Fear collides with drunken attempts of honestyMature

God, I don't know.

"Because," she said, her small body curled up, drenched from rain and alcohol she'd spilled hours earlier, clutching a green blanket like it was a shield- "I'm terrified that they're not going to want me anymore. That the days where I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling for eight hours are going to be an annoyance for them, that they won't want to wait anymore." She sat up, blearily staring out of the window with her sad, bloodshot dark, fantasy green colored eyes. She was tired. Always so tired.
"Because people don't like sad people, they don't stay for them, wait for them, exist with them. They get tired and move on. Better people, living people, exciting people." She brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly and pressing her eyes into them. He moved the cup out of her reach, it was her third large glass- and he'd come home late, this wasn't the first time, no, it might have been the seventh that month. He thinks he's lost count. He doesn't speak, just moves closer to her, to the window, sliding her into his lap, making sure she can still see out of the window, at the wet street he found her in, begging the cars to hit her. They wouldn't. They never did.
He thinks of things to distract her. Words that bring her back to life. There was only ever one constant in the "things that distract her", and that was asking for her favorite color. It was red, yes, he knew that. But ask the question in the right way and she describes a moment in her day, in her life, or a daydream she had. He thought of something new. He leaned his back against the wall and murmured into her hair, just loud enough for her to hear. "Why do we click?"
Her breathing stutters for a single moment, and she thinks. He rubs his thumb in slow, comforting circles at the base of her jawline while he waits for her to answer. He thinks of how long it's been. He looks at the cluster of notebooks, these days they aren't sure whose notebooks are whose, so they share. He tries to remember the first thing she wrote for him, though he's never entirely sure where it began. She sits up a little bit in his lap, he relaxes against the wall and waits for her.
"We click because you're home, more home than I thought a person could be. Because when I need someone, you're there, telling me not to keep drinking- switching it with water. Calming me down when I'm panicking and stressing. You sit there and listen. You don't tell me the same stupid shit everybody else does. You have a pretty face. I think I knew I was going to fuck myself and love you when I saw you in the crowded gym. And I don't write about people very much at all- I know when I write about someone, they're going to matter. They're going to matter and exist. You like listening to me talk, everybody else just gets annoyed. You appreciate the shit I write, you genuinely want more of it. I think I'm poisonous and a danger to everyone around me, but you don't see that. You see everything I'm scared of and you quiet it, all of it, like none of it exists. You take me somewhere better, somewhere happier. We click because at some point I had to choose to feel good and happy and choose the right people. All I've done is choose the wrong people, and for once, it feels right, and not guilty right, not right because I want it to be, but wholly right. And I don't want to feel wrong anymore."
She closes her eyes and falls against his chest again. He hugs her close, trying to piece his thoughts together before speaking. "I love you. All of you. The way you are, the person you are, even these moments, which aren't meant to be loved." She's crying again, her body shaking in his arms and he hugs her closer, begins to slowly rock both of them. "You have these bad days but tomorrow will be good. Every tomorrow after a bad day, after bad days, will be good. I'll still love you the same with every sunrise and sunset. I will still wait every storm out with you." He ends there. She is silent for a moment, before finally saying "I love you, too. All that you are, and all that you have yet to be." They stay like that for awhile, gazing out into the rain with nothing but silence to fill their veins.

The End

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