U Broke The Girl In Me But You Wont Break The Man

“We should go inside, I think,” you say, turning to Deran. He nods without looking at you and opens his door slowly. You follow him inside the house, pausing in the doorway for a moment. The two of you sit on the couch, the cool air inside the house feels sharp in your throat. You bite on your nail until you taste blood. Deran springs up from the sofa moving to the kitchen, pulling a six pack out of the fridge. He sets it on the coffee table, cracking a bottle open with his teeth before taking a long drag, finishing more than half. If you tried to drink anything right now you were certain you would throw up immediately. You watch him closely, his face unreadable. 

“Are you ok?” He asks without looking at you.

“Me? No- yes- I’m not hurt-” you grasp at words that all seem inadequate, “are you?”

“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes flicking up to you. You nod, eyebrows furrowed in sympathy.

“Can I-” he starts, shifting in his seat before sliding over next to you and wrapping his arms around you. Your hands hover in the air for a moment before coming down to rest gently on his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “I don’t- I’m not sure what to say.” You feel his hands tremble against your back and he takes in a broken breath, hot tears falling onto your shoulder. You feel paralyzed. This poor guy just watched his brother kill his mother… because of you. 

You sit completely still as Deran cries against you. All you want to do is ask when he thinks Andrew will be back and if he thinks his brother is ok. Your head is throbbing from where Smurf hit you with the butt of her gun early that morning. Your ears are ringing. You hear Deran speak but the words come out all fuzzy.

“What?” you say as Deran shifts back creating a little space between the two of you.

“They’ll be back soon,” he says as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself. 

“You don’t think we should…” you start but trail off. Should what? Go look for them? Go help them? You don’t know what. You just want Andrew. Here. With you. Where he should be.

“They’ll be back soon.” Deran repeats, sounding as unsure as before.

Time drags. You pick on your cuticles until your finger tips bleed. Deran drinks four of the six beers. The sun slowly fades outside but neither of you move to turn on the lights in the darkening house. Then, headlights swinging across the wall. You and Deran move fast towards the door, him pulling it open with you on his heels. Andrew is already nearing the front door as Craig lags behind him. Tears start streaming down your face at the sight of him. Deran takes Andrew in his arms, burying his face into his older brother’s shoulder. Andrew’s eyes are fixed on you as he holds Deran and you make no move, letting him comfort his brother. Deran moves to Craig and you throw yourself into Andrew, his arms gripping around your waist while yours lock around his neck. You sob into each other.

The four of you sit in the cold quiet of the house. Andrew keeps you pressed against him and you keep your hand tightly around his wrist as if you’re afraid the other will vanish if you let go. Craig is the one who breaks the silence.

“How did she get you in the car?” He says. Your eyes flick up at him and he’s staring right at you. You open your mouth but no words come out.

“Leave her alone man,” Andrew says, squeezing you closer.

“I’m just asking a fucking question-” Craig holds his arm our gesturing towards you.

“Yeah, she doesn’t have to answer your questions,” Andrew's voice gets louder.

“It’s ok,” you say, turning to Andrew, running your fingers along the inside of his wrist. “I- uh- it was early, maybe close to seven in the morning? I’m not really sure. There was this loud banging at my door so I got up and just opened it, mostly to try and get the noise to stop… And it was- um- Smurf and she was hysterical, she- she said there was an accident,” you bring your eyes up to Andrew’s face, “she said that you were hurt, that you were gonna-” you bring your hand to your mouth to try and contain a sob, taking a trembling breath in. 

“She said I had to come with her now if I wanted to see you,” you say, tears crawling down your neck, “I’m sorry, I was so scared that you were hurt and-” your sentence breaks into another sob. Andrew pulls you into his chest, tears falling down his face at the state you were in. “I don’t really remember what happened next, it was so fast… we were at her car and she hit me in the head… and then we were all in the desert.” You try to take a deep breath but only swallow gasps, “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean for-”

“It’s not your fault.” Deran cuts through your broken sentences. “It’s not your fault she fucking kidnaped you and held you hostage.” 

“No,” Craig agrees, “that’s… not what I meant… sorry,”

“What, uh,” Deran looks down at the floor, “what did you guys do with…”

“We buried her.” Andrew says, voice flat.

“Ok,” Deran says quietly. He turns to you, “you know you can’t tell anyone what happened, right?”

“Yeah, um, I-” your words are jumbled and you can’t really organize your thoughts, “why didn’t we, um, call the police? Isn’t that self defense, I mean, she shot you,” you turn to Andrew looking at him almost pleading. He knows you only want to protect him but it’s more complicated than that. 

“You can’t talk to the cops,” Craig says sharply.

“I won’t I just-” you start.

“Ever,” Craig says more harshly.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that,” Andrew says, standing but you grip onto his arm holding him beside you.

