[ Her expression, looking at him, is not one which crosses her face often, not quite so far as pity, but sadness. She would hate to have no sense of herself, to have it damaged or warped. It is the worst fate she can possibly imagine and one of her few points of empathy, whatever good that does her. ]
I want you to pay attention to me.
[ Some may call it a juvenile desire, but Carla knows that everyone feels it, they just learn not to say it. They put aside their selfishness in some misguided idea that martyring their desires makes them mature, respectable. She thinks her honesty is the better tact. ]
From underneath all your sad, tattered thoughts. I want you to see me. If you don't want to sleep with me, my heart isn't broken, but I want to see what you're hiding in that corpse.
[ So maybe she's after his soul after all. To have something intangible and secret of his. Flattering, in its way, she wouldn't bother if she didn't think there was something of worth to him. His unyielding devotion is cowardly and cruel and admirable, his self-flagellation assuredly pathetic and inspiring. She likes things which fill her with complex, contradictory thoughts. They were the ones worth looking at. People and things not quite the standard. ]
And that bothers you. To not be needed, but wanted. It takes away the easy rules of duty.
[ Her gaze is piercing. She has been told in the past that her pointed honesty, her intensity, makes others uncomfortable. She doesn't care. She won't change herself for the comfort of others. Comfort was overrated, nothing worth truly having came easily. She needed challenge. Perhaps that was insulting, and made others feel played with, but she found those reaction unnecessary. They should be flattered she took the time.
She is a selfish and short-sighted woman. ]
I want to see what else there is.
[ And so, perhaps, he should have disbelieved her less when she said she was looking out for him. Not out of concern, and from all he's said that should be of comfort to him. And for all of her selfish ways, what she is truly proposing is to share. ]
no subject
I want you to pay attention to me.
[ Some may call it a juvenile desire, but Carla knows that everyone feels it, they just learn not to say it. They put aside their selfishness in some misguided idea that martyring their desires makes them mature, respectable. She thinks her honesty is the better tact. ]
From underneath all your sad, tattered thoughts. I want you to see me. If you don't want to sleep with me, my heart isn't broken, but I want to see what you're hiding in that corpse.
[ So maybe she's after his soul after all. To have something intangible and secret of his. Flattering, in its way, she wouldn't bother if she didn't think there was something of worth to him. His unyielding devotion is cowardly and cruel and admirable, his self-flagellation assuredly pathetic and inspiring. She likes things which fill her with complex, contradictory thoughts. They were the ones worth looking at. People and things not quite the standard. ]
And that bothers you. To not be needed, but wanted. It takes away the easy rules of duty.
[ Her gaze is piercing. She has been told in the past that her pointed honesty, her intensity, makes others uncomfortable. She doesn't care. She won't change herself for the comfort of others. Comfort was overrated, nothing worth truly having came easily. She needed challenge. Perhaps that was insulting, and made others feel played with, but she found those reaction unnecessary. They should be flattered she took the time.
She is a selfish and short-sighted woman. ]
I want to see what else there is.
[ And so, perhaps, he should have disbelieved her less when she said she was looking out for him. Not out of concern, and from all he's said that should be of comfort to him. And for all of her selfish ways, what she is truly proposing is to share. ]