Self-defense against the fish. They were definitely attacking me before the flirt police showed up.
[ This isn't a situation Katrina thinks she ought to be tackling on her own: he drinks heavily, and has admitted failure to stop several times. She'll need help, she and Wallace will both have to stop enabling. Eventually, professional help might be a subject for consideration. She knows this isn't something she can do all on her own with him. But right now, this small first step, this need for distance and distraction and comfort? She can help with that.
It's easy to offer those things to him. He receives them, is seemingly happy for her to be a comfort and distraction. When has she ever really experienced that from a man, ever been so welcome? The world is too full of other, and her partners suffering from the fear of missing out, or rarely of the personality that invites tenderness. But Treavor.
She thinks he might need care in a way most don't.
The tight wrap of a blanket about him as he presses back against her (and she presses closer.) The gentle trailing of her fingers through his hair. He's been given so little of these small acts of devotion, hasn't he? (And Wallace, for all that he offers to that end, can't be all things, at all times, to Treavor.)
She props her head on her hand, giving him affectionate regard as her fingertips trace down his neck. ]
I'm proud of you.
[ She lets that hang in the air on its own a moment; as infrequently as she thinks he receives comfort, she's certain it's more often than he's anything more than disappointing to others. They had that conversation, didn't they? He has been disappointing, and so there are punishments, indictments for his inability to meet expectations.)
But he isn't disappointing to her. He's trying right now, and she's certain that bottle of whiskey is an itch he can't scratch. It'll slowly eat at him. But he's trying, and that's anything but a disappointment.
All she ever asks is for the attempt. ]
I don't know what comes next, but I promise, I'll try to make it better than what you had before. The way you make my life better.
no subject
[ This isn't a situation Katrina thinks she ought to be tackling on her own: he drinks heavily, and has admitted failure to stop several times. She'll need help, she and Wallace will both have to stop enabling. Eventually, professional help might be a subject for consideration. She knows this isn't something she can do all on her own with him. But right now, this small first step, this need for distance and distraction and comfort? She can help with that.
It's easy to offer those things to him. He receives them, is seemingly happy for her to be a comfort and distraction. When has she ever really experienced that from a man, ever been so welcome? The world is too full of other, and her partners suffering from the fear of missing out, or rarely of the personality that invites tenderness. But Treavor.
She thinks he might need care in a way most don't.
The tight wrap of a blanket about him as he presses back against her (and she presses closer.) The gentle trailing of her fingers through his hair. He's been given so little of these small acts of devotion, hasn't he? (And Wallace, for all that he offers to that end, can't be all things, at all times, to Treavor.)
She props her head on her hand, giving him affectionate regard as her fingertips trace down his neck. ]
I'm proud of you.
[ She lets that hang in the air on its own a moment; as infrequently as she thinks he receives comfort, she's certain it's more often than he's anything more than disappointing to others. They had that conversation, didn't they? He has been disappointing, and so there are punishments, indictments for his inability to meet expectations.)
But he isn't disappointing to her. He's trying right now, and she's certain that bottle of whiskey is an itch he can't scratch. It'll slowly eat at him. But he's trying, and that's anything but a disappointment.
All she ever asks is for the attempt. ]
I don't know what comes next, but I promise, I'll try to make it better than what you had before. The way you make my life better.