Dog House (Part 2) [Part 1]
Andrew “Pope” Cody x masc!reader
wordcount: ~3k
warnings: angst, drug use, mentions of fighting, cursing, allusions to abuse, mentions of suicide, hurt finally gets some comfort, no use of y/n
—
You’re sitting off by yourself in a corner by the pool. The whole family had had dinner together, and now all the boys are out here, drinking, smoking, laughing. You’ve sat away from them because you know joining means that Pope will flee back into the house, and then you won’t get to see him. You miss seeing him, so you’ll take whatever you can get.
He’s been avoiding you since the brawl, at least as best as someone who shares a bed with you can. That first night, after you’d sent him away, you eventually woke up to find him in the bed with you. You were a little surprised, since you figured he wouldn’t want to be near you. Although, he wasn’t exactly near you. He was as close to the edge as he could get on his side of the bed, facing away from you, curled up into himself. In the morning, he was gone before you’d woken up. You suspect he hadn’t slept at all, that night.
It’s been like that ever since, and every time you try to get him alone, he suddenly finds somewhere else he needs to be. He can’t even bring himself to look at your face when you’re stuck in the same room together (though, to be honest, you’re pretty fucking ugly at the moment, so you can’t blame him). He’s spent most of his time tonight with whoever’s furthest away from you. You take it as a hint to stay away. When he sees you take your seat out on the patio, he switches spots so he’s facing away from you.
It hurts more than you care to admit to yourself.
You’re starting to think maybe you should stop waiting until you can get him alone and just confront him, but the desire to avoid making him uncomfortable, making a show of him in front of everyone else, is winning out. Still, part of you wants to march over to where they’re all sitting right now and do it, even though he looks like he’s actually kind of enjoying himself. He deserves any crumb of happiness he can get, and you don’t think you’re quite desperate enough yet to take that from him.
You’re not high enough for this.
You quietly get up and go back into the house, hoping that you’re quiet enough for them not to notice. You don’t need to spread your bad mood to him or anyone else. Smurf and Cath are in the kitchen, cleaning up. If they notice you, they make no indication of it. You’d normally be grateful for that, but tonight it feels stifling.
You feel so trapped, all of a sudden.
You change your mind about grabbing your weed and decide you’re going to go for a walk, instead. You just need to get out of here. To think for awhile.
It’s nice outside. I should do this more often, you think to yourself.
You should do this with Pope.
You can feel the tears start to sting your eyes. It wasn’t like you’d never had arguments, before, and some of them had definitely gotten heated. You both had tempers, and you’d both said things you’d regretted, but you’d always made up within a day or so, even if you were both absolute shit at expressing your feelings.
You’d never lain hands on each other in anger like this, though.
The tears stinging your eyes turn into a steady stream. You just want to apologize to him and get back to the way things were. You want him to know that he’s not a monster, like you’d made him think when you sent him away. You want him to acknowledge your existence, again.
You lose track of time at some point during your walk. Despite everything, it’s a nice night. The moon is almost full, the stars are out, and there’s a slight breeze that’s pushing the smell of the ocean toward you. It’s easy to get lost in it, even when you feel like shit, and you just keep letting your feet take you wherever they feel like taking you. You have no clue how far you’ve gotten by the time your legs start to ache, and you finally decide to head back to the house.
You also haven’t been paying attention at all to where you are.
You pause to get your bearings. A car drives by as you look around for a street sign. You hear it screech to a halt a little ways up the road, and look up in time to see it reversing back toward you. For a moment, you consider running, but as it gets closer, you can see that it’s Deran’s Scout. He’s driving and J is in the passenger seat. Your moment of fear turns to one of panic. They’d only come screeching in like this if someone’s gotten hurt, or worse.
“Shit,” you say, running up to the car as they’re pulling up next to you, “what happened?”
Deran’s looking at you like you’re stupid.
“You happened,” he says, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stare back for a moment, your brain and your emotions an absolute mess.
“What?” you ask.
“You’ve been acting weird all day and then you just disappear, without a word, for over an hour, middle of the night,” he says. “Didn’t take your phone, your keys, your wallet. And now I find you out here bawling your eyes out? Pope is freaking out.”
Your heart jumps a little at that last part.
