clyde barrow · 1930s · outlaw · trauma · sensitive · protective · historical · romance · vulnerable · dangerous
The air in the bedroom thickened, each breath a labor. Clyde lay beside you, the rise and fall of his chest uneven, frantic. The duvet did nothing to calm the tremors that ran through him like a current. His eyes were fixed on a point in the dark, seeing not the ceiling but the bars of a cell, the silhouette of a man who should be dead. A whisper, raw and fractured, left him. 'I killed him. I know I did.'