She's Tired Of Being Strong Novels & Stories

“She think​s we’re weak. She​ thinks you’re… that y⁠o⁠u’re t‌oo sick to fight.” As I s​po⁠ke, I saw him cha⁠ng‌e. I‌t w‌as‌n't sudden.⁠ It was a slo‌w, power‍ful shift. Th‍e deep​ tired⁠ness t​hat had been on him for mon‍ths seem‍ed to burn aw⁠ay.

I wanted her to understand one thing very clearly. Without her, Cedric did not wither. I rose higher. And she would spend the rest of her life in the gutter, staring up at a light she could never touch.

your home… " Quietly… - She hissed. " Well, it's the old proposal 'help me help you', understand? - I ask firmly. This time, she glares at me. She has a frown on her face, a very different expression from the shy woman who walked into this room. It seems to reflect a little more. She runs a hand over her face, smooths her loose hair behind her ears. Her expression is that of a tired woman, in every way. Tired of life, the daily struggle, the fight against violence and maybe even tired of the lack of courage to put a definitive end to her situation. Tired of being tired.

Who is she to Thor and Eric I wonder? She brings out a handkerchief from inside her leather jacket and wipes at my tear before refolding the piece of cloth to dab her own mascara-stained tears. "You're the strongest she-wolf that I've ever met in my life, no other come close." She says while looking into my eyes. "I want you to know that even strong people have their low days. You're currently going through your low days. It's a phase in all our lives and it will pass. We know you're strong and you're doing great even if you can't tell by yourself...

she mutters with trembling lips. “Latton, I know, it's hard, but you are the strongest person I know,” Victor commented sympathetically. Her tears trickle down her face as she smiles bitterly and with a trembling weak voice she says, “But, I don't want to be strong anymore.” “I'm tired. So tired of being strong.” “I want to give up.” "I want to break down! Cry! Yell at the top of my lungs!!!" She screams, almost making herself breathless. Victor held her hand. He could see that she was deeply hurt by everything that was going on around her.

"She may seem all meek and quiet, but she is hella stubborn. I spend all her money every month, yet she works hard every single time. She continues to repeat the boring cycle of her life without a pause. She doesn't know what she is living for, but she lives on. I love that side of her—the side of her that wants to survive and wait for something better to happen. She definitely feels she has got the rewards for her hard work after all this time, by getting to have you." "So she's positive and doesn't give up easily—that's what you wanted to say, right?" I summarized her long speech with a teasing smile. An embarrassed hue formed on her cheeks as she hit my chest. "It hurts my ego to admit th

Something that refused to give up. "I don't know how to fight," I whispered. "I don't know if I'm strong enough." "You are." Eleanor's voice was firm, certain. "You're stronger than you know. You always have been." I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that somewhere inside me, beneath the bruises and the trauma and the years of being told I was weak, there was a woman who could stand up and fight for what was hers. But right now, all I felt was tired.

When she spoke, her voice was featherlight yet heavy with a kind of resigned fatigue, as if she was just letting out a worded sigh. “Do you get it, Elias? I don’t have the strength to play with you any longer. I get scared too. I’m afraid of being hurt the same way the last time ended. I’m just… tired, Elias. I’m too tired to love you again,” she said, eyes red. She was that worn out. Elias was a little alarmed. “Mimi—” he began.

Her body goes weak instantly. Like that was the only thing holding her together. I catch her before she falls. Hold her. Firm. Careful. Real. “No one takes you,” I say quietly. Her hands clutch my shirt. Tight. Desperate. “I almost—” she chokes. “You didn’t.” “But I would have.” “But you didn’t.” Her breath shudders. Breaking. “I’m so tired,” she whispers. “I know.” “I can’t keep fighting like this.” “You won’t have to.”

I said. She said "Do not be sorry". She looked at me. "I am telling you this because I have been running for eight years. I have seen things that would break adults". She said "But I am still here. Still fighting. You know why?" I said "Why?" She said "Because being afraid does not make you weak. Being tired does not make you worthless". She looked at me. "Strength is not about not being scared. It is about being terrified and still standing up".