You've never been good with words. They get jumbled in your head and they come in and go out twisted. Besides, you don't know what to say. What words could make this better?
So you stay silent as you drive her home. You wouldn't dare take her to her house, even though you know the way better than the beat of your own heart. You chance a glance at her at a red light, but she stares mutely out of the window. The tears still flow heavily down her cheeks, and you can't help it as your eyes start to water and burn.
Your parents aren't home, and you lead her up quietly to your room, guiding her like a child. You sit her on your bed, still in her mash-up dress. Only then does she look at you—pleading and vulnerable, the look you're pretty sure only you have seen. You walk forward and kneel at her feet, and she's confused. You shoot her a small smile before unstrapping her shoes and tossing them aside.
She doesn't stop you when you get back up, kicking off your own heels. You go over to your computer, and with a few clicks you find the song.
Come on skinny love, just last the year
As you turn back to her, her pained confusion is almost too much for you to bear, but you keep smiling. You know it would only make it worse for her if you stopped.
Your footsteps are steady as you walk towards her. You stop short just in front of her, and you take her hand. She takes it reluctantly, and you pull her into your arms. Her head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you hold her all the more tightly.
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
You sway her to the music, the way you know how. It's all you know…Santana, and the music.
After a while you push her a little away. She's confused again, but you take one hand in yours and place your other on her waist. You grin at her, and start taking swaying steps with her, ballroom style. A hint of a smile plays on her lips, so you take it further, leading her around your room. You pull her hand up and spin her around, just like the movies. She laughs, her smile still watery, and it's more beautiful than the music. It's a start.
Who will love you? Who will fight?
As the song nears its end, you draw her closer, back into your arms. She curls into you again, and it amazes you how tiny she is. Her cheek is warm, pressed into your partially bare chest, but she's stopped crying. She hums along to the end of the song, and you sway softly.
And even after the music's finished, you stand, holding each other and swaying to the steady beat of your combined heartbeats. It's all you can do, but for now, it's enough.