𝖊𝖈𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖘𝖊.

the faux marble of the counter cools her thighs,   ankles crossed in a thin veil of modesty with hands on her lap,   fingers folded over one another to keep from picking at cuticles.   nerves bound through her torso every time ;   push firm against her rib cage,   squishing her lungs into awkward shapes that make her breaths short and wispy,   tail end tickles the top of her stomach something worse than butterflies.   glances don’t have to be spared to know who entered the bathroom,   soft click of the lock overlaying the thumping of her heartbeat   —   even if only for a moment.   this scene could hold its own rerun spot on two in the morning television,   saved for the insomnia doused teens and sixty something year olds that lazily run through channels because it happens so often,   always the same :   the subtle softening of her mouth’s corners,   timid patter of his shoes closing the already small space,   warm palms making home to the panel of his neck,   fingertips  settling between golden ringlets in silent prayer for more time tonight.   always begging for more time this once. 

tentative irises scan the crowd before a mind can plead them otherwise.   some self restraint,   one day,   would surely do the femme some good.   familiar warm laugh hits her ears first,   tumbling down ear drums and warming the center of her chest like a fresh cup of hot chocolate in december.   feet shuffle soft with every intention of following the sound,   hands whining to lay palms to either side of a left hand her fingers had spent eleven nights tracing rudimentary elephant drawings into.   muscles tense immediately,   screeching instinctive yearning to a halt.   invisible rules keep the ten feet between them,   despite the three second lock of gazes,   the soundless admiration that weaves through the crowded bodies,   quiet fantasies that press her tongue to the back of her teeth and guide feet to swivel in the direction of the bathroom.  

emotion replaces blood in his veins,   can’t quite place the name but knows it’s an ugly medley of paranoia and sobering freedom.   a voice tells him that it was a one time thing,   no reason to become a whisper in school halls,   branded a runaway but time knows it had been inevitable.   a passing thought is spared for the blonde that he pictures sitting on the edge of her bed,   staring at the three knocks he had rapped against her bedroom window,   knees buckled to keep from standing with an outstretched arm pulling the beaded switch of a bedside lamp.   another ache splits through his heart’s center.   presently,   his head bows in thanks.   figures he’ll manage to say the words later when he’s made a small home between couch cushions.   ‘  what’s been new with you ?  ’   falls from lips between the soft thud of a passenger door being pulled shut and stretch of the leather seat contouring his body.   hands fold over his lap in a lame endeavor to brush over the disconnect that tapers small pleasantries. 

thumbs push together in a wobbly bridge,   just enough of a distraction to excuse the flicker in his expression.   a thin veil sits over their side of the family and both boys know it.   familiar enough to be invited to monthly sunday dinners with grandparents’ as hosts but vague enough to be strangers beneath face value.   he can’t blame them for it,   knows that it’s more his dad’s doing than a rich tip to their noses.   ‘ not  ..  i mean. ’   the breath that hollows out his lungs is helpless,   scrambling to find the right words that won’t crater the sympathy that’s beginning to crack through the other’s visage.   a lazy shrug of his left shoulder helps ease away some heaviness.   ‘  with charlie and everything,   i know that you have a lot on your plate.   and i’m not trying to put you out,   is all.   because you don’t have any kind of obligation,   you know ?  ’   eyebrows tilt at their ends in an unspoken apology,   another silent plea to keep another secret at another family gathering.   dares to wonder how many that is now if he didn’t already know it dribbled over the edge by now.   ‘  he isn’t going to call.  ’   

pain sits right between his shoulder blades.   a phantom knife being twisted in between the slits of two ribs.   he had never questioned nor been afraid ;   one could only imagine the riptide having an unwanted child all but sat on a doorstep one wednesday afternoon could do but the thunder of books and nick nacks being thrown from his dresser in a single volatile swipe of hands still echoed through his eardrums.   there had never been any fear before last night.   years of practice have made it so his eyebrows know the exact degree to settle into to feign content,   ends of his mouth follow direct to settle into a line that looks natural,   tip of his tongue resting against the roof of his mouth as a final barrier between confession and appropriate responses.   ‘  no,   nothing like that.  ’   the problem has always been in word choice.   which would breeze over reasoning without making request nor action appear over dramatic,   how to downplay a scenario so no red flags stick out of ears.   ‘  and i’m sure that he won’t call,   because he doesn’t usually mind enough to.   but if he does,   could you just tell him that i’m not there ?   don’t really want him talking shit to your dad or like,   abusing privileges or anything.  ’

sympathy makes his muscles ache.   it’s maybe too much effort taken to nod,   relief a bubble in his chest that the other hadn’t fallen into a wasteland,   corners of his mouth almost undetectably sinking as a precursor.   ‘ that’s kind of the reason why i’m here. ’   hands fold fingers over one another in front of him,   setting the cluster against the edge of the table,   a nervous rock could have one think it possible to form calluses.   it’s a big ask,   he knows.   head tips a few degrees to the right like he’s setting up the cue for a camera to slowly pan behind the other for dramatic effect,   emphasizing the idea that disjointed families only crept out of the woodwork in the movies.   had it been charlie sitting in front of him,   it might have been a breath less nauseating.   ‘ i was wondering if i could crash at your place for a couple of days. ’   left thumb presses against the base of the opposite index finger hard enough to make the knuckle pop,   a nervous tic.   ‘ i could just sleep on the couch,   i don’t need an actual room or anything.   and i get if,   like.   you can say no,   you know ?   or noah can,   even,   if you want to run it by her first.   i just   ——   i don’t have any money.   yet.   or anything. ’