“We can’t talk to the cops,” Deran cuts through, loud and firm, “because even though, yeah it might seem like it’s self defense, they would want to know why she had another bullet wound in her leg,” he looks at you sympathetically, “and then they could trace us back to the… job… then we’d all go to prison… probably.”

“Ok,” you say in a small voice, “I’m- I’m so sorry,”

Deran’s face twists with grief and he stands heading towards his room in the back of the house. Craig looks at the two of you quickly before following him.  

“Your head,” you say, suddenly panicking, remembering his injury. You take his face in your hands, turning his head to search for the wound, “are you ok? She could have killed you, she could have-”

“I’m ok,” he says, moving his hand to brush your hair back, looking at the dried patch of blood on your forehead, “your head,”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, shaking your head. “Andrew- I don’t- I don’t even know what to say- I’m sorry- I’m so sorry that you- I didn’t mean for this to happen- I would never want her to get hurt-” you gasp in a breath. You look into his bloodshot eyes as tears stream down his face. Your chest feels tight. How could he not hate you after this? You’re the reason his mother is dead. You’re the reason he had to kill her.

“Please don’t hate me-” you sob. His eyes shift from sadness to a look close to confusion.

“Hate you?” He breathes. “I- I love you- I- I wasn’t going to let her hurt you. I promised you I’d keep you safe from her and I-” a strangled cry breaks through his chest, “I couldn’t protect you-”

You push yourself forward, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. 

“You did,” you whisper, “you protected me. I’m just… I’m so sorry you had to do that… You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

You and Andrew sit on the couch wrapped in each other for hours. Crying and whispering ‘I love you’s’ and ‘I’m sorry’s’ back and forth until it feels like words are all together losing their meaning. Eventually the pair of you move to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes stained with blood and smeared with dirt and dust. You stand under the hot water pressed against each other until the water running down the drain turns from rust red to clear. 

“Can we stay here tonight?”Andrew asks in a small voice. You pull back and cup his jaw in your hand, fingers wrinkled from standing under the water so long.

“Of course,” you say, stroking his cheek, “whatever you need.”

You dress yourselves in Andrews clothes before crawling into bed. The two of you lay awake all night unable to relax enough to drift to sleep, rolling over on each other, tears slipping onto the pillows, hands never leaving the other's body. You let him hold you, tucked into his side, but your heart aches to hold him instead. What you had been through today was horrific but what he went through was worse. Smurf had tormented him his entire life up until the very last moment. And even though she was gone the damage she had caused hung heavy over the house like a storm cloud.

Andrew is a mess. Of course he is. And you can’t help but feel lost in this whole situation. You’re trying to process your own feelings, scared to offload on your boyfriend who is already struggling immensely. He spends hours at Deran’s bar drinking with his brothers. He comes to your apartment early in the morning covered in cuts and bruises and won’t tell you how he got them. Sometimes he doesn't even know himself. Some nights in the darkness of your room you get him to talk about his feelings, trying to help him through it, let it out, not keep it all pressed down inside…

“She was horrible, she was vicious, what she did to you- I’ll never forgive myself for letting that happen,” he says in an unsteady voice, “but I can’t help feeling… I miss her… I wish she wasn’t…”

“There’s no right way to feel,” you say gently, “the way it all happened… it was so fucked up… I think you can mourn the relationship you always wanted but never got to have with her. We always hope that the people we feel close to can change, even if they disappoint us over and over.”

Andrew rolls over, his body half on top of yours, nuzzling his head between your neck and shoulder. He takes in slow, shaking breaths. You run your hands through the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Maybe you can find some peace, let go of the hope that things could be better… I don’t know.”

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“More than anything,” he adds.

“More than anything,” you echo.

The strange calmness you had maintained for the week immediately following Smurfs’s death starts to give way. You weren’t calm, it turns out, you were numb, and now as you slowly gained back feeling the whole situation settles over you like a heavy coat. You’re losing weight. You can barely keep food down, anxiety sending it right back up. You sleep fourteen hours a day. When you’re awake you hardly leave your apartment, watching old horror movies with corny effects and overly dramatic scores. You don’t make jokes or laugh. You drop out of your fellowship before it even starts. You’re just doing enough to stay alive, some days not even that much.

Andrew becomes increasingly distraught. Both with himself and at the state you’re in. He drives around aimlessly, falling asleep in his car, waking up places he doesn't recognize. He loses track of time. He thinks he sees Smurf… in a car, in a store, on the sidewalk, like a vicious specter. He tries to help you. He brings you food everyday, throwing it away after a few days in the fridge, with only a couple bites taken. He cleans. Constantly. He sweeps and mops and dusts. He reorganizes your cabinets once a day while you sleep. Sometimes you watch him if you’re awake.

