Chapter 7: Watertight

I remember, how a couple of days later I was sitting in the kitchen. It was the middle of the night and quiet around me. I was rummaging in a bock about angels and while I was reading, I had to smile every now and then about the way the person, who has written this work a long time ago, speculated about heaven and hell, clearly he hasn't ever been there. Humans and their unlimited fantasy. They build a picture and even when they find evidence for the actual occurrences, their own aren't replaced, but only adjusted. Never could you put reality above your own creations. And in the end, you were created for just that. Created to create on your own.

I heard silent steps in the hallways and lifted my gaze. Little later I found you in the doorway, barefooted and in your grey sweatpants. Your naked chest stared at me, or maybe I was staring at it, as if there was nothing else in this room anymore. It was just skin, even when more of it than I was used to. But it was your skin. Your hand moved across your chest, as if it wanted to push away my look, and I concentrated back on your face.

"Hey," you said with a rough, sleepy voice, which matched your messy hair and your tired eyes. Only now you stepped inside and wandered towards the fridge. A snack in the middle of the night. It seemed to become our thing. Every night you would wake up and come to the kitchen. Every night you would sit down opposite to me and eat. Our own little routine. And really, it was the only reason I was sitting here.

"Hey," I answered and watched every of your movements. You sat down at the table and ate your peanut butter sandwich. It always was like that. Barely a word between us, only closeness. Our silent togethership. Sacred and secret, between the two of us. And you allowed me to look at you, almost stare even, and you didn't say a thing. You let me continue. Perhaps you had gotten used to it or perhaps you finally saw that you enjoyed it. I was here for you and because of you. And I saw you and only you. And perhaps you finally knew, that I am the only one, who sees you. Really sees you.

I stood up and went to pour you a glass of Scotch. I always did that, because I knew, it was what you needed. Your sleep is better, when your blood turns to alcohol. And even when one could say, that it's not good to support someone with that, I know what you need. And is it alcohol you need to sleep, I will always be the one, who gives it to you. Because one day you will realize, that I don't only give you what you want, but am what you want. I came back to the table and put the glass down in front of you. Your lifted your head and you looked at me with this gaze full of thankfulness and a smile that made me melt. I smiled back and tried to hold the eye contact for a while.

"Cas?" you then said, as your gaze moved down a bit and your hand suddenly held on to my trench coat and opened it a little, „What is that?"

My eyes looked down on me, while yours lost their smile. I understood why right away, because I found a small red stain on my shirt. Just a spot really, so little I had missed it.

"You injured?" you asked with all worry in your voice, I couldn't even be happy about it, because over sounded was all by the panic of being caught and this dark stain inside me, that was scared I would reveal anything, and so perfectly matched the stain of blood, that would reveal everything. Your fingers fumbled over my chest, as you stood up to inspect me.

"No, I'm fine," I answered and didn't dare to look you in the eyes. I noticed you were searching for them, maybe to find something inside there. But I couldn't show you. But maybe I should have let them pretend something, because I knew you get suspicious, when I can't look into your eyes.

"Cas?" you started anew, "Whose blood is that?"

I hesitated. I didn't know, what the hell I should answer. I couldn't tell you the truth. About how it was the blood of the innocent woman you had found. Who I had killed for you. By mistake. To hide the truth from you is easy, to lie to you impossible. I stared at the grey wall and thought about my next step. I knew, I had to say something, but which truth would it be this time?

"I… don't know…," I stammered, "Probably an old stain"

And I finally looked back into your eyes and you didn't believe a word and it crushed me. I was caught. I had to find a way out of this labyrinth I had built. A way to not lose you. A lie. A lie you would believe, a lie I could bear to tell you. And it would be hard. I couldn't even bear the look you threw at me in this very moment. As if all good had left you, as if I had disappointed you, as if you had lost.

"Like each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And then things happen - these people leave us, or don't love us, or don't get us, or we don't get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack in places. And I mean, yeah once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable."

(John Green, "Papertowns")