She storms through the room with fast, angry steps and a vodka bottle full on her hand heading for the leaving door. The people in the living room move surprised with the rough appearance, but she don't even bother to look at them. A man, Hiccup, cross the door she herself just did, leaving the bedroom right after and trying to follow her. Whatever discussion happened in there it was ugly and the people sitting in the couch wonder if this time it will be reparable. He tries to grab her hand, but she snaps it out of his reach and twist only to point the bottle like a knife to the man on her heels.
"Fuck off." She said, her voice accusing and irritated. Another man, Eret she knows, get up from the couch and move toward her but she also points the bottle at him. "You too."
With that, she turns her back to both of them and opens the door aggressively.
She is headed to the terrace. Friends or ex-lovers or lovers, everyone there knows.
"Fuck." She mutters to herself as she climbs the stairs as fast as she can, yanking her shirt to the ground, revealing the top of a bikini. She should have known. A part of her did, when she dressed the swimming fabrics hours before. That evening couldn't end fine. Never did, between her and Hiccup. It started surprisingly fine, actually. And them Eret had appeared and they had fought and fought over the same reasons all over again. Their hypocrisy dripping voices heard loud all over the apartment like so many times before. She don't try to stop the warm tears rolling from her eyes when she yanks the skirt away from her before pushing the terrace door open and hearing it behind her when it closes with a loud noise.
That fucking shit had to end. That pain was becoming familiar and she was becoming claustrophobic. She was not having that discussion again, she promised herself. But how many times had she made that promise that?
"Shit." She muttered under her breath again. Her eyes didn't leave the pool that was in the middle of the place though her feet had already recorded the way.
She didn't hesitate. Her hands locked tight around the bottle she was holding and she soused herself on the pool. Letting her body loose on the cold water, letting the chlorine wash her soul and her tears. She closed her eyes and hoped the water could shush the screams in her ears.
She was sat on the edge of the pool, half through the vodka and tears dried, the water providing a blue glow that was the only source of light in the dark night, when he walked over.
"I thought I told you not to follow me."
He stopped, raised his hands in surrender and was turning on his feet to leave. She felt somehow defeated.
"Hiccup, wait."
He needed no more then that, and he sat beside her, soaking his jeans pants on the water, his legs just an inch away from hers. Her breath looses the calculate rhythm as soon as he do this, her heart in a weird mix of racing too fast and skipping beats. Resisting the urge to drink the rest of the alcohol in the bottle gets harder. But she stays there, and he stays there, in silence. What felt like hours passed before they moved or said a word.
"I wish I could say I'm sorry." He breaks the silence.
She rolls her eyes.
"I prefer that you can't. We're drowning in hypocrisies but at least we're over the lies."
He gestures to the bottle but she denies it, taking a long sip and swallowing almost all the liquid. It feels like fire through her throat and she chuckles but it fills the hole in the pit of her stomach while it burns and she finale take courage to look at him.
He's now looking at the water, the blue reflecting in his green eyes. He seems sad and older, like all that discussion had been taking years from him too. Was he as torn apart as she was?
"Are we done?" he's voice is low, like he is scared of the answer.
She wants to answer him yes. She wants to end this like she promised to herself so many times but something inside her is broken and defeated, and she asks a question that has been hunting her instead.
"How many?" She says, and he doesn't answer nor look at her. She knows he knows what she's talking about but she insists anyway, because she has to know. As ridiculous and hurtful they reality is, something on her don't want to skip a detail. She's not sure if a part of her inclines to masochism or her love for him just crossed sanity lines. "How many women? I know there was more than Heather."
He takes a heavy breath and she is almost able to hear his internal discussion and he deciding that he can't go through this conversation sober. He pulls a small whiskey flask from his back pocket and shivers when pours the liquid in his mouth.
"You don't want to know the answer."
"I have to."
"7, maybe more." He says, finally. It's her time to heavy breathing and pouring alcohol. He turns to her with a keen expression. "I didn't ask how many times you fucked Eret."
"You threw me on his arms!" she said, raising her voice in anger. The first time she discovered he was fucking on other beds she'd been fragile and hurt and Eret had offered her the soft words and the opportunity to make Hiccup suffer that she craved. She ended up going to him every time she was mad at Hiccup. Even after silly fights that had nothing to do with sex.
"It does not erase your sins." He snapped back to her, the hand that wasn't holding the flask tightening in a fist.
"How about yours?" her voice is firm but back to a normal tune, because she's been through this and she knows raised voices doesn't help. "You can blame it on your parents separation or on your problems with commitment to feel better with yourself. But doesn't matter because your sins are yours, and the blame is yours."
He breathes heavily and drinks his whiskey before talking in a tune of voice that matched hers, his brow furrowed.
"We moved in together." He started and seemed to fight with the words in his throat. "I thought it would be different. I promised I wouldn't fuck things up this time. Shit! I know I'm not good enough for you. That you'd be better if I stood away but I love you."
He stops and jumps inside the pool, the water reaching his hips. He puts his body between her legs against the cold porcelain of the pool walls and attempts to hold her chin.
"I love you." He says, trying to match his eyes with hers.
She turns her head away from him and drink the rest of the vodka. She loves him too, she knows.
"It changes nothing." She replies, because the promises she made to the loneliness of the dark night is strong as long as she avoids his eyes. She looks at the whiskey flask he left empty in the stone ground and her own empty bottle thinking that neither of them is drunk enough. "That's not like love supposed to be."
"Astrid." He pronounces her name fiercely and it's enough to weak her determination. His hands are soft but strong in her hips. He doesn't pull her closer, waiting for her agreement.
Her eyes met his and their gaze battle for a second before she gives in and throw herself at him, locking their mouths with matching fierce. While their hands are everywhere in each other, tracing familiar paths, she hopes he feels as broken and torn as she does. Because if then… If then she is not the only stupid one. And while his mouth trails her neck with bruising kisses and her hands dig in his hair, she thinks of the promises she never fulfills and wonders if one day she will. This night, even though her heart feels heavy, when he snaps away the bottom of her bikini and yanks their hips together, she kisses him hard and don't accept less then his surrender to her rhythm.