He doesn’t sleep much any more, staying awake watching you as if someone will come take you from him if he closes his eyes. He watches your face as you sleep, finally rid of the scrunch of despair between your brow. His mind starts to wander in ugly directions, wondering if you’d be better off if you’d never met him. Of course you would. He is a tornado, sucking up everything good and spitting out destruction. Some nights he’s glad he’s awake, like when you sobbed in his arms for hours after a nightmare where Smurf shot him instead of the other way around. He doesn't tell you he has the same dream too.

You have sex all the time. Once a day at least. It’s the only way you feel like you’re still in your body. You’re both aching to be close to each other but struggle to connect, each in a unique version of being shut down. It’s almost always the same, you on your back, one hand loosely on his waist and the other on your clit, him between your legs, his face in your neck. You hardly kiss, focused only on chasing the chemical release. You both need the dopamine, the distraction, but sometimes emptiness and anxiety hit right after the physical rush wears off. He always wants to hold you after, but you’ve begun getting up immediately after going to the bathroom, staying in there for a little too long. He did this to you, he thinks.

Andrew wants to help you so badly but he’s struggling to process his own feelings, never mind helping you navigate yours. If he was more steady, he thinks, he could do it. If he could just stop blacking out, forgetting hours of his day at a time... He's tried to soak in the ways you take care of him but his mind is so clouded, so jumbled, he can hardly remember. He got you to leave the house one day, dragging you to the library on a particularly gloomy, overcast afternoon. As much as you appreciated him trying so hard to make you feel better, you walked down the aisles aimlessly, picking up a copy of The Stranger, which sits on your nightstand long past the due date. A week later he tries to get you to go with him to the library again.

“The book’s due date was weeks ago,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed trying to coax you out of it. You roll away from him with a groan.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice raspy, “it’s just a book.”

“Come on,” he says, pulling the blankets down, “you have to get out of bed,”

You curl into a ball exposed to the cool air in your room.

“I don’t want to.” You say in a small voice. Andrew’s heart aches.

“I know, but it’s just for a little,” he says, gently resting his hand on your leg. You jerk up and pull back, climbing off the far side of the mattress.

“Fine,” you say, walking out into the living room, “I’m out of bed. Are you happy?”

Andrew follows you looking almost sheepish.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he says quietly.

“I’m not mad Andrew,” you huff, sitting on the couch, “I’m just… I’m tired.”

“You just slept for… ten hours,” he sits next to you with a noticeable space between the two of you like he’s scared to get too close. You rub your hands on your face in frustration. Andrew starts to feel frustrated too but tries his best to swallow it down.

“I just- when we weren’t talking Deran made me leave the house even though I didn’t want to and… it helped.” He says.

“Ok!” You snap, turning to him with a look of such disdain on your face he feels tears slowly rolling down his face. He stares at you as that expression melts off your face and you morph into pure sadness.

“I’m trying,” he cries, “but I need you right now, I need you and all you do is sleep-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, “I’m sorry I can’t be here in the way that you want me right now. I really am. I can’t- what you had to do- I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling. I wish I could take it away. I wish I could just take it from you and carry it myself.” You take a breath like a gasp. “But I am not ok either. You think I’ve ever had a gun pointed at my head before? I didn’t grow up with guns around. I didn’t grow up with all this insane shit. I don’t- I don’t know how to cope with this.”

Andrew's throat feels like it's about to close, he can hear his heart in his ears, his skin is making him feel claustrophobic. His heart starts to pick up and his palms are sweating. His mind flicks back to how you looked on the ground next Smurf, shaking and terrified. Covered in sweat from sitting in a hot, locked car for god knows how long. And even after everything Smurf had done to you and to him, the man you loved, you had still told him, with a gentle shake of your head, to choose mercy. To not shoot his mother even though she was begging for it. Even though she was threatening both of your lives. Of course he knows you’d never had a gun pointed at you before… not until you met him. 

“I’m leaving,” he storms into your bedroom, grabbing his duffle bag and emptying the things that have accumulated at your place since he essentially moved in after Smurf's death.

“What are you talking about?” You say, following him and sounding annoyed. 

“I have to go,” He says, shoving more things into the bag.

“Stop.” You say, grabbing his arm but he just pulls away from you.

“I can’t stay here,” he says, walking out into the living room.

“Andrew,” you say firmly, “just tell me what you're thinking. Talk to me,”

“I’m forgetting things- where I am- I’m waking up in places I don’t know how I got there- I’m confused,” his voice cracks and tears roll down his cheeks.

“Ok, so we’ll go to a doctor,” your face waivering from anger to concern.

“I’m blacking out, I’m hearing voices, I’m hearing Smurf's voice, everywhere I see her, everywhere.” His voice breaks into a shrill scream. “I can’t stay with you. I can’t be with you. I keep hurting you. You were perfect. I- I ruined you,”

“You- you ruined me?” tears form in your eyes. “So now- what- you just wanna leave me? After everything we’ve been through?” Your voice picks up, “I never said I was perfect,” you cry, voice shaking, “you said that," you point at him sharply, "and I told you I wasn’t. I’m just a person, Andrew, just like you. And now you’re leaving because- because what? Because I can’t take care of you? Because I can’t live up to your fucked up fantasy that I’m perfect?” 

