A/N: WARNING: This chapter has real M content.
Fucking Gravity
Chapter 21
Despite Mrs. Clearwater's seeming trust of Leah being okay, she checks back into the room three times throughout the night. Seth, between his mother's second and third visit, comes shuffling in and flops onto his sister's bed without a word. He's asleep in a matter of seconds.
I'm awake through it all- each snore from Seth and each heartbeat from the girl in my arms. I'm so tired I want to burst into tears, but I'm afraid to close my eyes. My body and my mind are in complete agreement of wanting to sleep. It's pure stubbornness that keeps me from drifting off. And the completely uncomfortable position I'm stuck in. My butt and everything below it has gone numb, and the tingling in one of my feet is so painful it's almost all I can focus on.
The hours drag and drag, and I must have slipped into a fugue state (there's no way I actually fell asleep), because then there is light suddenly coming through the window and it's morning.
Seth snorts himself awake and groggily looks around the room. His eyes find his sister almost immediately, and then he shuffles back out the door, still without a word.
I smell bacon, and still, Leah sleeps. Her mother pokes her head in one last time, and still, Leah sleeps. She stays the way she's been all night, completely dead to the world, until the sun is fully up and has been for a while. Only then does Leah stir against me.
She lifts her head off mine and tries to rub at her eyes, but she can't because her fingers are still tangled in mine. She blinks several times, confused, and looks around the room as I scoot back to give her space. As soon as I shift positions, a rush of feeling floods my legs, sending sharp and painful tingles along my nerves like fire ants under my skin.
"Oh," Leah murmurs, suddenly turning panicked eyes to me. "I- I actually tried-? No, no, no, you shouldn't be here. They shouldn't have called you. Oh god, what was I thinking?"
It's a small comfort that she didn't plan her attempt, but it being spur of the moment is somehow incredibly worse. What if I do or say something, and her mindset flips back to what it was last night, without warning? What if we fight? What if my mere absence sets her off?
"Stop it," I say, grasping her hands as she tries to run them through her hair. "I'm here, okay? I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
"But you don't want to be, Fay," she says, her previously peaceful and completely slack face, suddenly lined in stress and guilt. "You don't want me anymore, and that's okay, but you need to go. I'll handle it."
"Like you handled it last night?" I snap, and immediately regret it. That's not what I'm supposed to do. I'm not supposed to snap at someone who just tried to kill themselves the night before. It's more effort to rein in my temper than normal- my emotions are bubbling and frayed, and I think it's because of the complete exhaustion because it still feels like I want to burst into tears while simultaneously scream.
I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. What I meant to say is that, no matter what happened, I still love you, Leah. The way I ended things- it was a mistake. I was panicked, and scared, and stupid. I should have taken more time to calm down before talking to you."
"You're just saying that. You don't actually mean it," she says, her doubt clear on her face. "It's okay, it was just a bad night. It won't happen again."
"It doesn't matter, because I do mean it. It was a mistake- one I don't know how to undo, but I want to try. We still need to talk, but I want to try."
She still doesn't look convinced, and I feel panic when I see what is likely another protest is on her tongue. She can't not believe me. So, I lean forward and smother it with my lips. I haven't kissed Leah in nearly two weeks, but I still remember what it felt like. This doesn't feel like what I remember. Leah's lips feel more feverish than normal against mine, and I'm all too aware of the hard floor under me, the tingling up and down my legs, and the ugly feeling still rotting in my chest. That emotion shouldn't be there when I'm kissing Leah.
When I pull away, Leah clearly doesn't have the same misgivings. Her eyes remain lidded like she can't quite believe what happened, and when she opens her eyes, the hope there wrenches my heart.
"Please," I say softly.
"Okay," she agrees, looking as lost as I feel. She frowns, suddenly, and reaches out to my face, touching the corner of my eye. "Are you okay? You look tired."
That's all it takes for the building stress and anxiety to burst out in nervous, slightly hysterical, laughter. Only then do the tears come, and then the hyperventilating when I realize I can't quite control it. Leah quickly drags me forward, crushing me to her body, and I try to muffle the agitated sounds against her stomach. My arms wrap around her waist, and I hang on for dear life, terrified of what would happen if I let go. I don't want to let her go.
