`&Return of the Kings

I pull the cup away from my lips, hot coffee scaldling me. I try to lick it, a small consolation that does absolutely nothing but numb it white.

"Sorry?"

"Yeah," she says, laughing. She runs a hand through her hair, knuckles getting caught in a knot. "You and me? The time for it has passed, don't you think?"

No. Not really. I don't really know how to tell her how much she estate she takes up in my mind. How sometimes I look up at the sky and wonder if she's thinking about me too. Or how she reminds me a coffee cake, soft and mildly sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

I don't like you. That's what I say, every time I see you. When your arms snake around my neck. When you pull me close. When I bury my face in your scent.

I like to imagine us. Together. Even though we're so different, even though I'm certain you don't even like me. I always see us, years from now. Worn, together. You, on the kitchen counter. Me, leaning against you. Your thighs are around my waist, and I'm kissing you everywhere. Lips, chin, jaw, nose. I just want to hold you.

"I think I actually hate you right now."

He looks over at her, waiting for her to elaborate as his eyes flicker back to the road. Pitch black, illuminated only by the headlight of the car. Not seeing anything gives her a kind of anxiety that chokes her awake. Charlie's sleeping in the back, and she wishes she has the warmth of her duvet. 

Nothing but the hum of the engine is exchanged between them. She wants to turn and look out the window but she can't keep her eyes off the road. 

He reaches over for her. She gives her hand willingly, interlacing fingers together. He squeezes her hand, she squeezes back and she's glad that he's there. 

He wakes her. A soft push on her shoulder. She starts with a snort, looking around only to find his silhouette with soft brown eyes. She sighs through her nose, covering aching eyes. A croak of a hum warbles from her throat.

"Let's go."

She snaps her neck to look at him. Between the warmth of her sheet, the snore of their dog, the dark window, she can't see what he's thinking. Time is lost.

"Let's just get in a car, and go," he says. "Out of here, out of the city for a while and let's just look at the stars."

"What time is it," she manages to mutter before laying her head back down on the pillow. Sleep nearly takes her in its grasp again, only his soft voice bringing her back.

"It's three right now."

She says his name, eyes shut. "If I literally was not in love with you," she says. "I think I'd throw you off a cliff."

He kisses her forehead before he slithers out of bed, catching his shirt off a chair as he walks out the room. She hears the creak of the floorboards, the flicker of the light switch to the bathroom.

He grabs onto your shirt. You stop. Tired. You sit down on the edge of the bed, hands against your face for a second before you turn to him. His arm wraps around your waist to pull you back into bed, and you think that maybe this is alright.

"You cut your hair."

She reaches up to grab a lock of only to come up empty. "Oh yeah," she says. "I did." As if she had forgotten it herself, her lips slightly purse downwards. "Do you like it?" She tugs at it, trying to look at the strands for herself.

"Why?"

"I wanted a change," she says. "Something new, I don't know. I'm tired."

I'm tired. Her only response for everything, anything she can't think of an answer to; that's all she's been saying.

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not," I say, but I don't realize what my face contorted to— or what I look like to her. "It looks good."

"I'm tired," I say. I try to look up at her but the sun blinds me. Her hands are soft in my hair. Light tugging, nails scratching, fingers twirling. I lay in her lap, I can't see her. "Exhausted."

"Why?"

"I don't know why. Don't ask me."

She says nothing. I can feel an air of disapproval. A frown, I think, stern on her lips.

"You're not trying hard enough," she says. "Do it better."

"I can't."

"See, you're not even trying, now."

The box cutter hits the floor with a loud ‘clack’ and for a moment I’m scared I’ve broken it. I forget about the pain pinching the tip of my middle finger so I can reach down to pick it up, but his hand encloses around mine before I could and for a moment I’m flooded with warmth. I glance down at the box cutter, with my other hand I quickly grab it.

He tsks, my attention pulls back to him, eyes slightly widening with question and curiosity as I await what he has to say. “You’re so clumsy sometimes, you know that?” I laugh but quickly stop when he gives me a stern look.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur softly, eyes averting onto the wooden floors littered with brown boxes here and there as I push the blade back down to distract myself a little from the ever growing heat sweeping my cheeks. “I’ll.. uhm,” Words catch in my throat, and I want to slap myself for sounding like this but I force them out anyway. “I’ll be more careful next time,”

“There better be no next time,” His hands pull away only for a brief second, pulling a bandaid out of his pocket. I have a feeling that he knew this was going to happen, and I can’t help but smile a little. He doesn’t notice though, as he carefully wraps the band around my finger, crinkling the white papers in his other hand once he finished. “Pay a little more attention, will you?” He pokes the side of my head, I slap his hand away.

"Aye, aye, captain,“

“Her name’s A,” I smile the best I can. It’s hurting me to do so, but I try anyway. My cheeks are already pained, my jaw stiff and the look she shoots me isn’t reassuring, but I keep my face on. “She’s…an antique doll. Fragile, but lovely.” I quickly explain when she doesn’t say anything. Oh so lovely, indeed she is. She shoots me another glance, hand briefly combing through the doll’s raven black hair.

“But she doesn’t belong to you, does she?” I falter a little, and soon I find my smile’s gone.

“No,” I admit, eyes pulling away from hers. “I just admire her from afar. I never actually knew her,” Then, I turn. What I speak is only the truth, though whenever I see her, a part of me cries and I wish I could coddle her in my arms. But I do not know her, therefore I can’t judge.