"And you know that she'll break you in two" — watch?v=m53cWa-CdUg
I lay in bed unable to fall asleep as my mind constantly replays the events of the day. Kit decided it was time we learned to control our powers after the unfortunate events of Tori burning her heatless-ly prepared cereal and me raising a rat corpse to breakthrough his bedroom's flooring in my sleep. Derek attacked a mad man on the streets for threatening to show me "why he ended up on the sidewalk" and Simon scrambled all of Aunt Lauren's files with a summoned gust of wind.
But controlling our powers was entirely different than simply using them. Kit told me to raise only the head of a dead rabbit but as I attempted to suppress the urge that rushed through me as natural as blood, the power took me under as I willed the corpse of the rabbit beneath.
I fell into strong arms, Derek's I realized when he began to frantically call for Kit and Aunt Lauren. And as he picked me up the last thing I saw was the rabbit's rotting head impaling the soft bed of grass.
I wake to the golden lights of sunset muffled by oppressing clouds, the only perk Simon claims of moving across the country to a lonely town in Washington. I sit up to find Derek asleep on the floor, his head resting near my feet on the couch, his body painfully curled between the couch and coffee table.
He's most vulnerable in sleep, one of the only times the defensive furrow between his brows is down. His face hints not anger but sadness, and I've tried so many times to erase the signs to no avail but small smiles. He does however recently smile more, from the mornings he prepares breakfast for the house to dusk when I meet him on the roof to watch the sun fall behind the horizon. Recently, it's become harder to breath.
Before the twilight breaks, I thread my fingers through his hair, waking him. He jolts awake, the furrow taking residence, his fingers curling in the blanket at my feet.
"Chloe," Derek says, hoarsely. The crease that marks him disappears. "Are you alright?"
I stare at him, at a loss for words. Quickly I nod, color flooding my cheeks. A blush stains his as he bows his head, scratching the back of his neck. He looks to the glass wall, facing away from me, "It's nice that the clouds haven't covered the sun." He turns to me, a shadow of a smile on his lips."Do you want to—"
"You're awake!" Aunt Lauren barges into the room, "Chloe's awake!" She calls upstairs."You didn't hit you head did you?" She checks for a bump, despite the shake of my head.
Steps come racing down the staircase before long, and all I can do is smile for their reassurance.
"Did you hit your head?" Tori asks enthusiastically.
"Dude, you just fell," Simon says and proceeds to gloat about how he and Tori burned only the branches of a tree, but prevented the fire from spreading to the stem.
But my thoughts are elsewhere.
"Chloe? Is Chloe there?"
"Hmm?"
"You sure did give Derek a good scare." Simon laughs. I look to where Derek last was, to find the spot empty.
"I know," I laugh against the tightness in my throat.
I blame this insomnia on my fear of sleeping due to the fact that I may raise another maggot-infested body or perhaps because of the storm raging outside. But I don't believe my pathetic excuses. I can't sleep because of the image of his curled body by my side, of his desperate cry for help as I fell into him. Of this unsettling ache that prohibits the most basic of functions.
I step out of bed and climb up to the roof through my window. The clouds take their anger out on the town and the rain immediately soaks through my clothing. The frozen shingles penetrate my thin socks.
"Chloe." Derek sits at the slanted edge, his back to me. Startled, I slip. My fingers scramble for purchase to no use and I brace myself for impact with the dirt, now mud, ground.
"Derek!" I call, shivering. But he already has his arms hooked around my waist. I sit up an arm's length away from him, shakily I push my hair away from my face. I tuck my knees beneath my chin, my feet safely behind the gutters.
"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, my whisper consumed by a roll of thunder. But he perceptibly listens.
He shakes his head, facing the violent ocean. His face is haunted, once again vulnerable. His profile is illuminated by a strike of lightening. His fingers curl into fists atop his knees, the same fingers that once scrubbed blood off my skin, the same fingers that grasped hold of me on a rotting roof, fingers that always catch me.
I inch closer to him and grasp his hand, staring down at the ground. His warm hands open and grip my frozen ones.
"Chloe," his voice catches as he tightens his hold.
"Are you alright?" I ask gently.
"I had a dream-a nightmare where you unearthed the wolves of the Pack, and they tore your throat open and you were screaming for help–for me and I couldn't move. And they laughed, they laughed because they knew that—"
I lean in, closing the space between us as he tucks escaped hair behind my ear. But I hold his hand there against my cheek. I cast my face to the shadows as I kiss his palm.
"They knew what?"
"They knew that you were my mate." He whispers.
"Y-Your mate?" I stutter quietly.
"My mate." He replies gently, nodding.
He pursues his lips and looks away, dropping his hand. His mate. Do I plague his mind, the way he plagues mine? Do I trouble his breathes, the way he troubles mine? Does he imagine doing what I imagine—
I grasp his shirt and kiss him as if though I'll fall if my lips leave his. His hands fall to his side, his lips unmoving. Him unmoving. I tear away, turning from him, a rush of color to my cheeks warming me when he chooses not to.
"This rain is rather annoying- I-I'm sorry-I'm g-going to go in-"
He takes me waist and crushes me against him, roughly kissing me. I lose my hold of the shingles and wrap my arms around his neck. His fingers tangle in my wet, tousled hair, pushing it aside to expose my neck. His lips press and pull against mine, parting to catch breath. I meet his tongue with mine, brushing against his lips. He pulls my waist closer to him as he kisses my neck.
I gasp, he groans. Perhaps I was the reason he began to smile more. Perhaps he was the reason I let go of what once was. Perhaps we were the reason we continued to breathe, despite heaving through corrupted lungs. And it's because of us that the blood still rushes to our cheeks, that our feelings are not dead and gone.
I shake from live nerve endings, from feelings that scream of love.
Perhaps this was what we were running from, running from the inescapable.
"Are you cold?" He asks gently. No, not with his warm body pressed against mine.
"I love you," I blurt out. He stills, his lips against the crook of my neck. He presses his cheek to mine and sighs.
"I love you" He draws away to glance at me, a smile live on his lips. I crush my lips against his smile, understanding there will be more, and wrap my legs around him. He picks me up, pushing my sleeve down to reveal my shoulder. He presses his lips against the curve and carefully stalks to my open bedroom window.
Should I continue?