( she's quiet for a little while. it's not that she doesn't want to say something back, because she very much does, but more that she's just not sure what to say. there's so much that rolls around in her head unspoken, so many words and phrases that she's bitten back, unsure about their place when spoken out loud; now that she has the opportunity to say them, it's as if they've all fallen away.
eventually, kimberly sighs, settling the cup down on the counter in order to press her palms against it, pulling herself up to sit atop it. her shirt rides up a little in the process — she realizes a little too late, and has to pull it down, an uncharacteristic flush blooming across her cheeks as she does, legs crossing surprisingly daintily at the ankles to prevent another mishap.
she likes baby. present tense and past, even, and would have felt quite a lot more had things worked out that way. he's sweet and patient and genuine in a way she's wholly unused to, yet capable and strong when given the chance to showcase it. he's the kind of boy kimberly doesn't quite think she deserves, the kind of friend she's never really had. someone who wants her for her, not just a body in their bed.
it wasn't as if he had been the only boy she had hands and eyes for — kimberly had never presented herself as innocent or exclusive or wanting anything beyond casual and consenting, and hadn't expected anything more in return — and it wasn't the loss of his physical intimacy that had hurt quite so badly. no, his breakup had touched on fears far beyond boys and being wanted, onto things like self-worth and her own capacity for being liked at all tossed in the mix.
it had been a testament to how much she'd liked him when she'd realized how scared she was of losing him altogether for someone else. clary had talked her down off that particular ledge, but kimberly had been left with the lingering feeling of unease and uncertainty, her own insecurities not yet tamed.
eventually, she lifts her gaze from her lap, letting it meet his with a soft, uncertain tug at the corners of her mouth. when she does speak, it's quiet, hesitant, the words unpracticed and rough around the edges. )
I — I am happy. With Robbie. I really like him, and I think... I think he really likes me too. ( i think is an understatement, truly, but teenage insecurities take a while to heal. ) But it's not — that's not — I don't want you to apologize.
( it's hard. to say what she wants to say, to fight that tightness in her throat that comes up when she tries to make the words string together. but she owes him that much. she owes him that much, if only out of respect. )
I'm not upset about you breaking up with me for somebody else. I mean, I am — I was — but not because... it wasn't about — ( she has to stop for a moment, to press the palm of her hand to her mouth, to swallow down that sharp taste of salt that comes up so rapidly. after a breath, she can continue. ) I was afraid.
I was afraid that you wouldn't want me at all, that we wouldn't be friends, that you wouldn't need me. If you had her. I was afraid that Clary wouldn't need me, that you and Clary had both replaced me with this other girl, this... better version of me. Prettier, more confident, smarter, better at... things.
( a self-deprecating little laugh, one that barely hides the telltale glistens of moisture pooling under her lashes. )
Nobody's ever — I've never really had friends before you guys. And I just... I was so scared, you know? That I'd be alone again. I don't want to be alone.
no subject
eventually, kimberly sighs, settling the cup down on the counter in order to press her palms against it, pulling herself up to sit atop it. her shirt rides up a little in the process — she realizes a little too late, and has to pull it down, an uncharacteristic flush blooming across her cheeks as she does, legs crossing surprisingly daintily at the ankles to prevent another mishap.
she likes baby. present tense and past, even, and would have felt quite a lot more had things worked out that way. he's sweet and patient and genuine in a way she's wholly unused to, yet capable and strong when given the chance to showcase it. he's the kind of boy kimberly doesn't quite think she deserves, the kind of friend she's never really had. someone who wants her for her, not just a body in their bed.
it wasn't as if he had been the only boy she had hands and eyes for —
kimberly had never presented herself as innocent or exclusive or wanting anything beyond casual and consenting, and hadn't expected anything more in return — and it wasn't the loss of his physical intimacy that had hurt quite so badly. no, his breakup had touched on fears far beyond boys and being wanted, onto things like self-worth and her own capacity for being liked at all tossed in the mix.
it had been a testament to how much she'd liked him when she'd realized how scared she was of losing him altogether for someone else. clary had talked her down off that particular ledge, but kimberly had been left with the lingering feeling of unease and uncertainty, her own insecurities not yet tamed.
eventually, she lifts her gaze from her lap, letting it meet his with a soft, uncertain tug at the corners of her mouth. when she does speak, it's quiet, hesitant, the words unpracticed and rough around the edges. )
I — I am happy. With Robbie. I really like him, and I think... I think he really likes me too. ( i think is an understatement, truly, but teenage insecurities take a while to heal. ) But it's not — that's not — I don't want you to apologize.
( it's hard. to say what she wants to say, to fight that tightness in her throat that comes up when she tries to make the words string together. but she owes him that much. she owes him that much, if only out of respect. )
I'm not upset about you breaking up with me for somebody else. I mean, I am — I was — but not because... it wasn't about — ( she has to stop for a moment, to press the palm of her hand to her mouth, to swallow down that sharp taste of salt that comes up so rapidly. after a breath, she can continue. ) I was afraid.
I was afraid that you wouldn't want me at all, that we wouldn't be friends, that you wouldn't need me. If you had her. I was afraid that Clary wouldn't need me, that you and Clary had both replaced me with this other girl, this... better version of me. Prettier, more confident, smarter, better at... things.
( a self-deprecating little laugh, one that barely hides the telltale glistens of moisture pooling under her lashes. )
Nobody's ever — I've never really had friends before you guys. And I just... I was so scared, you know? That I'd be alone again. I don't want to be alone.