‘ yeah. ’   a third party would note that family reunions weren’t supposed to feel so disjointed,   argue that two strangers sitting on opposite ends of the diner would have less of a jaded aura to them being sat across from one another abruptly.   the discomfort is his father’s to blame,   much like a handful of other disconnects the raven haired male suffers through,   but he knows it best to try.   the constant rumble of loneliness gets to be too much in the bright light of three in the afternoons and painful silence he’s greeted with whenever he steps through his own front door is beginning to chip away at the foundation of self - worth   ——   what little he has left,   anyhow.   ‘  i’m really sorry.   do you get to see him often ?  ’   feet shift beneath the table,   left tucking beneath right to coax some tension out of his tendons.   the relationship between the two is faint,   nothing more than some outskirts of conversations had with a twin,   the entity of the brunette’s name clinging onto the younger’s form as early as fifth grade.   

it’s uncertain what answer she’s looking for.   if her mind would have been appeased by a verbal indication of his heart not yet being claimed by another,  if it would have been a deciding factor to force her fingers to stop searching for him had he said yes.   her mouth has found the collar of his shirt,   cupid’s bow ghosting against the back of his neck whenever her exhale’s drawn out longer than normal by a fourth of a second.   she wants nothing more than to keep this moment pure,   fall back on the rusting dream of what could have been when she’s back to the thursday nights in her room,   another rerun of  america’s next top model  on in the background,   sheets cold from the absence of a body besides her own.   a heartbeat thuds faster between her ribs as sentences begin to tickle the tip of her tongue,   threatening to squeeze through the spaces between her teeth like minted floss.   her line of vision blurs,   as if losing the clarity gives any presumed embarrassment an escape from coloring her cheeks.   ‘ i want to be. ’  only then does she think about clammy palms,   fear beginning to collect between the lines of her knuckles,   daring her to pull her hands away and risk coming face to face with his expression.   ‘ and i think i could be. ’   with you,   lips implore to voice but a whisper of wind chill cracks the syllables before they have the chance.   ‘ it’s just   ..   it’s so funny,   it all feels so unattainable. ’

eyes slip shut with a soft blink,   a mistake on her part when a few tears manage to stream down cheeks.   they remain shut for a moment after in a loose attempt at buying time to pull herself together,   before the worried sobs that purged her lungs a couple nights prior could flood the hospital.   ‘ i love you too, ’   is spoken like a promise.   a prayer that she had murmured under her breath more times than she could count for the last week and a half,   almost to the point of the syllables no longer sounding familiar from nothing being echoed.   ‘ so so much. ’   their love never really had to be tested.   he was her foundation,   a coach cemented in her corner of the ring and a blinding beacon of praise,   encouragement,   reassurance,   love.   lips press a watery smile to his knuckles.   ‘ too much. ’

‘ you scared the shit out of us, ’   barely makes its way between a shaky laugh,   poor attempt at keeping the moment afloat.   the first night had been the worst.   she’d never seen such horror in his mother’s eyes before,   flickers over the woman’s face between keeping herself together for the sake of the other people in the room and allowing the waves of grief and devastation of potentially losing a child.  his father had flown in,   stumbling through the hospital room door with a lack of grace she didn’t think he’d even possessed,   unable to utter inquiries to the doctor   ——   and maybe that was the biggest problem for them all.   too dumbstruck to even consider the gravity of the situation,   clinging onto a false sense of hope that they’d be greeted with brown eyes within the hour because he always managed to pull through.   her hands move his to her lips,   mumbling the words into his skin   ——    a shared mannerism of good luck seconds before he’d run into the locker room on friday nights   ——   ‘ how are you feeling ?   i’m supposed to get the doctor in here,   but. ’

worry had made her limbs sore.   the hospital room had become a loose rendition of an oasis ;   far enough out of reach from the melancholy conversations her parents tried holding about inevitable grief and keeping herself afloat,   away from the mundane tasks of applying for colleges,   studying for exams,   the insufferable dodgeball tournament in pe class that’s taken too seriously.   here,   she could rest her head against the edge of a firm hospital bed with her hand over his and fall into daydreams of a better tomorrow,   an afternoon ten years from now when this will be nothing more than a breathless murmur in the middle of a promise for more years to come.   mind thinks his hand pulling from hers is make believe at first,   wicked dreams playing a slowly drifting body again.   the ghost of fingertips across her face is what wakes her initially,   tears that drift over irises make it so eyelids have no choice but to remain open as a steady gaze settles over his face.    i thought i was going to lose you,   she says with a shift of her hand,   palm to his knuckles so she can sandwich any part of him between herself.   

