeful you were, how full of life and physically vibrating with happiness when you found out she was pregnant. She should have waited for at least a month to tell you Incase this didn’t work out like the others but she had a feeling. She had this hope, something she didn’t feel before so she told you and it felt so fucking stupid of her.

“We could try again,” you said, kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in her lap, “He’ll answer our prayers. He will. I know he will.” But she had had enough of it, she no longer believed.

“Larissa, please say something. Tell me anything.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m done.” she wiped the lone tear from her cheek, and stood up. It hadn’t been a week since she was released from the hospital, her body had not recovered from the loss. It still felt like it was there–the little flutter. It was making her insane. 

“Where are you going?”

"To work. I'm not going to sit around crying all day. I told you I'm done."

That day, it felt like you lost her more than anything.

She pushed you away and you let her. Now you danced around each other, with intensified longing behind your eyes, your fingers twitching to touch, craving to reignite the fading memories of what you two once were. 

She held you tight against her, giving into the needs of her body, of her soul. She let herself heal as the warmth engulfed the dead parts of her. 

Little by little, she hoped it would get better.