If You Are to Return, Let It Be Good

by LostCompass

Before Max and Chloe reunited, before the storm, there was you. The god of time. You keep a good hold of your mind, now. It's an easy thing to lose.

14. These Things

Three words.

That was all she said.

But to you—those may as well have been the first words ever spoken. You, in whom all language resides, waiting.

You stand there, breathing slowly, staring at Sarah.

She believes you.

Believes you!

Believes the time and you and the money and Damien and Kurt and the gun and you and the field and Arcadia Bay and and and and and-

And there it is, you feel it—heat, pressure, strain, all knotted like a spider's final mistake in your skull, all struggling to push itself out from behind your eyes.

You turn away, shutting your eyes tight.

Breathe. You are calm. You are in control.

Your hands are not shaking. You are calm. You are composed. You are—

Your hands are not shaking because every muscle in your body is contracting.

You are not shaking. You are vibrating. Every single red thread of your body is pulling itself tighter and tighter—

You are—

You—

You pull in air with a sharp gasp, but the air is frigid and cuts your throat. Ice crackles in your lungs.

Not in front of Sarah.

Not in front of her.

Don't—

You open your eyes, and the world is watercolor.

You sink to your knees, chin fallen against chest, staring down at the carpet.

You watch the tears make wet constellations.

And you feel two arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

She might be whispering "it's okay" or "I've got you" or "you're safe" or anything else, but you can't hear anything.

You bury your face in Sarah's chest. You smell coffee grounds and faint mint. From those two things you forge a black anchor and cling to it, for all else is sunless sea. Only this is real.

You can't look at her.

So she just cradles your head and keeps you close.