She looked like crap.
There was no denying it, and what was worse was that there was nothing she could do about it either. With every passing minute she became later and later for work, meaning that she was just going to have to accept her shabby appearance and try and get through the day.
To say she was pissed off this morning would be an understatement. Even though she knew with every ounce of her being that James cared about her, and that when he had put her to bed last night (or this morning, as it were) he was just looking out for her; but it just so happened, that at that exact moment, she really just wished that he had left her alone.
The quality of sleep achieved on a table top might be incredibly poor when compared to that of a nice, comfy bed but at least you can't oversleep on a table top. No, you know where you oversleep? In your warm, soft bed. And so, without having set an alarm for herself, here she was about to head into the office to get yelled at by her boss, and to top it all off, she would have to do it looking like trash.
Before she could dwell on her predicament any longer, she promptly left the bathroom and hastily began gathering her things so she could leave as soon as possible.
She didn't miss the cheerful "morning" that he sent her way as she traipsed down the hall, she also didn't miss the small smile he gave her. She did, however, ignore both and avoid any and all eye contact with him.
She knew she was being childish. And what's more, she knew that the problem lay with her and not him; but once again, she couldn't bring herself to care at that particular moment.
In her peripheral vision she saw his face fall slightly at having been ignored, causing her resolve to act like a total bitch to waver slightly. But not enough to backtrack.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, a tone of concern in his voice.
She turned to face him, her bag in her hand, finally having gathered everything she needed. "You know, not really" she replied harshly.
"Look," she continued, "I know that you meant well, but next time could you maybe not put me to bed like some 5 year old kid who fell asleep on the couch?"
She watched as his expression transformed from concerned to one of extreme hurt. God, she hated herself right now. And yet, she couldn't stop the words as they spilled from her poisonous mouth.
"I've got enough going on at work right now, and the last thing I needed today was to get yelled at by my boss. Not the mention the fact that I look like a goddamn train wreck!"
The only other time she'd seen so much pain on his face was the time he had told her about being wiped. She felt terrible. No. She felt sick. Could that happen? Could you regret something so much that it made you feel physically sick?
"I'm sorry" he said, his voice soft and confused. "I was only trying to help. I…"
"Yeah, I get that" she cut him off. "And you know, thanks. But also, no thanks."
And with that she stormed towards the door, feeling utterly sick to her stomach. She couldn't look at him anymore, couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because of what she had just done.
She had ruined everything. He knew the truth of her now. She wasn't this kind and generous Samaritan he'd spent the last 3 weeks claiming she was. She was spiteful and childish and prone to hurting the people around her.
Before he could say anything else she opened the door and slammed it after her, needing to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.
It was as soon as the door closed behind her however, that she froze.
Oh god.
She couldn't be 100% certain – it had only been for a split second; and yet, as she replayed the last 2 seconds in her mind she became almost completely convinced of what she had just spotted as she'd left the apartment: a paper bag and her travel mug.
Did he make breakfast for her to go?
Oh god! She thought. He did. He had made her breakfast and she had just ripped his heart out of his chest, still beating.
A lump formed in her throat and beginnings of watery tears stung at the corners of her eyes. She may have already been 20-something minutes late for work, but she suddenly decided that she didn't care. She had something more important to do.
Determined, she stormed back in to her apartment to find him standing exactly as he had been when she had slammed the door on him no more than 5 seconds ago, still somewhat in shock it would seem.
Without hesitation or explanation she marched right over to him, shedding her bag from her arms as she did, and threw her arms around him, desperately hugging him to her.
His body stiffened instantly at the contact and it was several seconds before she felt him relax and return the hug, albeit somewhat hesitantly. But then, after what she had just done, that was completely understandable.
"I'm so, so sorry." Her words were earnest, but managed to come out slightly muffled considering she had her face buried in the soft material of his shirt. Still clutching at him, she continued "It's not you. It's me. It's completely and utterly me. I didn't mean it. Please don't leave."
The words came out before she could even truly process them, and instantly her stomach dropped and she pulled away enough that she could look up into his face. She didn't let go though. She wasn't sure that she could.
"Oh god! Please promise me you're not going to leave! Please!" She heard the panic in her voice as she looked up at him.
Taking him in, Grace saw mostly confusion but she also noted that there were still traces of pain there. Pain that she had caused.
More guilt washed over her at this realisation and suddenly his steady gaze became too much; still not being able to release her hold on him, she buried her face in his chest once more, unable to stop the small sobs that began squeezing their way out from her lungs.
It was several more seconds before she felt his hand begin to make small, comforting circles on her back. The contact was entirely comforting and far more than she deserved, but still she couldn't shake the fear that she had just effectively chased him away forever.
"Hey" he coaxed gently, "hey, look at me", his tone sure and soothing.
Reluctantly she did as he asked and once again tilted her head back so she could look into his eyes.
"Look, I don't know how to tell you this," he started, sounding very serious – something she found terrifying. This was it. He was about to tell her that he was leaving, that he couldn't stay with her anymore. It was all she could do not to collapse to the floor and burst into tears, but instead she kept her eyes locked on his just as he'd asked. At the very least, she owed him that much
"…But I actually thought you looked really nice today." He finished, a rather smug smirk beginning to show on his face, the pained look replaced with one of kindness and humour
It was a moment before she could truly process the change in mood, however, as soon as it dawned on her a strangled laugh-sob wracked her body and she collapsed into him once more.
They remained like that for several minutes: her, clinging to his large, solid form, head still buried in his chest, emitting a ugly-sounding laugh/cry that she was apparently powerless to stop; him, gently holding her, rubbing small circles on her back, patiently waiting for her to get a hold of herself.
When she had finally quieted, he stated simply, "I made you breakfast. And coffee" Anyone else would have taken some kind of "I told you so" tone of voice, but not him. He spoke the words purely as fact – not a single hint of annoyance or hurt, something for which she was incredibly grateful.
"I know" she mumbled into his shirt. "That's what makes it even worse!"
He chuckled slightly at that and she felt the laughter as it rumbled through his chest. His laugh was something that she'd liked since the very first time she'd heard it, but now she was coming to realise that she liked it even more from her current vantage point. A fact that both delighted and scared her.
"I guess I should go to work, huh?" she asked into his t-shirt.
He didn't answer, but he also didn't need to. Letting out a large sigh, she dropped her arms and stepped out of his embrace, sending him a sheepish smile as she did.
Picking her handbag up from where she had practically thrown it to the floor, she made her way to the kitchen table to pick up the bag and the mug - still completely touched that he had thought to make them for her.
She decided that it was probably best for her to go before she started to cry again and turned towards the door. She had barely moved two steps before he reached out and stopped her.
She didn't know what she expected but it most certainly was not for him to reach up and tenderly wipe the fallen tears from her cheeks.
His fingers felt warm and strong, yet his touch was achingly gentle. The gesture caused her breath to catch in her throat and her heart to jump slightly; she could practically see the blush of her cheeks reflecting in the metallic surface of his left didn't seem to notice though. Either that, or he didn't care. He merely caught her chin between his finger and thumb and tipped her face up towards his, smiling down at her softly as he did.
"I'll see you this afternoon" he offered, his voice as warm as his touch.
"You promise?" she teased, returning his smile.
At that he rolled his eyes and gave her his signature smirk, "promise."