— sometimes, it’s not like she doesn’t have a good damn reason for it.”

she’s practically bleeding out. her mouth opens and closes a couple times before she settles, gaze fixated on the dice in eddie’s hand instead of his face.

“…i mean, seriously, you haven’t been away /that/ long.”

— face scrunches with a severe frown, throwing a hand up over one of her folded arms.

“stuck up? /come on/, eddie, i would’ve thought you’d know better by now. after everything. nancy’s probably the smartest, /strongest/ one here out of all of us, and if she comes off as uptight or even rude —

and heaven knows i'm miserable now.

www.tumblr.com/rocknrbin/80...

— throat.

“don’t be ridiculous. comparing /my/ tastes to /steve’s/ is an insult in itself.” sorry, nance.

— but there’s something startling in being /seen/, and she leans back with her arms crossed, guarded.

eddie…doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that cares. /hell/, if he doesn’t have a /vibe/, then robin needs to get her eyes checked. but the denial is instinctual, the taste of hot iron in her —

— /dead/, except…well.

— pretty calm for a while. kind of, disturbingly calm, right? i think el- er, jane, really scared him shitless this time. almost scared /me/, too. but…there’s a feeling, isn’t there? like an itch you can’t scratch.”

like nothing is ever really over. just like no one ever really seems to be —

— and sure, it’s not robin’s /ideal/ way of spending her night, but…what the hell else would she be doing?

it’s just. the /quiet/ is killing her.

finally, she clears her throat and glances at nancy under her lashes, tangling her fingers in the fraying threads of her jeans. “so…it’s all been —

— she looks at it for too long.

no, it’s nancy shotgun-wielding wheeler settled stone-faced across from her, ready to take on whatever evil dares to tear itself into their side of the world. like she has been for weeks.

and day after day, nothing. not since their last . . . trip. —

— loud, whistling in and out of her nose. the tap of fingers on a denim-covered knee is a metronome no one can follow.

and between all that, still, /silence/. the kind that has her blood rushing in her ears like a distant, running vehicle.

it’s not even the portal that unnerves her. only if —

the woods are quiet.

well, actually, they’re alive at a normal volume for the time of night. crickets and cicadas both screech in the distance, the occasional flutter of sparrow’s wings overhead or an owl’s hoot from its sentinel perch above.

but robin feels like her own breath is overwhelmingly —

( psd by creationcolor. )