….
It's only when I'm cracking my eyes open past crust and dried tears that I realize I've fallen asleep. My throat feels sore, and my eyes are itchy and swollen, but despite feeling absolutely disgusting, I feel better than before. I feel better than I have since that night.
I shift, and other things come into my awareness. Like the fact that I've been moved from the floor to the bed. The hand stroking my hair stills for a moment, before continuing, scratching at my scalp between each pass. I tilt my head back and meet Leah's eyes.
"It's okay; go back to sleep."
"How long have I been out?" I ask, wincing at the rawness of my throat.
She glances over at the glowing numbers on the clock. "Almost three hours."
It's not much, but it's the most peaceful, consecutive, dreamless rest I've had in a long time.
"I'm okay," I sigh, rubbing the crust out of my eyes. I'm still mind numbingly tired, but I don't feel like I'm going to burst into tears over it, again. I crawl up the bed until we are face to face, and her arm naturally unfurls to act as a pillow for my head.
I've missed her. Her presence, her smell, her eyes, her attention.
Her fingers ghost along my cheek. "What happened to you that night?" She whispers.
"Seth didn't tell you?" I ask, tensing.
"Just that he found you that way." Her brows furrow as her fingers trail down my neck and tug the collar of my shirt down some. The bruises would be gone by now, I know, but there are also new ones to replace them.
My first thought, in learning that Seth hadn't told her his suspicions (that I pretty much confirmed), is to lie. To hide it. To not let anyone else know. But, then, when she does eventually shift again, she'll still see it in her brother's head, anyway.
So, when she grabs the hem of my shirt and slides it up my body, I don't stop her. Her movements freeze as the molted, fresh, bruise is exposed, splashed daringly across my ribs. I watch Leah instead. Watch a shudder run down her body, the shake start in her hands, and the exaggeratedly deep breath she takes to calm herself. When she meets my eyes again, the gold blaze brighter and more intense than before.
"Who did this?" she asks, a tremble in her voice, but she's remarkably calmer than the last time she got angry. Maybe she's evolved. Maybe she just needs a direction to aim her fury.
"First, you need to swear to me that you will not confront the person responsible."
"Why the fuck not?" she nearly snarls before her curling lip is abruptly pressed into a thin line, and she takes another shuddering, deep, breath. She even closes her eyes and looks like she's counting to ten. "Fine." She says stiffly.
I hesitate a moment, before relenting. "My father has unreasonably high expectations of me that I don't always meet," I reveal, just as stiff. It's like we are two planks of wood lying right next to each other on the bed.
"I'm going to kill him."
"Please don't."
"Why not?"
"Because you promised? And I need you to prove to me that you're not like him. That you won't just lash out in anger like he does."
That gets her attention. She flinches, like I'm the one who struck a blow on her. Another shudder runs down her spine, and I watch the conflict war in her wide eyes. There is pain and guilt, and even knowing that throwing that accusation out would hurt her, my own emotions mirror hers.
"Okay," she says quietly, subdued in a way that just feels wrong. I clasp her hand wordlessly, and wiggle closer in a bastardized attempt (when I'm the one that hurt her- again) at comfort.
…..
Our relationship takes on a strange new dynamic. If you can call it a relationship. I'm not sure what you would call it. Despite my earlier proclamation, we certainly never talk about it. It's tense, and strange, and every minute of it is full of anxiety. Anxiety when we are together, but even more anxiety when we are apart.
Leah's afraid to touch me. I'm afraid every time she leaves.
Mentally, I know that what we have turned into is very, very, wrong, but I don't know how to change it or fix it. It's not abusive, but it's unhealthy, and anxiety inducing, and borderline codependent if not outright.
And I know I'm neglecting Kim, like she had with me when she first started dating Jared, but it just seems far more pressing that I spend that time with Leah, so that I know that she's okay.
I don't know if her tentativeness is lingering depression or uncertainty of the situation, but it has me on edge.
…..
It gets cold fairly quickly here, once summer is left behind, but the last dregs of warmth seem to cling to today. The sky, normally smothered in clouds, is startlingly clear, and the falling afternoon sun heats the rocks under me.
