It reeks of permanence. A permanence that, hurt not withstanding, still
feels all kinds of wrong. He sits in his car and watches her shadow
disappear into the house. His eyes flash to the green of the digital clock
that now reads 12:42. Hours ago, there was a simpler existence. The brain
behaves as a malignant memory when his brother's lips on another girl's
come to mind. The girl in question isn't the one who is as familiar to him
as his own breathing, which by now is less labored and comes more in
spasms.
Panic attacks always were a bit of an oxymoron.
His tongue wets his lower lip deliberately while his fingers tap an offbeat rhythm against the steering wheel. He takes another look at the house and an upstairs window whose light is still on. Before he can allow himself to second guess, the engine is dead and he's sprinting towards the door. A knock isn't even in question, some sort of courtesy he has never extended to her, nor she to him.
He slips inside and bounds up the stairs with the skill of a runner, a skill he doesn't recall having had before. "Hey," he manages in a hush, his heart stopping briefly at the sight of her.
"Are you okay?" she questions earnestly, wrapping his fingers around hers and leading him to the bed. "You're having a panic attack."
With a nod of assurance he is on his back, against her bed with her hovering over him in a position so innocent it seems dirty. She is the only one who knows about these, the lapses in coherency and calm. His calm is a pretense, saved for those who know him least. "Relax, just breathe okay? You just have to breathe." Her hand comes to rest against his chest and he watches her eyebrows furrow at the erratic pace of his heartbeat. It almost looks like she's searching for it, the hollow place where his heart should be but isn't.
He sets his hand over hers, gripping to her as his lifeline. His breath slows to something resembling normalcy. She offers him a weak smile, the one she gives only when she wants him to think she's okay. Her eyes have always been her downfall, no different now from any time before. Hues of fear etched into the glassy hazel bear down on him with a rising irritation he expects. "I'm alright, Hales. I promise."
"The hell you are," she mutters indignantly, running an absent hand through his hair. Her nose wrinkles, the look of disdain he has memorized. "Is it raining or something?"
"I don't remember," his voice barely escapes as a whisper. "I'm sorry."
"You scare me sometimes."
"You scare me all the time," his laughter is muffled by her pillow coming into contact with his face. Moments like these have been absent for longer than he can recollect. Furthermore, for longer than he can stand. "I miss you."
"Yeah," her tone reciprocates the sentiment.
She shifts her body, so much smaller now than he ever assumed it was, alongside his to face him. A quick kiss to the tip of his nose assures him that her anger was a mockery, leaving him relieved in a way he thinks he shouldn't have to be. He has never questioned a mood of hers before, but as things are he knows less than he realizes about the person she is becoming.
His arm comes around her back and she leans into him comfortably. Their foreheads meet, bumping a little too hard against one another and causing a quiet giggle from her. He watches her silently, making mental notes of the slight laughter lines crowding her eyes, the dark circles underneath and the sound that appears to be tired despite its sincerity. She grows silent, wriggling in his grip anxiously. "Stop looking at me like I've grown a third head, you're gonna give me a complex."
"Sorry."
"Stop. What are you apologizing so much for, Luke?"
"Hales, I..." his words disappear into the air as something dawns on him. The same features he has seen his entire life look back at him with a certain beautiful confusion.
Beautiful. As she is. As she has always been. But its meaning resonates a difference in his reaction now. He can feel his palms grow cold, the hairs on his arm rise as his fingers graze the skin on her back. And almost instantly he can feel his heart stop, a little strangely before his breath follows suit.
She sits up in a hurry, pressing his shoulders down against the mattress. "Lucas," she murmurs almost incoherently. "Shh..." her lips land softly against his cheek, moving to the corner of his mouth with an eased grace. He turns towards her a little, meeting her mouth with his own briefly. The chasteness implies that his intentions are pure, and if she has noticed that they are not she makes no note of it. She pushes her hair back, warming his face with her breathing. "What happened?"
You. He shakes his head in a bitter defiance, and pulls her back down beside him without a word. He cannot tell her the things he has seen. That the man she loves doesn't remotely appreciate her for all the things she is. He cannot tell her the things he feels. That the man she doesn't love is the one who holds her worth above his own reckless heart.
And so he doesn't. He instead holds her the way she needs to be held, the way he knows will calm her. "We're gonna be okay, Hales. You and me both."
It's a lie not for the sake of lying, but a necessary façade he has to maintain.
She believes him without understanding what exactly he means, but because she trusts him fully.
