Vicky | twentyfour | SW England

I followed far too many simblrs on my personal blog and wanted to join in, so here we are.
I'm too old to be here.

I post Sims 3 only. And I'm working on some CC for it.

I follow most Simblrs back. WCIF questions are welcome, i can't promise I'll be able to find everything.

I try to keep my posting sims related, but i fail sometimes.
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Aysi Pratch

He’s on the face of all the demons in my dreams

I don’t know what my tiny mind expected when he asked me to stand, but I obliged anyway. With a shaking body and feet not feeling like my own I stood up. Despite everything I’ve faced, lifting my eyes to face Roman still plagues my sleep; he’s on the face of all the demons in my dreams.

He is the only one looking right at me while all the others avoid my gaze. His eyes are the same colour as mine, the tilt of his jar reminds me of my own and pull between his brows.

'S-s-she’s dead. Olivia died yesterday.' I stood there watching his reaction, twisting my hands together and feeling the weight of air pressing in around me. My words seem to mean nothing to him. I feel my eyes begin to burn with frustrated tears, the group before me seems to blur into one over whelming force. I'm not used to being the centre of attention.

'My mum died! And no one care' I swallow hard, trying to keep back the building tears. 'She is still upstairs in our room. A-a-and I can't move her on my own'

'Your room?' My breath hitches in my throat as Roman runs his tongue across his chapped lips.

'Huh, well yes' A smile pulls at his lips when I answer; I feel the mood in the room shift.

The rough wood bite into my knees and hands, fragments of woods splitting the skin and burring themselves in my flesh. As the woman, standing behind Roman shrill laugh rang about my ears in the cold hallway I couldn’t help but worry how I would get the splinters out, Mom had always helped me; sat me down held a warm cloth to my skin before gently plucking the slivers from my skin. Could I do that myself?

I leant back on my hunches peeking through my lashes up at him, hoping for some sudden wash of remorse to cross his deadened features, or to brace myself for the next incoming blow. But there was no sign. Yet I still had to resist the urge to leap to my feet throw my arms around his leg to try and pour some of my feelings and emotion into him.

The laugh from the woman was cut short. I shot a furtive glance her way, my nativity hoping she’d pick me up and coddle me like my mother used to, like I thought all women would do. But Roman had left a red welt across her cheek running into a split through her bottom and top lip. Her eyes darted to mine then across the faces avoiding her glance, before returning to mine. I felt a shiver run down my spine from the look that settled on me, any semblance of her coddling me vanishing.

'Stand up'