helpless in your arms like i was helpless to a fear
» hammock ; i can almost see you
(this track… omg.)
» headstrong ft. shelley harland ; helpless (acoustic chillout mix)
sometimes i feel like i can’t take it any more, sometimes i feel helpless; sometimes when i’m dreaming i just can’t escape the fear, it always seems to find me; i run where i can hide & i can’t recognise the ghost, something lost inside me.
» polly scattergood ; ghostgirl lovesick
lovesick, a broken mess; lovesick, love me any less. kiss my kisses away.
» peter broderick ; below it
in the sound of screaming girls, in the sight of black black black; in the sight of red red red, red blood. below, below it, beneath, beneath it.
» pilate ; fall down
i’m underneath your wheels tonight, was underneath your heel tonight, this truth has brought us to our knees. we’d rip the night wide open, t’was the morning that we feared.
» deas vail ; this place is painted red
give me back my life i am so weary, i am barely breathing; i want to be held again while the walls are falling down cos i forget what it was like before you were asleep there underground; we were so lost.
» ben howard ; the fire
i’ll make your bones shake, the sweat we take from hearts still battered and worn. be my shelter and i’ll be your storm & we’ll show the fire how to burn.
» owl city ; hospital flowers
i survived a dreadful accident in the car crash of the century. my shattered hopes collapsed on cold cement, a high-speed collision gave a new sense of sight to me. now my vision can render the scene a blurry image of wreckage and roadside debris; happiness returned to me.
“This doesn’t change what you did. Or how I feel about it.” Michelle’s words come out sharply despite the obvious agony that it takes to speak. She shifts her gaze elsewhere, across the small room and out the window. Anywhere but on Naomi. She can’t look at her even now, not like this. Not after everything that’s happened, and how she must appear right now. If Naomi’s any indication of the severity of the accident with that battered face, she herself must look a right state. Probably like some sort of Frankenstein monster. Or worse. She can’t bear the thought. With an aching, tired hand, she tentatively touches the her own cheek, finding it rough with healing scabs. Her fingertips skim along an awkwardly attached bandage near her temple and she winces, not so much from literal pain of the action, but the thought of what lies beneath and how the marks may never fade. Instinctively, her hand snaps down to her neck and shoulder, prodding and finding the imaginary tenderness of Naomi’s last lovebite. The sensation imbued with a surge of relief she feels at the familiarity throws her off-guard and she sucks in a deep breath to wipe clean the tactile memory.
Naomi hasn’t said a word in response. It’s odd. Usually the blonde babbles some half-arsed excuse when cornered, cranking up the justifications to maximum bollocks. But now she’s silently accepting the words and Michelle, for once, longs for the incoherent excuses. The building tension coils tightly around them, both crushing already delicate bodies and ripping, tearing them further apart. She turns her head again, willing the incessant beeping of the monitors to just shut the fuck up for a moment so she can get her thoughts together. When she accidentally glances up at the younger girl, she finds ugliness. Disgusting black and purple bruises marring the entire side of what was once a porcelain face. It’s slightly swollen, inflammed red around the edges, just like everything else in their lives at the moment. Ugly. And it’s then that she swallows hard against the choking sensation in her throat. Naomi’s still staring at her, blue eyes crystal clear and focussed, wavering only momentarily at the flickers of fear and regret under her skin. It wasn’t Naomi that had crashed the car; it had been her, in carelessness, in rage. She could have swerved better, stayed in control. The lorry was reckless and caught her by surprise, yet she can’t help feeling a creeping, pervasive guilt about the situation. As she stares straight back at Naomi, she reckons it may have been a little bit intentional. She hadn’t meant to lose control, at least not consciously. But somewhere else, in that dark, nasty place that she sees drawn to the surface in black bruises, she thinks maybe it was on purpose. Broken heart, broken body, broken spirit. On the outside now as well as within.
But it’s not broken, not Naomi’s spirit, because for the last 10 minutes the blonde has not faltered once in her attention. She’s been sat, silent, patiently waiting and watching. And the part that tugs at Michelle in a place she thought was dead and shrivelled, the thing that makes her pulse quicken and that fucking pulse monitor speed up, is that Naomi hasn’t changed. Despite the scars and blood on her face, and despite what Michelle had done to her, Naomi’s still gazing at her the same way as she had done years ago in the golden glow of her bedroom during that infamous Bristol excursion. Michelle winces, feeling heat build behind her eyes and purses her lips closed, fighting against what all that means. How is she supposed to continue this? Naomi must sense the impending torrent because she reaches out, runs her fingers along Michelle’s wrist, careful not to disturb the IV tubes and lightly grasps her hand, releasing a shuddering breath. Then she feels those arms; against her will, the bitterness fades.