greer galloway. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
guinegreer) wrote2024-06-09 02:07 pm
guinegreer) wrote2024-06-09 02:07 pm
inbox for saltburnt;
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
G.GALLOWAY
text ❖ audio ❖ video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
G.GALLOWAY
text ❖ audio ❖ video
no subject
She still means every word she'd written to him, every sentiment she'd texted, her jaw set with determination. It doesn't matter how much time he needs to understand it himself; she's willing to wait until he sees how right it is, for them all to be together. His death had punctured her so keenly, in part because when Ash had touched her the day of his memorial, there'd been a distinct lack in it, an absence she couldn't successfully ignore. Only days later, wallowing in her own grief, had she realized: she hadn't felt as whole as she had that night in the piano bar with both of their hands on her.
The crumbling structure, out here in the forest, must have been a chapel once; now, it sits abandoned, lost to the elements, but still partially standing, shafts of sunlight spilling in through the cover of greenery overhead. She's standing in a golden patch of warmth when she hears the sound of leaves crunching beneath someone's steps, and turns — Embry looks like something out of a dream, coming towards her, walking down the rows of moss-covered benches, and she almost can't find her breath at the sight of him.
Even now, after all that's happened between them, her heart lifts with hope. ]
Took you long enough. [ But the words have no bite, no malice; her eyes are already welling, although her chin doesn't so much as threaten to wobble. ]
I hated you for it a little, I think. I wanted to make you pay, over and over, for every kiss, every touch, every — [ Every time you were inside me, she almost says, and then bites it back, because she's certain he knows what she's referencing without her needing to finish that thought aloud. ] I still do, sometimes.
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[ it could take another five empty years. his smile fades as he's punctured by the reality of what he's done, of what he's always done with the both of them. he's chosen to be a ghost in his own life, to walk away from the things he wants most, and neither of them know why. some days he can barely admit the why to himself, because it fucking infuriates him. it nearly topples him, some days, with grief. ]
You have to know... [ he swallows, his heart doing that skittish horse thing that it always does when he gets too close to the truth. ] I was going to come back to you that morning. I went to meet Ash for breakfast, to tell him all about you. And then I was coming back.
[ and that's where it went wrong. with ash. always ash, because that's where everything has always gone wrong. if he'd never met ash... who is he kidding? if he'd never met ash he'd be half a person, or he'd be long dead in some shitty valley in carpathia, his mother served some bullshit story of his heroism in the war when the reality of it was that embry moore would've died recklessly and violently and for nothing. ]
Ash knew you. And I knew he knew some girl he was obsessed with that he told me about back when we were in Carpathia, and I knew you were crying over some guy you were in love with, but I didn't know — [ he inhales sharply, a mirthless laugh tumbling out as he meets her eyes. ] I didn't know it was Ash Colchester and Greer Galloway. I never said a word about you. He brought you up from the party. He was a wreck from seeing you. He's probably told you all this by now, but the part I never told either of you was that I —
[ isn't telling the truth supposed to make you feel better? he feels worse and worse the more he talks, a blade wedging deeper and deeper between his ribs. heat prickles at the corners of his eyes, angry and sorrowful, and he's never hated himself more while he stands before greer right now. he wishes he could redo that moment, only he knows he doesn't deserve that chance either, because he wouldn't trust himself to go back and make anything right. he'd just fuck it up even more. ]
I never told him anything. I never said your name to him. I never told him that being with you was the first chance at happiness I'd felt in a long time. Instead, I let you go. I let you go for him, and I know it was a shitty thing to do not to text or call or send a goddamn smoke signal, but I did it anyway. I didn't want him to find out that I fucked you first, that I took your virginity, because I could see how much he fucking loved you, Greer. And even though a part of me wanted to hurt him so fucking badly for going off and marrying Jenny... I couldn't. Because I loved him, too. And the thing with Ash that I hate the most is that he'll give up anything for the people he loves, so it falls on me to have to say no. And I'm not saying I made the right or fair decision to you, but I had to say no. I'm sorry, Greer. I wish I could take back the way I hurt you. I meant it when I said I wanted you with me for the rest of my life. I know you belong to Ash, but I still wish it was you and me.
no subject
The mood shifts, however, when he starts to tell her about that morning — the one they've always danced around talking about, the one they've only been willing to revisit in so many words when they've actually spoken about it at all. In the moment, understanding instantly clicks into place for her, leads her to a new perception of the past. It's as if she's been walking through life with blinders on about the truth, and every word Embry utters makes the scales dissolve from her eyes, little by little.
Because he's right — Ash never would have been the one to choose, so Embry would have taken it upon himself to make the impossible decision, to give up the possibility of what they could have had to avoid breaking Ash's heart too. Surely now, Greer thinks, he's begun to suspect the truth about what happened between her and Embry after the party, but back then, learning that she'd given her virginity to someone else might have broken them to a degree they never would have been able to recover from, shattered what love yet remained between them beyond repair.