I stare up at the blue, dilapidated, sky and wonder at my future. The sound of waves crash against the rocks far below, and there is an overwhelming smell of the ocean. I think I might miss the smell of it, when I'm gone.
A year ago, I was eager for any chance to leave this place, even for a few days. Now apprehension curdles in my stomach like spoiled milk.
I turn my head to watch at the girl next to me, who stares up at the sky, too, and seems to be doing her best to not acknowledge me. I don't know if it's out of guilt, or spite, anymore. It stings either way. What if, when I leave, she's not here when I get back?
I reach out and grab her hand, and she looks over at me. I tug on it, and she slides closer with a look I don't know how to read anymore. It's an expression I've seen before, used to be able to interpret, but now everything is skewed in the face of insecurity and uncertainty.
"What is it?" she asks softly, propping herself up on an elbow.
I use the new angle to leverage myself up and kiss her. She startles, a minute flinch to her body, before she slowly sinks into it. As she melts, I tug her again and flop back against the ground. She follows, covering me and deepening the kiss.
Kissing Leah is good. It's nice. It's easy to get lost in her. But right now, my brain won't just shut off. I can't help analyzing every move, every touch. I pull her closer and arch up into her, encouraging her to touch, to not stop. She touches slowly, just light fingers running down my body.
I can't stop thinking about the hard rock under my back, can't stop wondering if the ease and happiness from before is lost for good. I rake my nails under her shirt and palm at her breast. She doesn't wear bras outside of school. It's one less article she doesn't have to worry about shredding if she shifts. Like shoes.
Leah gasps. I kiss her deeper.
It feels mechanic. My limbs feel numb. Can she tell?
I fumble with the button on her shorts, but Leah doesn't even seem to notice until I have to pull back and watch my shaking fingers to pop it.
"What are you-"
I plunge my hand into the front of her underwear, and her entire body goes ridged. She catches my hand, holding it still as she stares down at me with wide eyes.
When a beat passes without her pulling my hand away, I slowly curl my fingers, stroking through her folds and further spreading the wet already gathered under my hand.
Her hand falls away to brace against the ground next to my head and her hips give an unconscious jerk, making my fingers slip and dip toward her entrance. She makes a heady sound that burrows in my brain and gets stuck there.
She certainly wants me physically. Is it enough? While my thumb seeks out her clit, I push into her with two fingers. Her walls welcome me eagerly and easily, and her hips move again as she gasps, clumsily (and maybe not purposefully) fucking herself on my fingers.
I shouldn't be doing this. I really shouldn't be doing this. I know I shouldn't be, because all I feel is panic and desperation that this feeling won't ever dissipate. I'm not thinking about how beautiful and perfect she looks like this, all that's running through my head over and over is 'please don't go.'
She stares down at me intensely, searchingly, and I don't know what she's looking for or what she might see, so I tug her down and kiss her again, trying to distract her, trying to catch a different feeling in my chest other than this dread.
I roll us, pressing her into the rock and swirling my thumb in tighter circles and fucking her faster. I kiss her hard, and my fingers slip in and out without any effort as she only gets wetting the longer I work them. Her stomach trembles, and her walls flutter, and she has the wrench her head to the side to gasp out a short sob of "Fuck, Fay," and then she clamps down on my fingers tightly as a guttural sound vibrates her chest.
I wipe my hand on her shorts as she heaves for breath. When she calms down enough, she turns her head back toward me with what looks like a question on her lips.
I cut her off by kissing her again, slower this time, not wanting to hear whatever comment she was going to make or before she can offer a reciprocal.
"Next week, I'm going on a college tour of Berkeley in California," I say as I pull back. "I'll be gone the whole weekend. Do you want to come with me?"
Leah's gaze sharpens as she looks hard at my face, and I can't read her expression again. I don't know what mine says.
"Yeah," she says. "We can drive?"
Hours trapped in a car with nothing but each other? "Okay," I say softly, and then I stand and offer her a hand. "We should go."
I actually might like to stay for a while longer and stare mindlessly up at the sky, but I feel dirty, disgusting- sick with guilt.
I shouldn't have done that. Not right now. Does she know what I did?
A/N: Okay, I promise things will get better now. There is a turning point after this, so don't kill me just yet.
Please let me know what you think.
~Silver~
