.
.
"I tried to remember the chorus,
I can't remember the verse
'Cause that song that sent me swimming,
Is now the life jacket that burst
Rotting like a wreck on the ocean floor,
Sinking like a siren that can't swim anymore
'Cause our songs remind me of swimming,
But I can't swim anymore"
- Florence and the Machine, "Swimming"
(:)(A)(:)
To the Flame
Chapter #6: Mi Sono Persa
(I Am Lost)
(:)(A)(:)
She begins to forget things.
It is a slow process, one that starts with the mere fumbling of words that tease the tip of her tongue but adamantly refuse to pass her lips. The familiar threads that she uses to weave her stories begin to thicken until they no longer resemble fine silk threads, but rather coarse, scratchy yarn. Soon the fibers begin to knot and tangle, and she finds herself struggling to separate the heavy, awkward strands.
She tries to ignore it, hides it under shadowed smiles, and for a while Natsu doesn't seem to see the change in her. When she asks him to supply her with the words she's lost he does so with a smile, always so happy to be of help. It makes her feel better, less inept, when he has to pull out his phone to consult Google for assistance (she does not know who this Google person is, but she is always grateful for his seemingly infinite knowledge). It is only when he finds her staring at a blank page, frustration pulling at her mouth, that she sees his brows crease with the tiniest hint of concern. She doesn't tell him that she can't remember how to start. Instead, she smiles up at him with warmth as artificial as the light above them and says she can't decide which story to tell.
His relieved smile makes swallowing the bitter taste of the lie worth it.
The act of forgetting is not new to her – some things are not worth remembering – but lately it feels like she is living on half formed thoughts. It is the night she can't remember which room is hers that she is forced to recognize there is a problem. She sits in the deserted hallway as the sun moves from one end of the earth to the other, trying to recall what she is suppose to remember. She knows something is wrong, but she doesn't know what. Scattered thoughts drift listlessly around her head, fluttering like broken little birds that can no longer sing. Sometimes she goes to read but finds that she can't remember how.
Sometimes she stares at the pages so long she forgets that words exist at all.
She remembers Natsu, though. He is the one thing she refuses to let break and fall away. Every morning she sits on the floor with her knees tucked to her chest and forces herself to recall his every detail. She remembers him to the point where he becomes more instinct than memory. She knows him the way she knows that the park bench facing the playground is hers.
She begins to catch him giving her contemplating glances that are reminiscent of worry. It seems to have become a habit now, she sees it so frequently. She hides her fractured thoughts as much as she can behind little painted smiles, but soon finds herself forgetting what it is she's hiding at all. It seems as if he comes to see her more often, but she can't be sure – the nights are bleeding into each other, and without words to measure she is lost.
Tonight, she sees Natsu waiting for her. His knee bounces impatiently (another habit of his she has forced into memory) while he peers into the darkness. She can always tell when he sees her. His shoulders seem to relax, and his mouth always curls into a welcoming smile. Lately, the warm look in his eye seems to speak of relief, but she doesn't understand why.
As she steps into the light, his gaze travels down and he frowns in confusion. "Where's your notebook?"
She looks down at her empty hands, confused. Her notebook? Yes, that's right – she has many that line the walls of the room she goes back to every morning. Pages full of stories. Stories that she used to write when she remembered how.
A hollow ache settles in her breast. "It ... it is broken." She knows it isn't. The notebook is sitting on the shelf completely intact and whole. She is the one who is broken, but she remembers that he was unhappy the last time she told him that particular truth, so she doesn't remind him.
"Broken?" he repeats, brow creasing as he moves over so that she can sit beside him. "How? Did the wire snap or something?"
Hesitantly, she nods before sitting next to him. As she sits, the warmth radiating off his body gives her a sense of familiar comfort. Still, there is a distressing emptiness in her breast that lingers like an unpleasant aftertaste whenever she looks down at her barren hands.
He nudges her shoulder gently with his own. "Hey, don't worry!" When she looks up, he is gifting her with a sympathetic smile. "I'll get you another one, alright?"
She tries to smile, but her mouth feels as heavy as her chest. Seeing the way his expression wavers, she knows that she isn't at all convincing. His hand grips her shoulder lightly, giving a gentle squeeze that is suppose to be reassuring. "Hey, it's alright. Don't go crying on me," he murmurs. His eyes are dark with concern, but he gives her a strained smile anyway. "I'm really not good at that kind of stuff."