it’s hard not to intrude.   gratitude seeps from her form for simply being allowed in the room with them,   under the assumption many significant others find themselves confined to the unwelcoming white walls of the waiting room.   tears all around begin to solidify how close they might have been to finding themselves in a different room,   latching onto one another in a bout of grief instead of relief.   eyes mean to keep themselves settled on the fingers that find hers but they can’t help peeking at him,   anchoring themselves to the flutter of eyelashes atop pale skin every time he blinks.   every time he shows that he’s awake and alive.   impatience proves to be a plague that sends jitters through her joints,   knees always wanting to straighten out and climb herself into the bed beside him,   wrists needing an elbow’s weight to stop themselves from sliding around his torso.   her fingers offer her body’s only salvation,   mechanically tracing shapes into the back of his hand in lieu of any spoken words   ——   he knows her well enough to read the silence. 

‘ you think ? ’   head shakes,   delicate fingers nudging him far back so he has no choice but to be pressed up against couch cushions before she lays herself beside him.   no thought’s spared to the press of their bodies,   the way her limbs tangle with his.   ‘ maybe another time.   for now,   just sleep. ’

the doctor says to talk.   talk about the weather,   talk about their days,    talk about christmas plans and the playoffs and relay all the messages from friends and family   ——   talk as if he’s fully able to reply.   her throat is sore from the undertones of please come backs and i love yous that plague every word her lips form,   but she talks until her eyes slip shut,   until the monotonous beep of his heart monitor becomes something like a sickly melody.   school demands her presence when they make the decision   ——   what ifs tumbling through late night conversations,   hypothetical lined up against statistics in hopes of easing away some pressure.   a wednesday afternoon has her feet carrying her through the hospital’s sliding doors and up to the fourth floor without second thought,   lungs hollowing themselves out with a long exhale with her first step through the room doorway.   with the expectation of eerie quiet,   the cluster of people that line his bedside is almost a breath of relief.   a glance is spared at his twin and the smile on his face is empathetic.   ( one day,   she’ll have to look back and reassess if it had been pity. )   he looks fatigued and the unknown should weigh heavy on every shoulder in the room but locking with brown eyes elicits a soft,   alleviated whimper from lips.   tears flood irises to the brim,   searching wildly for a hand to hold so her brain knows this to be reality.   a lack of concern for a seat leads her knees to the linoleum,   mouth to the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

her hand seems to know the tears are skimming down her cheeks before her mind does,   lifting itself to use a knuckle to smear them away.   the first thought is that it’s her fault,   that she never should have left him to usher friends into cars and get himself home in one piece but an absence of selfishness makes it so the train of thought halts in her throat.   he never would have allowed it,   her conscience reminds.   he’s too set in his ways,   too concerned with the well being of others to leave them to fend for themselves.   she can only hope the pain was brief,   if there at all,   that adrenaline had carried him away under a false cloak of euphoria before he could register what had happened.   her home is his bedside for the days that pass,   counting the lines on his palm as an excuse to not eavesdrop on the conversations going on beyond the door.   ( it’s not her place,   she has to remind herself.   they know what’s best for him and they’ll do whatever that is.   the staff will do more than make him comfortable for demise.   they have to. )   a night dribbles by in nostalgia,   a second and third muted by reruns of family friendly comedies on the hospital television,   a fourth with a father’s reluctant departure,   a fifth reluctantly in her own bed. 

bleary eyes greet the notifications on her phone’s screen.   four missed calls.   one voicemail.   a hangover teeters on the tip of her tongue and her brain lags,   not yet ready to greet anyone with anything more than a pained grunt.   ten seconds pass before her eyes adjust :   mom 2 sits above the missed call.   mom 2 sits above the voicemail.   they’ve been a part of her life since she was eight years old,   clumsily falling into the arms of one of their twins.   she hadn’t ever quite known kindness before the lay family,   invitations to thanksgiving dinners extended from the first year,   delicate hands curling blonde strands for prom,   a spare jar of her favorite raspberry jam on a shelf in the pantry even though she insists the smuckers strawberry jelly in the fridge is perfect.   there’s no thought spared for the voicemail,   thumb pressing on the missed call before her wrist props the phone up to her ear.   the fragmented voice on the other end makes her heart plummet.   there’s been an accident,   feels a lot like she’s in the beginning of a netflix drama.   slow breaths wait for a director to step away from the curtains that frame her bedroom window and holler cut!   a red light,   seventy miles an hour,   a totaled car.   lungs plea for a breath that won’t yet come,   hanging with fragility on the whereabouts of a brunette,   prayers etch into her bones for something other than the mention of a time of death.   

her back naturally slopes into the passenger seat,   head tilting to the right to give a singular kiss just below his elbow.   he knows the call will go unanswered and he’ll leave the same voicemail he always does,   voice gruff with maybe one shot too many and the chaotic chatter of whoever’s managed to stuff themselves into the back seat of his a6.   ( her favorite type of voicemail,   second only to the one that she got three christmas’ ago when her parents’ poor decision had them in a distant uncle’s washington cabin the day before. )   fifteen minutes pass to have her nestled between the three pillows and a hefty comforter,   trapping any and all heat between itself as eyelids slip shut for the night.