[ Did. He did want her. Does that mean he doesn't now? Anger and hurt rage through her in a violent rush, and she has to fight to contain it. Who is he to say something like that to her? If anything, he should be begging to continue having the privilege of her presence. He should want her as much as she wants him! Who cares about the Player!
For the second time tonight, there's the sensation of a wave crashing over her, washing away her mind's unhinged discord and leaving a different kind behind. How could she think such a thing about the Player? She's horrified at herself. Anything she'd wanted to say to Soundwave drifts out with the waves, leaving her in silent shock.
With her silence, every word he speaks can settle in deep and cling to her mind. He doesn't want to leave. He can't control himself. He's dependent. He's...too attached...
They...want the same things.
There's the quiet sound of shifting sand, a spray of it hitting their legs as she gives in. Her hand clamps onto one of his, gripping it tightly. She exhales shakily, almost like she's just had the best hit of a terrible vice. Maybe she has. He's so terrible for her, but he feeds her desires in the best ways.
She doesn't reply. Not yet. She needs this--to simply feel his hand, the grains of sand scratching softly against her palm every time she shifts her fingers. Though maybe...
Maybe she's wordlessly saying everything she wants to. Everything she knows she shouldn't. ]
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For the second time tonight, there's the sensation of a wave crashing over her, washing away her mind's unhinged discord and leaving a different kind behind. How could she think such a thing about the Player? She's horrified at herself. Anything she'd wanted to say to Soundwave drifts out with the waves, leaving her in silent shock.
With her silence, every word he speaks can settle in deep and cling to her mind. He doesn't want to leave. He can't control himself. He's dependent. He's...too attached...
They...want the same things.
There's the quiet sound of shifting sand, a spray of it hitting their legs as she gives in. Her hand clamps onto one of his, gripping it tightly. She exhales shakily, almost like she's just had the best hit of a terrible vice. Maybe she has. He's so terrible for her, but he feeds her desires in the best ways.
She doesn't reply. Not yet. She needs this--to simply feel his hand, the grains of sand scratching softly against her palm every time she shifts her fingers. Though maybe...
Maybe she's wordlessly saying everything she wants to. Everything she knows she shouldn't. ]