Greer doesn't say anything at all, for a while; instead, she just lets Embry talk, and talk, and talk, because now that the floodgates have opened it's all pouring out of him, the brutal truth, and as difficult as it may be for her to hear it now, it also crystallizes her understanding of everything. This regret has been the reason they haven't been able to move forward; this pain has been holding them in place, preventing them from the only future that makes sense. Her cards have already been played, laid out on the table since Embry rose from the dead and drew his first renewed breath, and she doesn't stand before him with an imperious lift of her chin, but she comes damn near close to demanding to see him on his knees. ]
I don't just belong to Ash. You know that. He knows that. [ He had to have known it, at the funeral, the way she'd cried on him, his hushed admission against her hair about his heart broken alongside hers. He had to have seen it, with how she'd draped herself over Embry's lap in the piano bar, surrendered herself into the cupping of their hands, the circling of their fingers around the cross of her ankles. ] I might have been saving myself for him, but he broke my heart that night. And I didn't give myself to you just to spite him, either. I gave myself to you because that choice was mine to give, and because I already loved you even if I didn't fully have the words for it yet.
[ Suddenly, she's closer, stepping down from the dais where the altar sits, standing with him along the crumbling pews, and she reaches out to take both of his hands in hers, glancing down at them. ] Even now, I... I miss you, even with you right here in front of me. You hurt me before, and you could hurt me again, but you'd hurt me most by leaving. [ Her gaze lifts to his, glassy with tears. ] Don't say no again, Embry. If you can't say yes yet, I'll understand, but... don't say no.
no subject
Greer. Jesus fuck.
[ those words hit him like a gunshot, wounding an already tattered heart, entirely unfortified after stripping himself of the lies he’s carried since walking away from ash’s breakfast table that dismal chicago morning. it’s not that he thinks she’s lying. it’s just that — there’s no universe in which embry believes that he deserves greer galloway’s love so readily, even if he was similarly prepared to spend the rest of his life at her side after a single magical night of shared sex and tears.
how could he deny her anything after denying her everything for so long, and so unfairly — and denying himself, year after miserable year? his throat tightens at the sight of of her silvery gaze limned with tears, his own eyes hot and prickly, and for one brief, aching moment, he thinks he might actually love her more than he hates himself. ]
I don’t know what the two of you think I’m supposed to say yes to.
[ it feels like they’re leagues ahead of him sometimes, so much freer in their wants and needs than embry could ever be despite all his hedonistic tendencies and empty indulgences. he’ll fuck an entire town but he’ll never wear ash’s ring. he’ll never admit to wanting to be greer’s as much as he wants to be ash’s. every pleasure he partakes in has to have the caveat of holding as little meaning as possible, except for when ash fucks it up and lays greer across his lap and gives him orders because he knows the exact measure of embry’s willpower and all the places in which he can break it. ]
I know how the three of us being together felt. [ he leans his forehead against hers, their hands still tightly clasped. for a moment, he allows himself to imagine it. their fucked up little fantasy life, a triad of romance and suffering and unbearable beauty. then he forces the dream to dissipate, just like five years ago, and just like all the times he’s done with ash. ] But I could never be public with Ash because it would destroy everything we’ve worked for. It would ruin his career. I don’t care what he says. I’m not coming out for him, not because I give a fuck about what people think about where my dick’s been, but because there’s no sacrifice too big for Ash. What he’s doing is too important. It’s bigger than us.
[ he breathes out softly, unable to stop himself from gently seeking out her lips. here, everything feels like it’s cocooned in a hazy secret — all his confessions, all his pain, and all his love. he’s never been a fan of chapels, and recently he’s learned to like them even less, but something about this one, beautiful in its dilapidated ruin, offers him a chance at absolution. ]
I don’t know what’s worse. [ he kisses her like he’s wanted to for years, not with the desperate, fiery passion that helplessly controls his every move, but with a private longing he’s harbored for too long now, slowly aching. ] The president fucking his vice president, or — this. Wanting two people at once… and having them both.
no subject
But he’d sought her out not wholly on his own behalf, but Ash’s — an act of fealty for their President, for his brother-in-arms, for the love of her life — and she’d had no way of knowing, then, that it was eating him up inside, too. That the gut punch of being in the same room, relying on the same air, would hit even harder as soon as they were close enough to breathe each other in. ]
I know that what I’m asking for is selfish. I know it is.
[ And maybe she’s the most selfish out of all of them — a greedy little whore who can’t be content with only one man when she can cling to two instead, who can’t be satisfied with only one set of hands on her. No one has to leverage the insults at her when it won’t even come close to what she’s harbored about herself, laying in bed at night, turning the events of the piano bar over and over in her mind — but beyond the self-censure and judgment and shame, the only sentiment that had burned through had been a yearning for more.
Embry’s hands are strong in hers, and Greer clutches onto them tightly, squeezing like they’re standing at the altar readying themselves to say a wholly different kind of vow. He kisses her, and she sobs a little into his mouth; somehow, her cheeks are already damp from the tears that have silently been streaming down her face. Of course she understands why Embry has to be the one to make the sacrifice for them, when Ash never will, but it makes her hate the responsibilities of the highest office that much more, makes her wish they were anyone other than the President and the Vice President and Leo Galloway’s granddaughter — that it could be different, and beautiful, and painful, and perfect. ]
I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that. [ That anything between them could be worse than not having it at all, she means, and she can taste the salt of her own tears in their kisses, returning each one he gives her with equal tenderness. ] But if you can’t say yes to forever, then say yes to right now. [ A pause, as she draws in a shaky breath, whispering across his mouth, lashes dark and wet. ] I need you inside me again. Please.