[Violence is the one thing he won't be getting from her tonight -- even knowing he likes it, even knowing he can take it. There's too much fear and shame for her to dish it out like she normally does. Rough tugs on his hair and gentle scratches are about all she's capable of with Chekov's ghost still haunting the back of her mind.
Her eyes water as she gets closer and closer to the edge...both a physiological response and a return of tears, neither of which she notices. She tightens her grip around him, almost clinging.
And then stiffens with a choked gasp as she tips over the edge.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
Her eyes water as she gets closer and closer to the edge...both a physiological response and a return of tears, neither of which she notices. She tightens her grip around him, almost clinging.
And then stiffens with a choked gasp as she tips over the edge.]