Battlefields
They fight a lot. Of course they do. It's them after all, trying to make a normal relationship work. It's them, with all their secrets, scars and suffering. It's them, in all their glorious stubbornness, their tumultuous pasts and terrifying present. Two people guarded, walled and tortured trying to live a normal life, the fog of lies that follows them every where they go, the mountain of guilt weighs them down day after day. Their love alone should help them survive.
But they fight a lot. They shout and scream and yell. They throw dishes and hair dryers and phones. They slam doors and cupboards and drawers. Like most couples, they fight.
But they always wake up the next morning, wrapped up in each other's arms, sweaty limbs tangled in crumpled sheets.
They do fight a lot. But they don't always shout, scream or yell. They don't always throw dishes, hairdryers or phones. They don't always slam doors, cupboards or drawers.
Sometimes they fight but do not say a word. Silently, Kate would walk past him, her eyes dark, bloodshot and piercing. Calmly, she would make her away upstairs, leaving him standing stiff in his place, jaw clenched, hands on his waist and the vein in his neck throbbing madly. She will wait until she is at the top of the stairs to let out her shaky breath, woven with a sob, and shut her eyes tight for a moment, fighting off the tears.
He won't turn around and watch her ascend the stairs. He holds his stance, a soldier on the battlefield, until he can't hear her footsteps against the cowering wooden steps. He drops his hands, surrenders them against his sides, his head follows, dropping against his chest with tired grunt.
He grabs the spare pillow and blanket and lies on the couch downstairs. It's silent. Eerily silent. Nothing scares him most than these nights. Nights when her silence is so loud, deafening, creeping through the crack of the door upstairs, spreading through the house, in every corner of every room. It's in every breath he takes; in every ticking second he cannot fall asleep.
He is pretty sure the whole street can hear it.
It's then that he knows he's fucked up horribly this time.
It's then that he knows just how fragile this strong, stubborn woman can be.
It's then hat he knows just much damage he can do to her. That this pain that he inflicts overshadows all that which she has known in her life.
They don't apologize like other couples do. Of course they don't. There's never any flowers, never any chocolate.
On the island, Jack gave her guava seeds.
END.
AN: hello everyone! I really want to apologize for the lack of any updates for the past few months. I've been going through a rough patch lately and I haven't had it in me to write much. I'd really appreciate if you let me know if you're still interested in any of my other fics. I'd really appreciate your support and your interest will definitely be a push to me to writing again. Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed this little drabble.