and father had had such hopes;

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

Her skin burns with anger as much as the glare of the sun, spreading heat everywhere, everywhere, a flood of it that has her limbs weak and her brain in disaster mode, this is why it’s useless to help the fucking flower pickers, why the Solterrans are always so far removed. Kicking up sand with delicate hooves, frustration shows in every line of muscle, every extended stride. She shouldn’t have talked to him in the first place. Too-nice Bexley, she thinks, amused and exasperated, like that’s ever crossed her mind before.

His laugh grates at every nerve in her body; ears pinned flat against her head, she turns only far enough to snarl out a Yes, flower picker, before straightening and continuing on her own path. No part of her regrets jumping on him, insulting him leaving him behind. He deserves it - stupid, know-nothing boy. Bexley is not a gray-area girl. Either she likes him enough to keep him alive, or she doesn’t, and she doesn’t. Let his bones and his blood stain the sand. She’ll come visit the nameless grave, say goodnight to it, take Maxence here to show him don’t worry about these damn flower-pickers, they’re not hard to kill, because she’s sure they aren’t.

Blood throbs in each vein, lets her know she is still alive. And still violent. And still wild. It’s been a long time since she has been genuinely upset like this, but now that it’s happened, it’s so easy to remember, to fall back into, to be in love with, like a second skin. The sun blisters overhead. Bexley inhales, a deep, gritty breath that scratches deep into her lungs, listens to the incessant pulsing of her heart, thump-thump, thump-thump, bragging that she’s worth more now than he ever will be, that the desert loves her, that Solis is watching, is-he-not-always?

You sure as fuck will, Bex snaps as he offers to take himself home, finally spinning on her heels to meet him face to face, the disgust coming off of her in bristles, in sparks. Her eyes glow their deep blue, their violent cunning. Listen, baby, if you’re looking for someone to inflate your ego, you’re even dumber than you look - and that’s saying something - for coming here. She steps so close that her exhales could ghost over his skin, so close that every bared tooth is visible, a flame personified. Underneath those auburn lashes is something so violent it could turn on itself, even - Bexley would be frightened had she seen it herself. I’m not mean for talking back, or for finishing something you started, you’re just used to getting coddled, and no one here is going to give that to you. The sooner you learn that, the better. And out of the goodness of my heart, I’m going to give you one more little piece of advice, even though I don’t really care if you follow it: do not come back here, because if you do, my friends and I will fucking rip you apart. 

Bexley leans away. Her breathing is even, eyes calmed instantly from the tempest. With a skip back she flashes him a sweet, girlish smile, sings out, Have a great summer! - and, hips swaying, turns away to disappear.

@charlemagne 

love, space