She holds him in her arms and tried to think of home. With all her might she tries to feel like she belongs and this is where she’s meant to be. As his warmth curls around her and dives into her skin, her heart seems to shrink into itself as if to get away. His lips like worms gently trace the skin on her neck and she tries to love him for him.
But when he tells her he loves her, there are no butterflies. There are only moths swarming and trying to come out of her throat and she cannot say it back. He tells her to take her time, it’s okay that she’s not ready. So she tries to swallow the revulsion and unhinges her arms from around him.
So tightly she holds onto to the way he looks at her, the way he can talk so softly and so fervidly. She’s never been held in such high regards as he puts her and she wants nothing more than to reciprocate his heart, but it tastes like muck in her mouth. He coats her with things she cannot feel towards him and she knows he deserves so much more. She also knows that she is selfish and ugly for pretending the way she does.
But maybe one day she’ll see him for a prince, and maybe one day he’ll get her skin to ignite and her heart to pound. And until then she swallows the moths and tries to breathe when he sleeps next to her.
Because she will never loose her compulsion for selfishness.