Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb owns all the characters and has been doing a pretty good job of tormenting them herself.
Credit to QuestionablyInsane for giving this the once over for me, thank you!
Reviews are always welcome, please tell me what you think, thanks!
After the tensions, the strains, and the anger of the past few weeks, they had arrived at a comfortable and almost peaceful reprieve. Eddi wasn't naïve enough to think that it would last. She'd said it twice now and meant it: Luc Hemmingway was toxic, ("this is toxic") more so than any drug. People always talked about intoxication in relationship as a something to relish, it had connotations of lust and and heady passions that swept you up and consumed you. For them their toxicity was in their interactions in the things they said, their actions and resulting consequences. They constantly crashed against each other like tidal waves, eroding away at each other piece by piece. Endlessly provoking and challenging one another, sarcastic and unrelenting to the bitter end. Certainly it had worn her down to a single fragment of rock; there was no doubt about that.
She shifted slightly, curled in up in the fetal position, and snuggled her nose into the pillow. She was supposed to be sleeping. Whilst she felt relaxed, likely due to the second dose of Comoxodin that Luc had dutifully administered into the palm of her hand, she couldn't quite close her eyes and let the warm blanket of unconsciousness take her. For now, she was just content in observing her surroundings. Outside the wind had gotten up, it hushed through the trees with firm but not undue force, occasionally taking the van with it rocking it like a cradle. If she didn't concentrate too hard, it almost could be the sound of the sea, whispering on the shore, ebbing and flowing. One movement repeated endlessly: a cycle that could not be broken. She clenched her fists at the thought. (No, he promised you, together, he said.)
She squeezed her eyes shut forcing the tears away. When she reopened them her gaze landed on Luc. He sat at such an angle that meant he was unaware she was watching him, but so she could still see his face. He was reading again, the book in his lap; his fingers resting under his chin. All his actions were illuminated by an overhead spotlight – the only source in the room. Everything else blended into shadow it seemed pointless to pick them out so she concentrated on him. He was absorbed in his book face set in concentration, but she saw tension set heavy around his eyes. It might have been guilt or worry or both, and try so hard as she had to hate him, this was just one more thing over the course of the day that had eaten into that hatred. It had also begun to soften her feelings into something entirely different, something more akin to what she had felt before he'd fled. She knew exactly what was meant when they said that there was a fine line between love and hate.
His persistence has astonished her. She'd tried so stubbornly to fight against him, as was their way. She pushed him away and refused his help because it was what he wanted. She didn't want it, she didn't want anyone. Everyone had gone so she was going to seal her fate and make sure she ended up alone. She tried to do this by shouting at him throwing the most venomous words she was convinced would dissuade him:
I hate you
It hadn't.
Despite her best efforts he'd deflected it all and carried on anyway, pushing harder than her so that he won in the end (you won too). She hadn't thought she'd wanted this, she knew she didn't need her held. But she could deny that now she laid here: relaxed, warm, and safe. Maybe he did know her better than she knew herself. Maybe he did know what she needed even if that meant giving him and let him sweep her up and along with him. (Look where that got you last time.)
This didn't mean everything was forgotten. Her trust was in tatters and although he was on the right path to rebuilding just by being here and trying to fix her, which she was slowly trying to admit she needed. But it wasn't something that could be solved overnight, much like her addiction. Her stomach clenched, and her skin crawled as she tested those words in her head. She hated to think of herself as an addict, she would quite happily continue to deny it if it meant that she didn't have to use that word. During her nursing career she'd seen so many patients struggle with a range of addictions, but she'd never thought she'd become like them: a shivering vomiting mess with only one thing on her mind – the next tablet. She'd always been a heavy drinker and in the back of her mind, the idea had flicked by that maybe it was a problem. But she'd always dismissed it, she knew several other people who drunk just as much as her, if not more. She was young and she loved a good time. It was normal. She squirmed again, uncomfortable with that train of thought.
She turned her attention back to Luc. He was still engrossed, now his brow furrowed likely disagreeing with something the author had said. She wouldn't be surprised: he would probably argue with Jesus Christ himself given half a chance. She almost smirked at that. His abrasive manner and stubbornness used to annoy the hell out of her, to the point of distraction. Now it just vaguely irritated her like some persistent fly that you lazily swat until it gives up. Perhaps her irritation had lessened because she had seen underneath the sarcasm and robot like exterior. She knew him to be compassionate: the way he had been so desperate to help her, the way he'd kept kissing her forehead and had cradled her in his arms. It was so tender and gentle she didn't dare believe it had been real.
A little more time passed and as Eddi lay watching him, she felt sleep begin to tug at the back of her eyes and her limbs grew heavy, immobile.
Luc eventually closed his book and probably thinking of sleep himself. He looked over to her and he noticed she was still awake, though only just.
He smiled at the sight, the tension she'd seen earlier melting away.
" 've been watching you, y'know" she slurred.
"Obviously it was very enthralling as you're practically asleep," he remarked gently.
She half grunted half laughed, eyes fluttering shut for longer this time. When she reopened them he'd moved closer, his expression so soft, so full of something she couldn't (wouldn't) name at that moment. His hand came up to her face and he brushed his hand through her hair in soft, comforting strokes. It was just one movement, one sure constant movement she could rely upon to be there, just her and the steady soothing caress (his caress.) That was a wholly more reassuring thought and was enough to send her over the edge. For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.