I read it over the last chapter and knew that it would probably work
better as a stand alone. My one reason for this was that nothing was
explained in the chapter, there was a problem that wasn't really
established. When done correctly, it's an amazing ability for a writer. I
doubt I stabbed that, but I hope I came close.
I thought about adding more chapters then because - you guessed it - it's
about two in the morning. Honestly, I don't know why I choose to write this
late. In fact, I think it would be more inspirational if I were suddenly
motivated in another way, rather than waking up and scribbling lyrics and
stories onto my bedroom wall. But I'm not, and in some ways that
disappoints me. But I won't complain, I guess. ;)
Only about 5 chapters to this bit, 500 words - give or take - each.
--
For the first time between the two of us, he seeks my comfort. He gathers toward me, rather than protecting me.
He cries into the crook of my neck. Not so audibly, and only enough to let me know that he's been hurting for so long. My hands cover the back of his head, at the tail of his hair. The feeling is remarkable right now. I've never seen him this way.
It makes me want to cure him. Treat every scar he's received in the past few days.
My fingers analyze his feathered locks gingerly, letting my soothing instinct toward him flow evenly. He has climbed to the couch, sitting beside to me. His body barely "sits" though, as he edges closer. His palms rest into my hips, holding onto me.
I hold my lips against his temple for just a while. He breaks down, silently. I feel those hidden tears seep from his eyes and soak into my skin. A rare instance when one sneaks down further, behind the collar of my shirt. And I hug him tighter.
"Why do you even stay?"
These words strike me. Hit me like I knew they were coming, almost.
"Because you've stayed."
I think that's all it takes for tonight. Particularly because I don't want him to talk. I see the way he walks and I hear every word he speaks. With this I know he wants my arms for tonight, and my love and that's it. All he wants tonight is what love offers.
I know that its all I can give him. It's all I'm able of.
He looks up at me, eyes red and moist. I lean to him, lift my face to his and kiss him. I don't expect him to respond, but he does. Granted, not enthusiastically. But this evening isn't for lust anyway.
He bows his head and I hold him again.
He pulls away, running a finger along the ring of my shirt. "I'm sorry."
"Shh," I assure him. "You don't need to be sorry."
"But I am, Abby." He shakes his shoulders, in a shivering imposter's way, then sighs harshly. "You need me now, and I'm - "
"Don't say things like that." I cup his face in my hands, his tears themselves resting in my palms. "Don't say that. I want to be here for you."
He rubs the bridge of his nose aggressively, steering away future tears. We watch each other for a while, until his look is torn away by the phone's ring. It shatters everything between us and I stand, relenting.
"Hello?" I ask, only aware that my voice is so sympathetic when I pick up.
As I engage in further conversation, my mind becomes slightly idle, fixed on the softened image of my best friend-my boyfriend, my lover-wandering around the room without a destination. He stops to see me looking at him, and our eyes come to a halt.
I set the phone back on its hook after a quick good-bye, and guide him closer to me. We clasp our hands together in one steadfast, dedicated motion and maneuver in which we've tied ourselves together for the night.
"Dr. Weaver wishes you the best," I whisper as we enter our bedroom. He only nods and peels the comforter from the bed, slips inside and shuts his eyes. I change quickly, and join him. Falling into our pillows, side by side.
--
For the first time between the two of us, he seeks my comfort. He gathers toward me, rather than protecting me.
He cries into the crook of my neck. Not so audibly, and only enough to let me know that he's been hurting for so long. My hands cover the back of his head, at the tail of his hair. The feeling is remarkable right now. I've never seen him this way.
It makes me want to cure him. Treat every scar he's received in the past few days.
My fingers analyze his feathered locks gingerly, letting my soothing instinct toward him flow evenly. He has climbed to the couch, sitting beside to me. His body barely "sits" though, as he edges closer. His palms rest into my hips, holding onto me.
I hold my lips against his temple for just a while. He breaks down, silently. I feel those hidden tears seep from his eyes and soak into my skin. A rare instance when one sneaks down further, behind the collar of my shirt. And I hug him tighter.
"Why do you even stay?"
These words strike me. Hit me like I knew they were coming, almost.
"Because you've stayed."
I think that's all it takes for tonight. Particularly because I don't want him to talk. I see the way he walks and I hear every word he speaks. With this I know he wants my arms for tonight, and my love and that's it. All he wants tonight is what love offers.
I know that its all I can give him. It's all I'm able of.
He looks up at me, eyes red and moist. I lean to him, lift my face to his and kiss him. I don't expect him to respond, but he does. Granted, not enthusiastically. But this evening isn't for lust anyway.
He bows his head and I hold him again.
He pulls away, running a finger along the ring of my shirt. "I'm sorry."
"Shh," I assure him. "You don't need to be sorry."
"But I am, Abby." He shakes his shoulders, in a shivering imposter's way, then sighs harshly. "You need me now, and I'm - "
"Don't say things like that." I cup his face in my hands, his tears themselves resting in my palms. "Don't say that. I want to be here for you."
He rubs the bridge of his nose aggressively, steering away future tears. We watch each other for a while, until his look is torn away by the phone's ring. It shatters everything between us and I stand, relenting.
"Hello?" I ask, only aware that my voice is so sympathetic when I pick up.
As I engage in further conversation, my mind becomes slightly idle, fixed on the softened image of my best friend-my boyfriend, my lover-wandering around the room without a destination. He stops to see me looking at him, and our eyes come to a halt.
I set the phone back on its hook after a quick good-bye, and guide him closer to me. We clasp our hands together in one steadfast, dedicated motion and maneuver in which we've tied ourselves together for the night.
"Dr. Weaver wishes you the best," I whisper as we enter our bedroom. He only nods and peels the comforter from the bed, slips inside and shuts his eyes. I change quickly, and join him. Falling into our pillows, side by side.