[ She puts the knife to his throat. He does not flinch, but what he does instead is worse: the confusion is wiped from his face, and in its place is a profound exhaustion. He quiets like a man expecting a kiss or a firing squad. He settles into perfect stillness with saltwater still rushing in around his ankles.
Beneath his voice, against her knife, he murmurs: ]
No.
[ Get it? No one? Just him, then; it's always just him. He has always been the one playing every part.
John blows out a breath that makes his throat move against the knife. He shuts his eyes. He shifts back slowly to his knees, hands down and her knife still to his skin, and he settles on: ]
I really thought it'd be worth it.
[ The wreckage on this beach can tell her how far that got him. ]
no subject
Beneath his voice, against her knife, he murmurs: ]
No.
[ Get it? No one? Just him, then; it's always just him. He has always been the one playing every part.
John blows out a breath that makes his throat move against the knife. He shuts his eyes. He shifts back slowly to his knees, hands down and her knife still to his skin, and he settles on: ]
I really thought it'd be worth it.
[ The wreckage on this beach can tell her how far that got him. ]