Andrew stands completely still, tears filling his eyes. You had never yelled at him like this before. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to try and answer your rhetorical question so you can snap at him again, your red eyes filled with anger and sadness.

“You know what, get out, get out of my fucking house,” you say, venom in your voice. He takes a step towards you and says your name like a plea.

“Go!” You scream at him but he takes another step forward. You try to push him back by his chest but he takes your wrists in his hands, firmly but carefully. He wraps his arms around you as you break into sobs. He holds you, kneeling down as you slide to the floor in a ball. You grab onto his shirt as you weep into his chest, your head aching from the pressure of your long, loud cries. You hold onto him like he’s the last thing tethering you to the earth and he holds you just the same. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimper into his neck. “I love you..."

“I’m right here,” he whispers, swallowing back his own sobs as tears fall down his face, “I’ll never leave you.” He rubs small circles on your shoulders as your cries soften in his arms. He’s not going to let you down. Not like he let down Baz. Not like he let down Lena. Not, even, like he let down Smurf. He’s not going to let you slip through his fingers.

“I love you more than anything.” He says.

The pair of you shower together after you both calm down a bit, warm water streaming down your puffy faces. You stand with your arms wrapped around him, chest pressed his as he runs his fingers through your hair with shampoo but he gets caught on a particularly large knot.

“Sorry,” you say in a shy voice, “I haven’t brushed my hair in… a while,”

“We’ll get it out,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before turning you so your back is to the water, rinsing all the suds out. 

“I mean if we can’t we can always take a page from Lena’s book,” you smile at him and make a scissor cutting motion with your fingers. He breathes out a laugh. You shampoo his hair next, twirling the curls between your fingers.

“I love your hair,” you say, looking up at his sudsy halo. “Don’t go bald, ok?”

“Ok,” he smiles.

You wrap yourselves in towels, drying off before you sit on the edge of the bed in your underwear, Andrew sitting behind you in his boxers, a comb in his hand. You had run your fingers through your hair with some hair oil to try and help but it takes about ten minutes total for him to get the knot out. He’s so careful not to pull too hard, gently working the tangle and only snagging you once, immediately apologizing with a kiss on the back of your head.

Andrew was also right, you did have to leave the apartment, you knew you did, so you got dressed in a UCSD sweatshirt, denim cutoffs, and your birkenstocks, the closest thing resembling an outfit you had worn in weeks. You decided to go get ice cream, opting to take a lyft instead of driving so you could sit pressed against each other, your arms wrapped around one of his, drawing little shapes on his bicep. You were dropped off near the little ice cream shack at the base of the pier, you got a cappuccino chip cone and him getting chocolate in a cup. You wander down the pier, not talking, just enjoying being near each other, stopping to sit on a little wooden bench towards the end. 

“Remember when you yelled at me for taking Lena to get ice cream before dinner?” You say, a small smile on your face as you look out at the horizon.

“I don’t think I yelled at you,” Andrew scrunches his eyebrows.

“You weren’t happy with me,” you turn to him, a knowing look on your face, “you didn’t like me there for a minute,” you take another lick of your ice cream.

“I didn’t not like you,” he says, seeming offended that that’s how you recall your early encounters with him, “you were just so-” he looks at you searching for words as you look at him expectantly, “You just made me really nervous. I was kind of… jealous, I think,”

“Jealous?” Your eyebrows pop up, “of me?”

“You’re just so… easy to be around,” he looks down to his lap, “I’ve never been like that. People… don’t like when I’m around,”

You move closer to him, taking his face in your hand, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I like when you’re around,” you say softly, “I’m happy to keep you all to myself.” He rests his hand over yours.

“I wanna keep you all to myself too,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, “but other people like having you around,” you let out a small breath resembling a laugh and give him a light kiss on the lips. 

“Yeah, well, I like being around you the best,” you say as you shift in his arms as he wraps one around your back, the other coming around your front linking his hands together on your shoulder as you lean into him, tucking your head into his neck. You sit there quietly for a while, watching the setting sun sparkle over the ocean.

“I think-” he starts, as you both look out to the water, “I think you’re a once in a lifetime person,” 

You pull back so you can look at his face with pure adoration. You bite your lip as you feel tears start to prick your eyes.

“That is… the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.” You place a sweet kiss on his lips. “I love you so fucking much,” you say with your forehead resting against his.

“I love you,” he says, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “also so fucking much,”

You let out a small laugh as he wipes away your tear with his thumb.

“Wanna go home?” He asks in a low voice. You nod and your heart flutters because he thinks of your apartment as home. And as you walk back down the boardwalk hand in hand you can’t help but think the entirely cliche thought that your home is wherever he is.

