He opens his eyes, not in his bed, but in his garden, flowers bobbing gently over his head, and that--and the fact that he opens both eyes--is how he knows it's over
( Read more... )
I stumble and fall on the boardwalk, landing on my hands and knees, scrapping up my palms and scuffing the knees of my jeans. I stay there like that for a long time. Just breathing. Head hanging low and my stomach rolling again.
Home. I'm home, I tell myself, but the relief is short lived. On my feet, I hesitate, because unlike the last time this happened, I'm almost afraid to go and find them.
But I can't hide forever.
The walk home is startlingly short, and I find myself wanting to stall, hovering nearby, hidden by the trees and smoking a cigarette, just to waste time.
I find him in the garden, and I open my mouth to say... something, who the fuck knows what, but all that comes out is a bitter cough of laughter. Probably not the kindest of hellos, but whatever.
He looks up, already knowing who it is by the step before he hears the laugh, already with a deeper, sharper ache, and he manages to meet Neil's eyes for a few seconds before he lowers his gaze again, kneeling in the flowers with his hands between his knees like a penitent. Which is more apt than he'd like.
Once he probably would have run. Not right now, but when he could do so without being seen. He can't, now. Too many roots put down, just like the tree. Until something comes along and tears him out of the ground again.
"I don't even know what the fuck to say to you," I admit, surprised at the sound of my own voice, rusty and too loud in the deceptively peaceful quiet of the garden.
"What the hell were we supposed to learn from that? That your first instinct is to bail?"
"I thought it would get us back here," he says, not looking up. And it's true, but it's not the whole truth, because if he had been wrong, just in that moment, the alternative would have been acceptable to him.
Comments 19
Home. I'm home, I tell myself, but the relief is short lived. On my feet, I hesitate, because unlike the last time this happened, I'm almost afraid to go and find them.
But I can't hide forever.
The walk home is startlingly short, and I find myself wanting to stall, hovering nearby, hidden by the trees and smoking a cigarette, just to waste time.
I find him in the garden, and I open my mouth to say... something, who the fuck knows what, but all that comes out is a bitter cough of laughter. Probably not the kindest of hellos, but whatever.
Reply
Once he probably would have run. Not right now, but when he could do so without being seen. He can't, now. Too many roots put down, just like the tree. Until something comes along and tears him out of the ground again.
Reply
"What the hell were we supposed to learn from that? That your first instinct is to bail?"
Reply
"You think I know what the fuck to say?"
Reply
Leave a comment