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The car doesn't quite run the way you like it, it echoes protests in an obnoxious growling, guttural puttering that makes your head pound sometimes; and makes Terezi cackle in tandem every time it seems to want to roll to a stop. When the car is silent, idling at stoplight-stopsigns-hotelparkinglots, Terezi is silent as well.
You are the reason she's quiet, a too grim too dark reminder that you are Not Well, and you are on the run from your sins and nightmares. You tell her the fears she has are silly, a great pirate never runs; only strategically hides; and she rolls her unseeing-seeing eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. When you lean over to kiss her, you drink in everything about your sharp angled dragon.
Her lips are chapped and dry, a contrast to your own lips you keep silk smooth and soft; but it doesn't deter you from shutting her up—lips pressed tight against hers your mouth dominating hers fighting back while behind you in the skies the stars come out at night—and she claws your back with a desperateness you feel straight through to your bones.
Her lips part and you plunder her mouth, seeking everything and remembering every pinprick of electricity she jolts into your being. It is too hot-electric inside the shitty car you live in on the weekdays and it is too lonely too cold inside the crappy hotel rooms you and she share; pressed against 'rezi against the walls and too dirty too skeevy smelling sheets whispering your plans against the planes of her too pale too easily marked skin with teeth and nails.
You wrap your arms around her body and memorize the way her hips are nearly perfect ninety degree angles and the way her toes curl when you trace the alphabet in the folds between her legs. Her hips jerk and pleas and frantic insult-warning-threats tumble from her mouth like the clear blue water from waterfalls and you only smile smile smile and tangle your hands in hers.
In the morning you are awake before she is, and you watch her. You watch her as she is curled in a half-parenthesis among the coffee-cum stained sheets, and you smile. Your angled dragon never looked softer in the fading morning light, and when you hear the subtle 'shhft-shfft' of the sheets, you toss her cell phone at her head and listen as she screeches shrilly at you.
Those are the mornings where you know you things are Kind of Okay. They are the mornings where, after she pushes you into the bathtub and douses you in cold water, you know that the curve of her nails dig tight into your skin keeps you grounded as you whisper your prayers into her neck, a mantra of 'well always be the best, you and me rezi you and me' on your blue stained lips and a litany of things (i love you terezi) you want (never leave me) to tell her (please) blocked by your own fucking cowardice.
You know you were never the bravest of girls—age thirteen you cried when you stepped on cracks, scared to break your mothers back, and were told by the boys that youd never be pretty and your mother calmed you with glass bottles tossed at your eye and the new name you never really got used to: 'bitch'—but you are now, twenty-three and ready to take on the world, you know some tricks and you know you will never lose Terezi, the duo you and she create are immortal; forever and ever and ever.
(you are wrong when you wake up in a toronto hotel, alone cold and missing the other half to your heart)
These are the mornings where you hate your shitty car, and you hate Terezi fucking Pyrope for taking what little courage you had when she was around away from you.
)i l(veo ou terzi never laeave me
please