As much as you had hoped it could happen, it wasn’t all magically better after that. The two of you still struggle and fight and have bad days. Andrew still comes home with bloody knuckles but with much less frequency. You still spend a day in bed but let him take you on a walk in the evening. You start to sleep less and Andrew starts to sleep more. He still cleans so much some days he makes his hands raw but you rub balm on his palms to soothe the dry cracks. You still struggle to eat some days but he sits with you at the table for as long as you need to finish your meal. The two of you are having sex a lot less, not in a dry-spell sort of way, but in a way that feels healthy. You had been using it as an emotional band-aid instead of dealing with your respective traumas. Now your sex life is starting to feel more intentional again. More intimate. You both still have nightmares.

The pair of you get better at the give and take, each bracing against the other when more support is needed. You come up with a ridiculous idea to schedule a ‘fight’ once a week where you can bring up anything that either of you have done, anything, big or small. It seems so silly to Andrew at first but it starts to work. Either things de-escalate and you forgive the other before your fight even happens or you get to talk about something when you’re not feeling so emotionally charged. Some weeks you don’t even have anything to fight about so you’ve started to make up tiny things, like tonight, you're complaining about how he put his toothbrush on the right side of the tooth brush holder and that’s your side. 

“I just think that you know,” you say, smiling and climbing into his lap, straddling his waist, “that my toothbrush goes on that side. I’m honestly shocked you even want to make such a drastic change to our bathroom."

“Our bathroom?” he says, smirking up at you. You let out a little huff but he sees a light blush spread across your cheeks.

“Ok, you were the one who called my apartment ‘home’ on the boardwalk the other day so…” you say, then stick your tongue out at him. He doesn’t even feel the need to rebut, you were right, he had said that and he had meant it. 

“Besides,” you say, playing with the curls at the back of his neck, “I want our home to be like… Someplace new that we make together…”

“Yeah?” He smiles up at your, warmth spreading in his chest.

“Yeah,” you place a soft kiss on his lips, “but we’re gonna have a lot of work to do because I have a lot of ideas,”

“Is that right?” He laughs. “You should probably tell me now so I can start planning,”

You beam down at him with your bottom lip between your teeth before you scrunch your nose, looking up, searching your mind for your ideas.

“Hm,” you hum, “I want a big front door that’s rounded, with a stained glass window on the top, and a stone path up to the front door with blue star creepers growing all up between the stones… I want a huge bathtub so we can take baths together without being scrunched up, but the faucet has to be on the side so we can sit facing each other when we talk about our days…” 

“Mhm,” he smiles, “what else?”

“I want a big study that’s all moody and dark wood with bookshelves that go so high you need one of those sliding ladders to get to the top shelf. And there has to be a big cozy couch in there so you can sit with me when I work of course…” you look at him utterly sincere.

“Of course,” he nods.

“And another long stone path to the garden in the backyard and a firepit so we can sit outside by the fire,” you lean into him, tucking your head between his neck and shoulders, “those are all my ideas for now.”

“Easy,” he says as he rubs small circles on your back, you snuggling against his chest, “how many bedrooms?” he says in a quiet voice. In a distant corner in his mind he hears a voice. No one is ever gonna have a kid with you. Ever. His throat tightens. Baz. He had said that and now Andrew regrets asking you that question at all… he had never told you about that awful conversation with his brother. It seems pretty obvious what he’s implying by asking about bedrooms. Hell, that’s exactly what he meant. Why aren’t you answering? How long had it even been since he asked? His mind moves so fast in panic he’s not sure how long silence has been hanging between the two of you… seconds? Minutes? Your hum snaps him back from his scattering thoughts.

“I’m not sure… three… four maybe?” You say, still leaning against his chest. He says silent and you pull back to look at him wondering if you just said the wrong thing. “How many… bedrooms do you want…?” You ask in a small voice, searching his face.

“I’d build you as many bedrooms as you want.” He looks up at you with such reverence that the only thing you can do in response is kiss him.

Andrew doesn’t sleep that entire night. He goes over everything you had said about the house you wanted. He has no idea where it would even be. California? The East coast? Wherever you tell him… that’s where he’d build it. He thinks about what all that means. That you want to build a home, a life, with him. That you want to have a child, more than one even, with him. It’s not a dream he’s willing to take any chances on. He’s going to make sure that you get there.

The next afternoon Andrew insists on taking you for a drive. Or at least that’s what he says he’s doing. He’s acting a little cagey but you just chock it up to… well… everything you had been through in the past month. You drive for about forty minutes down I-15 before he pulls into a parking lot in front of a bright, white building. ‘County of San Diego North Coastal Live Well Health Center’ the building reads across the front entrance. 

“Jesus, are you gonna 5150 me?” You say, looking up at the building.