He whispers a kiss into her hair and closes his eyes, a goodbye to the love he has forced into submission his entire life because sooner or later it becomes a matter of reciprocation. The one thing he can never ask from her.
A sigh leaves her lips as she drifts into unconsciousness. His hold on her tightens as he comes to terms with the fact that he is letting her go.
Panic attacks always were a bit of an oxymoron.
His tongue wets his lower lip deliberately while his fingers tap an offbeat rhythm against the steering wheel. He takes another look at the house and an upstairs window whose light is still on. Before he can allow himself to second guess, the engine is dead and he's sprinting towards the door. A knock isn't even in question, some sort of courtesy he has never extended to her, nor she to him.
He slips inside and bounds up the stairs with the skill of a runner, a skill he doesn't recall having had before. "Hey," he manages in a hush, his heart stopping briefly at the sight of her.
"Are you okay?" she questions earnestly, wrapping his fingers around hers and leading him to the bed. "You're having a panic attack."
With a nod of assurance he is on his back, against her bed with her hovering over him in a position so innocent it seems dirty. She is the only one who knows about these, the lapses in coherency and calm. His calm is a pretense, saved for those who know him least. "Relax, just breathe okay? You just have to breathe." Her hand comes to rest against his chest and he watches her eyebrows furrow at the erratic pace of his heartbeat. It almost looks like she's searching for it, the hollow place where his heart should be but isn't.
He sets his hand over hers, gripping to her as his lifeline. His breath slows to something resembling normalcy. She offers him a weak smile, the one she gives only when she wants him to think she's okay. Her eyes have always been her downfall, no different now from any time before. Hues of fear etched into the glassy hazel bear down on him with a rising irritation he expects. "I'm alright, Hales. I promise."
"The hell you are," she mutters indignantly, running an absent hand through his hair. Her nose wrinkles, the look of disdain he has memorized. "Is it raining or something?"
"I don't remember," his voice barely escapes as a whisper. "I'm sorry."
"You scare me sometimes."
"You scare me all the time," his laughter is muffled by her pillow coming into contact with his face. Moments like these have been absent for longer than he can recollect. Furthermore, for longer than he can stand. "I miss you."
"Yeah," her tone reciprocates the sentiment.
She shifts her body, so much smaller now than he ever assumed it was, alongside his to face him. A quick kiss to the tip of his nose assures him that her anger was a mockery, leaving him relieved in a way he thinks he shouldn't have to be. He has never questioned a mood of hers before, but as things are he knows less than he realizes about the person she is becoming.
His arm comes around her back and she leans into him comfortably. Their foreheads meet, bumping a little too hard against one another and causing a quiet giggle from her. He watches her silently, making mental notes of the slight laughter lines crowding her eyes, the dark circles underneath and the sound that appears to be tired despite its sincerity. She grows silent, wriggling in his grip anxiously. "Stop looking at me like I've grown a third head, you're gonna give me a complex."
"Sorry."
"Stop. What are you apologizing so much for, Luke?"
"Hales, I..." his words disappear into the air as something dawns on him. The same features he has seen his entire life look back at him with a certain beautiful confusion.
Beautiful. As she is. As she has always been. But its meaning resonates a difference in his reaction now. He can feel his palms grow cold, the hairs on his arm rise as his fingers graze the skin on her back. And almost instantly he can feel his heart stop, a little strangely before his breath follows suit.
She sits up in a hurry, pressing his shoulders down against the mattress. "Lucas," she murmurs almost incoherently. "Shh..." her lips land softly against his cheek, moving to the corner of his mouth with an eased grace. He turns towards her a little, meeting her mouth with his own briefly. The chasteness implies that his intentions are pure, and if she has noticed that they are not she makes no note of it. She pushes her hair back, warming his face with her breathing. "What happened?"
You. He shakes his head in a bitter defiance, and pulls her back down beside him without a word. He cannot tell her the things he has seen. That the man she loves doesn't remotely appreciate her for all the things she is. He cannot tell her the things he feels. That the man she doesn't love is the one who holds her worth above his own reckless heart.
And so he doesn't. He instead holds her the way she needs to be held, the way he knows will calm her. "We're gonna be okay, Hales. You and me both."
It's a lie not for the sake of lying, but a necessary façade he has to maintain.
She believes him without understanding what exactly he means, but because she trusts him fully.
He whispers a kiss into her hair and closes his eyes, a goodbye to the love he has forced into submission his entire life because sooner or later it becomes a matter of reciprocation. The one thing he can never ask from her.
A sigh leaves her lips as she drifts into unconsciousness. His hold on her tightens as he comes to terms with the fact that he is letting her go.