Meadow
Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
Posted on December 14, 2021 at 09:45:07 PM by róisín
róisín
His silence was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed her to say what she needed to without fear of interruption, but it offered her no insight into his arguments. How could she prove what she needed to - that she was right? sorry? she'd learned? - without knowing what he was thinking? They used to be so in sync that she hadn't needed to tell him when she was upset because he always just knew, the same way that she could tell it was time to wind playtime down by how deeply he frowned with each step.
Now, the space between them felt like a no man's land. There was no telling if it was dangerous or safe, but it certainly felt like a minefield when held in comparison to the relationship that had come before it. Perhaps a part of Róisín had always known that there would be friction someday. That eventually, she'd have to grow up and leave childhood friends and pseudo parents behind because she was an adult… but she hadn't imagined it would hurt like this. That it would feel like someone had punched a hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be.
Of course it matters, he said insistently, and her tear-rimmed eyes jolted back up to meet his, expecting to find some sort of rebuke there. It was there, but so was compassion and concern and love. Nervous, she listened as he spelled out their connection, reaffirming that she wasn't the only one that considered Iscariot as more than a friend. Iscariot was not only family in her eyes, but chosen family. Family she'd picked for herself because he had been there when her family could not.
"Iscariot…" She trailed off, unable to find the words. And they didn't matter really. A moment later and the pale golden stallion had crossed the distance between them to bury his face against her neck and she reciprocated, curling around him as best as she could.
I already have a little girl of my own, he murmured, and her tears came more freely, hitching in small, soft, wordless sobs that were echoes of the same pain she'd carried since her foalhood. Pain of being alone, of being both too much and not enough for the ones that she cared about.
Róisín knew she was no prize. If anyone had known what they were getting when they decided to have a child, no one in their right mind would have chosen her. She was too willful and wild. Too sad. Too bossy. Too much, for anyone. Even now, with Iscariot's affirmations wrapping around her mind like a warm hug, Róisín could not shake the feeling that Iscariot deserved more. He deserved a daughter that didn't make him worry all the time. One that would call him dad. Who would curl up at his hooves at night and listen to all of his stories. Someone he could be with from birth and know that the bright light of their little life was all because of him.
Róisín couldn't give him that.
Not only because of the nature of the relationship being familial rather than romantic, but because she wasn't fit to be a mother. The last thing she wanted to pass on was her broken heart to a helpless child. And as much as she hated to admit it, it seemed as though maybe, despite everything that she believed, Iscariot didn't even want what he deserved.
But he deserved it.
"Let's go home," she muttered softly when the sobs ended, her throat constricting in a tight swallow. Her eyes burned from the shedding of tears, but the breaths she took now felt deeper than any she'd had since he'd left in the first place. Finally, they were together again.
Now, the space between them felt like a no man's land. There was no telling if it was dangerous or safe, but it certainly felt like a minefield when held in comparison to the relationship that had come before it. Perhaps a part of Róisín had always known that there would be friction someday. That eventually, she'd have to grow up and leave childhood friends and pseudo parents behind because she was an adult… but she hadn't imagined it would hurt like this. That it would feel like someone had punched a hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be.
Of course it matters, he said insistently, and her tear-rimmed eyes jolted back up to meet his, expecting to find some sort of rebuke there. It was there, but so was compassion and concern and love. Nervous, she listened as he spelled out their connection, reaffirming that she wasn't the only one that considered Iscariot as more than a friend. Iscariot was not only family in her eyes, but chosen family. Family she'd picked for herself because he had been there when her family could not.
"Iscariot…" She trailed off, unable to find the words. And they didn't matter really. A moment later and the pale golden stallion had crossed the distance between them to bury his face against her neck and she reciprocated, curling around him as best as she could.
I already have a little girl of my own, he murmured, and her tears came more freely, hitching in small, soft, wordless sobs that were echoes of the same pain she'd carried since her foalhood. Pain of being alone, of being both too much and not enough for the ones that she cared about.
Róisín knew she was no prize. If anyone had known what they were getting when they decided to have a child, no one in their right mind would have chosen her. She was too willful and wild. Too sad. Too bossy. Too much, for anyone. Even now, with Iscariot's affirmations wrapping around her mind like a warm hug, Róisín could not shake the feeling that Iscariot deserved more. He deserved a daughter that didn't make him worry all the time. One that would call him dad. Who would curl up at his hooves at night and listen to all of his stories. Someone he could be with from birth and know that the bright light of their little life was all because of him.
Róisín couldn't give him that.
Not only because of the nature of the relationship being familial rather than romantic, but because she wasn't fit to be a mother. The last thing she wanted to pass on was her broken heart to a helpless child. And as much as she hated to admit it, it seemed as though maybe, despite everything that she believed, Iscariot didn't even want what he deserved.
But he deserved it.
"Let's go home," she muttered softly when the sobs ended, her throat constricting in a tight swallow. Her eyes burned from the shedding of tears, but the breaths she took now felt deeper than any she'd had since he'd left in the first place. Finally, they were together again.
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