“I don’t- what does that mean?” He asks.

“It’s an involuntary psych hold,” you turn to him with a sort of amused look on your face. His eyebrows furrow.

“No, I would never do that to you." He looks almost horrified you would accuse him of that. "It’s … will you just come see please.”

He holds out his hand to you and you take it letting him lead you into the building. He walks to the front desk asking where the 2 o’clock meeting is. The girl in scrubs behind the counter points towards the stairs and gives simple directions. The pair of you walk up to the second floor and down a long hall to a room with an open door. A piece of printer paper is taped to the inside of the door, ‘Gun Violence Support Group’ written across the page in black sharpie. You turn to him.

“I just thought-” he starts, “I know you can’t really talk to anyone else about the details of  what happened, but maybe you could talk about… how it made you feel. You don’t have to do it I just-” 

You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him tight against you, holding him for a few moments.

“You are the sweetest man I’ve ever met,” you say after leaning back, keeping your hands resting on his shoulders, “I love you,”

“I love you,” he says, his hands on your hips, “and I want you to… feel better. And I know I’m not always so good at the talking-about-things part… but maybe this can help.”

“Ok,” you nod.

“Ok,” he smiles and lets out a breath of relief, “just text me when you’re done, I won’t go far,”

“You’re not gonna stay?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows

Andrew peers into the room. What if someone was in there because of him? He had certainly committed… gun violence… well before the incident with Smurf. Deep down, he thinks,  he is scared that you might be scared of him after this whole ordeal. You had watched him kill someone. And it felt like a small miracle that you hadn’t punished him for that, even though you could have. 

“Maybe it’s good for you to talk about how you feel without… worrying about hurting my feelings…” he says in a low voice. You sigh and tilt your head to the side, taking his face in your hand and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“We’ll find someone for you to talk to,” you say, “soon, ok?”

“Ok,” he places a light kiss on your lips before you turn to walk through the door, blowing him a kiss as he backs down the hall.

Andrew picks you up about an hour later feeling utterly relieved that you seem to have liked the meeting.

“There were a lot of brave people in there,” you say, as he draws little shapes on your thigh.

“You’re brave,” he says, stealing a glance at you, you let out a little laugh, “you are.” He doubles down.

“Thank you,” you say, resting your hand on top of his. “So, I asked the counselor who ran the meeting if he knew any psychiatrists who specialize in trauma and he gave me a couple of names…” You feel his hand tense under yours. “I know it might feel scary but maybe talking to someone can help,” you bring your hand up to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his curls.

“I don’t know,” he says in a low voice.

“You shouldn’t be… hearing voices and blacking out.” You say gently. “You did such a special thing today, taking care of me, let me help take care of you. Please.”

Andrew turns to you but you’re already looking at him with love and sympathy in your eyes. And the way you are looking at him makes him think he would do anything you asked him to.

“Ok,” he says, squeezing your thigh. You give him this adorable smile before pulling yourself towards him and planting little kisses on his cheek. 

When the two of you get home you tell him you need to take a shower to decompress a little. Of course he respects your space and lets you shower on your own but he can’t help but let his mind wander as he sits on your sofa. You hadn’t had sex in days, maybe a week. He would never complain about it, ever, but it was becoming… difficult for him. In the darkest days the way you two had sex had been so impersonal in a way that made you both feel awful. Now, it felt like you had to relearn how to be intimate with each other again.

It was strange. Since the first time you had been together the connection between you was so strong, so immediate, so natural. He hates to say it because it sounds so corny but it really did feel like your bodies were made for each other, like you knew exactly how to be with one another, how to touch one another…. But now it felt like you had pulled back a little, like you were shy and unsure of yourself… like the two of you were a little out of sync.

“Andrew,” your soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He turns to see you standing in the threshold of your bedroom, your body partially obscured by the doorframe. But as his eyes move down your figure he feels his chest get tight for a second. You weren’t out of sync, not at all, you have clearly been thinking exactly what he has… You have on a rose patterned bra and a matching pair of panties. He stands from the couch talking long strides over to you, grabbing your face in his hands placing a searing kiss on your mouth.

Your fingers go to the hem of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on yours. The way you two move isn’t frantic but it is desperate, caressing each other instead of grabbing, pressing yourselves against each other. Your hands come up to his neck and his drop down to your waist, moving his hands slowly over your soft skin down to your ass, lifting you easily. He places you down on the bed and your hands find his belt buckle, opening it slowly as you kiss each other, tongues lining the others mouth. 

Andrew kicks his pants off leaving him in his black underwear, his body pressing down against yours. He takes the back of your head in one hand as the other slides underneath you, unhooking your bra. You move your hands to the straps, pulling it off you, lips not leaving his for a moment. Your mouths move against each other slowly and tantalizingly, you feel his breath catch as your soft breasts press against his hard chest. He rubs circles on the side of your tit with his thumb and you shift beneath him, pushing your chest into his hand. He smiles against your mouth as he swipes his thumb over your nipple, a breath leaving you telling him this is exactly what you want.