Cry? Her hands reach up to her cheeks. They are dry. "I'm not."
His smile falters, and he looks at her carefully. "I know, it's just – you looked like you were about to." He releases her shoulder and rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "I wasn't kidding you know, about that whole not being good at that sort of thing." He winces, giving her a timid smile. "I'd probably be totally useless if you started up the waterworks."
She doesn't want him to feel useless. It is a feeling she is too familiar with, and she doesn't want him to suffer from it like she does. "I don't remember how to," she admits softly. She looks down at her lap, her fingers straying to brush against her bottom eyelashes thoughtfully. "I don't think I can."
He blinks, head tilting as he tries to untangle her words and reorder them into something he can understand. "Cry?" he clarifies. When she nods, he laughs lightly, running his hand through his hair and giving her a warm smile. "Well that's a relief … I don't want you to cry."
A rare memory pulls at her, but the details part like mist between her grasping fingers. "Crying makes you human," she murmurs. Someone use to tell her that … She can still hear the phantom echoes of a soft, feminine voice dancing listlessly across her memory, but both face and name escape her.
Natsu pauses, hesitant and solemn in his response. "Yeah, I guess you're right." His mouth quirks into a soft smile, but it's warmth is weighed down by the solemn look in his gaze. "I just don't want you to have any reason to."
She doesn't remind him that, for her, tears are impossible. He didn't understand the first time she said it, and she knows he still won't understand the second time either. There are some things that Natsu will never understand, no matter how many times she repeats herself. He lives in the sun where things are clear, he has not learned to see in the dark like she has.
Looking down at her hands, she wonders why they look so empty.
Natsu's callused fingers encase hers, his touch burning hot and his face pinched with concern. "Luce, is everything ok?"
No, it's not. She has always been broken but she has never felt so lost – at least, she doesn't think she has. If she has then she has forgotten it along with everything else. "I am fine," she answers. It is another lie, this one tasting more bitter than the last.
He shifts restlessly. The look on his face tells her that he isn't inclined to believe her. "You're sure? You've been acting really …" He hesitates for a moment, fishing for the right word before shaking his head. "You just seem different."
She doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything. She doesn't have the words to comfort him, doesn't know what vowels to string together to make it better. Around them the darkness seems to inch closer despite the lamp lights steady glow.
When she remains silent, Natsu squeezes her hand. "Look, you don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to, alright? I won't – I'm not going to force you or anything. But if there's anything I can do, you'll tell me right?" He is so desperately hopeful that she finds herself nodding in agreement before she can think better of it. The relief in his smile is worth the weight of the promise.
She leans her head against his shoulder, comforted by his warmth under her cheek. "Tell me a story?" There is a pleading lilt to her voice that makes her words more of a question than a demand.
"You're way better at it than I am," he mumbles. She feels his cheek rest against her hair. "You sure you don't want me to just help you pick something? You can always write it down later."
Careful, as to avoid dislodging either of them from the cozy place they have found in each other, she shakes her head. "No," she says. She doesn't trust herself to tell stories anymore. She is too afraid that she will make them as broken as she is. "I just want to listen."
"Alright," he mutters, sounding uncomfortable. She feels him fidget. "Uh, how about a story about a princess? Girls like princesses right?"
A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. She will like anything as long as she can hear it in his rich timber. "Yes."
He tells her a story about cursed spinning wheels and a princess that is doomed to sleep until true love comes to wake her with a kiss. There is an evil sorceress who turns into a fearsome dragon with scales darker than oil and breathes "wicked awesome" green fire. The prince battles both nature and beast in order to save his princess. Lucy listens attentively, eyes staring out at nothing as his words wrap around her limbs and ensnare her – she is his willing prisoner.
He ends, as always, with "they lived happily ever after." Above them the street lamp hums, and a moth taps eagerly at the glass in a futile effort to get closer to the light.
AN: Lets play the "Which Line Is More Heartbreaking" game!
I warned you guys that things were going to get a bit rough, right? I'm curious if anyone predicted something along these lines? This chapter is a bit shorter, but the next one should be longer than the rest so I figure that will make up for it, right?
Thanks as always to Madartiste for being my wicked awesome beta and everyone who reviewed and gave feedback last chapter! This fic has become my pride and joy, and I'm so thankful to everyone who has given it a chance! I hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter! I'm just dying to know what you guys think!