Disclaimer I don't own any part of Sarah J. Maas' books. I also do not own American Pie.
A.N. Umm sorry not sorry its a day late. I have a life. Stuff happens.
Need You Now
I push against the door of the small closet. My chest is tight and I'm already struggling to breath. I can't believe that he would do this to me. It's not like anything truly bad happens when I spend time with Rhysand, it just rubs him in the wrong way.
Maybe he can tell that I'm falling for Rhys. No, I've hid it brilliantly. He can't know. I still bed him, no matter how much I think of Rhys while I'm doing it. He can't know. So this must not be about Rhys. But if it's not about Rhys, what is it about?
It can't be about Amarantha, she's dead. He is no longer bonded to anyone. But then why has he been so controlling? It seems that the more freedom I want, or deserve even, the more he pulls me in close. So close its stifling me. But he can't see that, he doesn't want to see that. All he wants is to control me. To make me his perfect little wife.
But I don't want him. Not anymore, not for a while now. I've stayed with him for the loyalty. It feels like betraying him if I start to voice my oppositions to how he has been treating me.
I can't eat. I can't paint. I can't do anything except try to be what he wants me to be. But I'm failing. I know that I'm failing. Even if Tamlin doesn't say that I am, I can see it in Ianthe's face.
Ianthe. Damned Ianthe. I can't stand her. She's always telling me what to do and wear and how to be. She doesn't understand that I don't need her. That I don't need her to try and shape me into who she wants me to be.
My mouth has gone dry from the hyperventilating. I can't calm down, it's too tight in here. I'm trapped. I can't get out. I fumble for my phone and grab it out of my pocket. I fail the passcode three times before I finally get the phone to let me in. I look at my hands, I'm shaking. I'm shaking uncontrollably. I swallow, trying to normalize my breathing a little. It doesn't work.
I open up my contacts and scroll through. I don't remember which hotline I have programed into it, but at this moment I don't care. I'll talk to anyone. My shaking fingers make it hard to push the buttons and black is edging into my sight. I need to calm down, NOW. I sink down until I'm sitting and I listen to the phone ring. No answer. I hit it again. And again. I call the number at least ten times before I get an answer.
"What the fuck Archeron? I'm in court." Rhys' voice is low as he hisses at me. I swallow again, trying to fund words. I'm still hyperventilating.
"I-I-I-"I can't get any actual words out.
"Where are you?" Rhys drops all of his irritation.
"Cl-cl-clos"
"Closet? Are you in a closet?"
"Y-ye-yeah." He curses.
"Okay. What's going on? No wait, yes or no questions only. Are you panicking?"
"Y-Yes."
"Have you been able to calm down?"
"No."
"Is Tamlin still there?" I hear a door open from his side of the conversation.
"I do-don't think so."
"Yes or no only Feyre." He snaps. I nod even though he can't see me. A car beeps at me through the phone. "Are you shaking?"
"Yes."
"Are you hyperventilating?"
I swallow, trying to calm down. "Yes."
"Okay." Something slams and his voice gets farther away. "Can you still hear me?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'm going to count to four and you're going to breathe in, then I'm going to count again and you're going to hold your breath. The last time I count I want you to exhale. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Okay. And in 1… 2… 3… 4…" I breathe in, letting his voice lead me. "Hold… 2… 3… 4…" I hold my breath. It feels like my lungs are on fire. "And out… 2… 3… 4…" I let out a shaky breath. "Again. 1… 2… 3… 4…" We continue to do this for a few minutes until I'm breathing steadily again. A horn honks and Rhys curses. "Damn traffic. Get out of my f*cking way you idiots."
"What now?" I ask, I still sound a little breathy, but at least I can breathe again.
"Now I want you to sing to me."
I scoff. "You want me to what?"
"I want you to sing to me. Singing takes a lot of breath and effort. You have to think about what you're doing. If you're focused on singing you won't be able to panic."
I let out a soft chuckle. "I don't know many songs."
"That's alright. Sing anything." I take a deep breath and start.
"A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile, and I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance, and maybe they'd be happy for a while." There are more honks and I stop, my voice cracking, my chest beginning to tighten again. "Rhysand?"
"Keep singing." I can hear that he's gritting his teeth. Probably biting back a thousand curses. Fresh tears join the partly dry ones on my face. I swallow down a sob and start again.
"But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd deliver, bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step."
"Shit."
"Wh-what?"
"Nothing. It's nothing Fey." I wipe at my face.
"I can't remember if I cried, when I read about his widowed bride, but something touched me deep inside, the day the music died" I finally get chocked up enough to where I have to stop.
"So bye, bye, Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry, and them good ole boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye, singin' this'll be the day that I die, this'll be the day that I die." When Rhys takes the chorus I cry harder. I just realize how into him I really am, and I can't handle it. It only gets worse when he keeps singing. "Did you write the book of love, and do you have faith in God above, if the Bible tells you so? Now do you believe in rock and roll? Can music save your mortal soul? And can you teach me how to dance real slow?"
I'm now crying so hard I can't breathe. That's when I hear the gear change and the car door slam. "Rhy-Rhys?" I stutter out. It sounds like his hand smacks into something. "Rhysand?"
"Well, I know that you're in love with him, 'cause I saw you dancin' in the gym, you both kicked off your shoes, man, I dig those rhythm and blues." He's still singing, completely ignoring me.
There is a slam and Rhys grunts. "Rhysand what are you doing?"
"I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck, with a pink carnation and a pickup truck, but I knew I was out of luck, the day the music died." He grunts again and something cracks. I hear the thump of the broken door both through the phone and from downstairs.
I drop the phone and press myself against the closet door. "Rhys?"
I can only hear him faintly, but I feel myself smiling a little. "I started singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry, them good ole boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye, singin' this'll be the day that I die, this'll be the day that I die."
I bang on the door. "Rhysand!" His name is a scream, the first scream that I've let myself release.
I can hear him opening different doors, looking for me. The idiot is still singing. "Now for ten years we've been on our own, and moss grows fat on a rollin' stone, but that's not how it used to be, when the jester sang for the king and queen, in a coat he borrowed from James Dean, and a voice that came from you and me." I bang on the door.
The next thing I know, he's standing in front of the closet door. His dark hair slightly visible. I push against the door. I'm desperate to touch him, to feel him. I need to have his arms around me.
"Oh, and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown, the courtroom was adjourned, no verdict was returned." He's fumbling with the door now, trying to get it open.
At some point he gives up and just yanks at the thing, hard. I squeak, but begin to push from my side. Eventually the lock snaps, the door opens and I fall forward. I land almost perfectly in Rhys' arms. I look up at him and smile. I am surprised by my overwhelming urge to just lean up and kiss him.
"And while Lenin read a book on Marx, the quartet practiced in the park, and we sang dirges in the dark, the day the music died." I push a finger to his lips.
"I don't need you to sing anymore. I'm calm now." I whisper. He smiles at me.
A.N. So read and review! Hope you enjoyed.