nevermore_logs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

saint george,
wrath

(no subject)

WHO: Wrath and George
WHAT: I AM SORRY I SUCK SO HARD IN THE BAD WAY
WHEN: Tuesday? Whatever day today is. I am so good at this
WHERE: George's
WARNINGS: Wrath's sailor mouth and self-harm

Wrath had now had a few days to stew over her fight with George. At first she had been furious, but her night out with Lust had fixed that. Then there was just sadness which, over time, converted to self-loathing as it always did with Wrath. She now felt like the entire fight was her fault, and everything bad that ever happened to them was her fault and George couldn't possibly hate her more than she hated herself.

It was only spotting the Saint George bracelet Patrick had gotten her, sitting benignly on her nightstand, which made her seek George out instead of just taking everything out on herself. He was a saint and maybe there as a chance, a slim one, that he didn't hate her and he wouldn't break up with her.

That was how she found herself at his door, her skinny arms wrapped around herself. She knocked and then waited, holding her breath and barely able to keep her tears in.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Can I give you a hug, because the urge to hug is really strong right now," George said, not moving until she said so. "Upsetting me isn't any reason to hate yourself, sweetheart. I get upset about all kind of stupid things. I was legitimately upset two days ago because the taco truck wasn't outside my building at lunch. You are way more important to me than tacos."

Wrath took a deep breath and then she nodded quickly, her eyes still trained on her hands. "So you- You still love me?" she asked, her voice wavering. "Even though I said terrible things? Even though I hurt myself?"

George sat beside her and pulled her into a hug, closing his eyes and resting his head against hers. "Of course. That's not--it's not something I could change even if I wanted to. And I don't want to."

Wrath leaned into him and she let him hold her tightly. "I love you too," she whispered to him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want you to change."

"We'll find a way to make things work," George said, rubbing his thumb in a circle on her skin. "I don't like fighting with your siblings any more than you like watching it happen. It's gonna be okay. We just had a fight, that's all."

"They just don't know how to be reasonable," she said as if she was so very reasonable all the time. "And I don't like it when they hurt you." She relaxed against him, glad to be held. "But I hate when I hurt you more."

George kissed the side of her head. He said, "I'm all right. Been through a lot worse."

He held up his hand, like he was showing off his unmarked skin, and smiled a little. "See? Not a scratch."

Wrath glanced at his hand and she raised her fingers to brush against his palm. "Wish I could say the same," she whispered. "I'm sorry about that too." She always felt she was somehow disappointing him now when she slipped and hurt herself. She knew how upset it made him.

He closed his hand around hers. "It's...you don't have to apologize. I just don't like seeing you hurt. Even if you did it to yourself."

"Yeah, well." She knew he might want her to show him so he could see if she needed any disinfecting or anything like that. She didn't really want to, however. "The downstairs neighbor shot himself yesterday and I couldn't stop feeling like it was my fault. Like everything bad that ever happens is my fault. You gave yourself to Lucifer because of me. I-I just- It hurts."

"You aren't responsible for what other people do," George said, hugging her. "I could stand to learn that, too. If you worry about your neighbors, we could always try to find you and Sloth a place without people living right next door?"

"I like my apartment," she sighed. "It has a beach in the living room and it's cheap. Stupid suicidal humans." She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "I hate being me. Except when I'm with you. When I'm with you, all that other shit just doesn't matter so much."

He closed his eyes. "We can build a beach anywhere if you ever do want to move, I promise. I love you. Let's not fight again for a while, okay?"

Wrath nodded against his chest, more than willing to at least try not to fight with George again. It sucked. "I love you too. Are you going to make me take my pants off?" she asked, and then she figured she might want to clarify there. "I cut my legs. Thought...maybe if I was all scarred, no one would bother me."

George hugged her tightly. "If you don't think they're gonna get infected, you can take care of the cuts yourself, if you want. But if not, we need to take care of them. You could end up in the hospital otherwise."

Wrath didn't take care of anything. She hugged him back and then gave him a dubious look. "Smashed my mirror and did it with the glass. I am not going to a fucking hospital."

George sighed. "Okay, we have to take care of that then. That can get septic really fast."

He detached himself from her gently and went to the bathroom. The first aid kit and the medicine cabinet were well stocked, and had plenty of disinfectants and bandages.

Wrath followed him, leaning against the door and looking embarrassed. "It's not your fault," she said softly. "I- I don't want you to feel guilty when you see it. It's my fault, okay?"

"Okay," George said, trying to look entirely non-judgmental. "It's gonna be fine."

"Not so convincing, Dragonslayer." She unzipped her jeans anyway and slid them off revealing the countless jagged slashes on her thighs. Some were quite deep and, but most of them were shallow and long.

She hoped he wouldn't feel terrible. It was just who she was, and even though she had been so much better with him, sometimes the self-loathing broke through. It wasn't his fault. He was the reason it didn't happen more often. "Just don't freak out?"

George tried to think of something comforting or not-horrified, and failed. Instead, he said the first thing that came to mind, which was, "It looks like a weedwhacker tried to eat you out."

Wrath stared at George for a moment, a shocked look on her face. Then she snorted and dissolved into laughter. She reached out to take her face in his hands, still chuckling. "I love you, Saint George." And she leaned down to kiss him.

He smiled at her and leaned up for a kiss. "And I love you. So no accidentally kicking me when the disinfectant is cold." He sprayed a bit on her thigh in warning.

Wrath jumped a little, but she squeezed one eye shut and nodded. "No kicking." She sat on the edge of the tub and let him help her. It was a vast improvement to how she usually reacted to accepting help. Which was not to accept it.

"It's going to be fizzy, I fuckin' know it."

"Yeah, probably," George agreed, shifting so that he was kneeling next to her. Several of the scratches were already puffy, the early signs of infection clear. He sprayed the disinfectant over them, watching as it fizzed. "These should heal up okay, though. Not a lot of time for the germs to set in."