He snakes his arms around your waist rolling you on top of him as he sits up against the pillows. His lips find your neck, sucking slow and agonizing kisses into your skin. Your hands rest on his sculpted abs pushing your tits together as he plays with your nipples, gentle and teasing, making you ache. You start shifting your hips, grinding down on him letting out airy little moans that go right to Andrews cock. He feels like he could do this for hours, just kissing and touching your smooth skin, getting you to make pretty little sounds in his ear… but he needs to touch you.

“Pull your panties to the side,” he breathes against your throat, you immediately follow his instructions, lifting yourself on your knees, hooking your fingers in your thong, exposing your pussy to him. He doesn’t hesitate dragging his fingers through your wet core, stopping on your clit and making slow circles.

“Fuck, you’re so wet pretty girl,” he says before taking one of your tits in his mouth, sucking and flicking his toungue over your sensitive nipple. You whimper above him, threading your fingers through his hair as he kisses and caresses you. 

“Andrew,” you whine, rolling your hips down, “I need your fingers,” he smiles, taking your nipple lightly between his teeth and slipping his middle finger inside you. No time for teasing tonight. You let out a little moan and squeeze his shoulder and your pussy squeezes his finger. You move down so his hand is pressed between his thighs and your entrance, grinding down on him. You’re rocking your hips back and forth so your clit rubs on his palm as you kiss him again, sliding your tongue in his mouth.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips, lifting your hips, “more,” he slides a second finger inside you rubbing against your sensitive front wall. You whimper, rolling your hips, getting yourself off in his fingers. 

“You’re doin’ so good, gorgeous,” he says, his other hand on your lower back pulling you towards him, his hand under you going numb but he doesn’t care. You rest your forehead on his, locking your fingers behind his neck. He feels your pussy spasm around his finger as he curls them into you and your hips stutter as you rock back and forth. 

“You gonna come for me?” He looks up at you, your bottom lip is between your teeth and your eyebrows are scrunched in pleasure.

“Yeah, I’m gonna come,” you squeak.

“Yeah,” he whispers, encouraging you to let go. You lean forward and press your lips hard against his as your legs shake. You whine and whimper against his mouth as he does his best to curl his fingers in your pussy, hand completely numb. Your hips slow as you come down from your orgasm, he wraps his arm around your waist lifting you so he can pull his hand out from beneath you.

You shift back on the bed, pulling his boxer briefs down his thick thighs as his cock bounces up against his stomach. You settle on your knees between his legs, taking his shaft in your hand and licking a long line from the base to the tip. You take the pink head of his cock in your mouth letting your spit drip down on him as you swirl your tongue over his tip. He watches you and sucks his fingers in his mouth licking off your sticky cum and moaning at the taste. He bites down on his fingers as you take his cock to the back of your throat, your wet, warm mouth swallowing him deliciously. You bob your head up and down, trying not to gag on his girthy dick and he groans watching you.

Andrew sits up and pulls you off him, laying you on your back as he moves between your legs. He sits on his knees, grabbing your waist and hooking your legs around his hips, your thighs resting against his. He grabs his shaft and rubs his tip slowly over your clit in small circles. You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch, your pink mouth open, tiny breath escaping your throat. God, he is so fucking sexy. He lines the head of his dick up with your entrance as you both stare down to where he squeezes inside you. He takes your waist in his hands pulling you down onto his cock slowly. Your pussy is so tight for a moment he can’t believe he fits inside you, but you take him so good.

He starts slow, making you ache as he fills you at an unhurried pace over and over. He can see his cock pressing up against the inside of your belly, groaning at the sight. The angle of your hips is letting him hit a spot deep inside you that he doesn’t normally reach, making you squeak at the sensation. You’re pulsing around him so tight he doesn’t know how long he’s gonna last but he wants to remember you like this forever. He bends forward, kissing you slowly and dreamy, pulling back and resting his forehead against your.

“Can I take a video?” He whispers, holding your face in his hands as you grip onto his wrists. Your breath catches in your throat at the idea and you nod, reaching over to your nightstand to grab your phone, handing it to him. He swipes to your camera and clicks record, framing your body where it greedily sucks him in. He holds your phone in place with one hand looking through the camera where he watches his other hand gripping your waist, leaving little white marks under his fingers, and his big cock stretching your little pussy open again and again. He gives one hard thrust to make your tits bounce and you moan loud before clicking off the video, tossing your phone to the side.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, looking down at you. Sure, he wants to be able to look back at his but he also wants to be here with you now at this moment. He brings his hands down to your ass, lifting you up and pulling you back and forth on his cock. You whimper as he starts to thrust inside you faster, the sounds of your skin slapping together mixed with your wet pussy squelching around his cock filling the room. Your eyes flutter shut as he pounds into you so deep the only thing you can focus on is the way he’s making your body feel. He places you down on the bed gently so he can keep fucking you while rubbing little circles on your clit.

“You gonna come for me?” He says, breathless, feeling his own orgasm coiling in his stomach. Your head rolls back and you whine before looking up at him and nodding. 

“Yeah?” He says, thrusting deep inside you, making your clit ache, “you wanna come on my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, taking one of your fingers in your mouth, “I wanna… come on your cock… I wanna come... when you come.” 

A small smile flashes across his face at your desperation for him as he pounds into you over and over. Looking down at you, cock sinking inside your pretty pussy, breasts bouncing, body shimmering with sweat, pink lips wrapped around your finger, cheeks flushed he feels a shock shoot down his spine. He bends forward resting his forehead on yours. 

“Come for me,” he growls as he feels his own orgasm rack his body. He captures your lips in a hungry kiss groaning against your soft mouth as he feels your pussy flutter around him. 

“I’m coming- I’m com-ing-” you whine against his mouth, legs shaking as he fills you with his hot cum. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as your legs tremble around his waist. Your soft mouth moves gently against his. He swipes his tongue on your cupid's bow before biting down on your bottom lip, pulling back and watching your pink mouth snap back into place. He sits back on his knees and drags his hand down your body, fondling your tits, pressing your thighs apart so he can watch his cum cream down on your inner thighs. His mouth hangs open and his eyebrows furrow as he stares down at the state between your legs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you say with a small smirk on your lips. He can’t tell if you’re kidding or if the little video you made was going to be a feature of your sex life.

“Really?” He raises his eyebrows as you hand him your phone. He lets out a breath of disbelief. He opens the camera placing his big hand on your thigh, positioning your pussy in the center, his semi hard cock still filling you and his cum dripping down your legs. He stares at the picture for a moment before tossing the phone aside and placing little kisses all over your face and neck as you giggle.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbles against your cheek. 

Soon you’re cleaned up and back in bed in panties and his t-shirt, him in his boxers. His phone digs in the pocket of his jeans and he pulls it out seeing you just sent the photo and video he had taken of you. He looks at you, sitting on the bed with a cheeky smile on your lips. He crawls up your body, pulling the duvet over you both, placing sweet kisses on your neck.

“Where have you been all my life?” He says against your throat. This gets another pretty laugh from you as you wrap your arms around him pulling him closer. He snakes his arm underneath you.

“I don’t know,” you say, voice soft, “but I’ll stick around for the rest of it,”

Andrew’s heart feels like it could burst at your words. The rest of it? He pushes himself up on his side so he can see your face.

“Do you mean like… what do you mean?” He says, searching your face. Your mouth opens but no words come out right away.

“I just mean- I-” you look away from him, shy, “I love you and I don’t ever… wanna not… be with you…” You look up at him with your big eyes, tucking the duvet up under your chin, waiting for him to react but he just stares at you for a moment.

“You- you would want to… marry me?” He asks in utter disbelief. You shrug and a small blush creeps across your cheeks as you look down.

“Yes,” you say quietly, flicking your eyes back up to him but his expression is still unreadable. He sits up. Your chest starts to get warm and you wish you hadn’t said that, with everything he’s been through the past month why would something like that even be on his mind? You try and correct yourself, sitting up next to him, “I don’t mean now- or even soon- I didn’t-”

“Marry me,” Andrew says in almost a whisper, not even looking at you. 

“What?” You say in a small voice. He turns to you.

“Marry me.” He says again.

“Andrew,” you say feeling flustered, “I didn’t say that to make you start thinking about-”

“That didn’t make me start to think about it,” he says, seeming almost offended, “I’ve been thinking about it since-” He stops himself.

“Since…?” You look at him and your eyes are glittering.

“Since you talked to me that night about A Wrinkle in Time,” he says, swallowing hard. Your lips part and you let out a small breath. Maybe that was too much information… you hadn’t even been together, you hadn’t even kissed, “is that crazy?” 

“Yeah,” you say nodding, keeping your eyes locked on his, “it was much later for me,”

“Oh,” he says, trying not to shrink back into himself, “when?” he asks in a little voice.

“The day after when I crashed my bike,” you say, a small smile on your lips, “and you helped me,”

Andrew's face breaks into a smile and he takes your jaw in his hand pulling you in, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. You climb into his lap, straddling his legs, giggling against his mouth.

“Ask me again,” you whisper, resting your forehead on his.

“Will you marry me?” he says, stroking your cheeks softly. 

“Yes,” you say, placing another kiss on his lips, “yes,” kiss, “I will marry you,” kiss, “I love you,” kiss, “more than anything,”

Andrew falls back against the bed, squeezing you tight against him.

“More than anything,” he whispers into your skin.

Next Part

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