“I haven’t been acting weird,” you say.
That’s definitely the part to focus on.
“Dude,” Deran says. “Just get in the fucking car.”
You stand there, staring at him, debating.
“I can walk back just fine,” you say eventually.
“No you can’t,” Deran replies. “Not unless you want Pope to kill me.”
You don’t respond right away.
“Really?” he says after a beat. “Get in the damn car!”
You glare at him for a minute.
“Fine,” you say before climbing into the back seat.
Deran guns it before you’ve even had a chance to get situated.
“Jesus,” you say, “you’re definitely not gonna survive if you kill me on the way back.”
“Consider it payback for actually debating letting me die,” he responds, hitting the gas even harder as he does.
It’s not long before you’re screeching into the driveway. Pope’s at the end of it, wringing his hands and pacing, watching as Deran pulls in. J must have texted him on the way back, to let him know they had you, so he’d know to come back, because you can’t imagine they’d ever succeed in getting him to stay behind.
His worry kind of pisses you off, actually, once you think about it. He’s been avoiding you for days, disappearing whenever he felt like it, but you take one walk and he sends out a search party? You wish you had a door to slam dramatically as you climb out of the back. You don’t even acknowledge him as you walk toward the house. You’re actually hoping he doesn’t follow you, this time.
You should’ve taken the weed with you, you think.
“I thought you were going to hurt yourself,” he says from behind you, his voice still holding a note of panic.
That stops you. Oh, you think.
Deran’s words finally catch up with you. Barely talking to anyone all day (for several days, actually). Lurking in the corner while they hung out. Walking out without telling anyone what you’re doing or where you’re going. Not taking anything with you. Him finding you just standing there, crying. The fact that you’d once drunkenly confessed to all of them that you’d tried to kill yourself before you’d met any of them. That would do it, you suppose.
You feel bad for snapping at Deran, now.
“I didn’t…” you start, still facing away from him.
You turn toward him a little more. Now you’re the one avoiding his face.
“I wasn’t thinking,” you say. “I just…needed some air. I’m sorry. I…I…I wasn’t...I wouldn’t…”
You can’t even say it. Coward. You turn your head away, again, and you realize in that moment that everyone else has disappeared. For the first time in days, it’s just the two of you, right back where all of this started.
“I’m sorry,” you say to the ground.
You had a whole speech prepared, at one point, for when you two were finally alone together, but now it’s abandoned you. You sigh. Your eyes are stinging, again.
“I just want you back,” you say. “It’s killing me not having you, not having…”
Not having the one person that makes you feel like it’s worth staying alive, you think, but you know you can’t tell him that, right now.
Not having a home, because it doesn’t feel like a home without him.
“You should’ve told me,” Pope says quietly.
Your head snaps up to meet his face. You feel a surge of anger. Unfortunately, that makes the tears start falling.
“When?” you ask. “You’ve been avoiding me for days! You wouldn’t even look me in the face!”
To his credit, he doesn’t look away, now.
“I wanted to give you space,” he says. “I thought…I wasn’t sure you’d still want me after…after what I did.”
You’re both idiots. Noted.
“I was scared you’d leave if I tried to talk to you,” you say, that edge of anger quickly fading. “That you’d…do something stupid.”
Like I did, you think.
“Like walking out in the middle of the night without telling anyone?” he says.
You’re really crying, now. Pope is looking almost like his usual, stoic self and you’re a red-eyed, snot-nosed mess. You hate that about yourself. You use the sleeves on your t-shirt to awkwardly wipe the tears away.
“I’m sorry,” he adds.
You can tell he’s fighting not to look away as he speaks, mostly because he occasionally loses the battle.
“I didn’t know I’d even hit you until you grabbed me,” he continues. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but I didn’t mean to. I’d never.”
“I know,” you say through sniffles. “I know you wouldn’t. It…it was my fault, not yours, and I…that’s all I’ve wanted to tell you since I yelled at you and…sent you away like that. Made you feel like…like you’d done something terrible.”
He stares at you for a moment.
“We both suck at this, don’t we?” he asks.
You nod. You wipe away the snot that’s started running down your face. You feel like a child, the way you cry so easily.
“You can break my nose, if you want,” he says.
You can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.
“No,” you say quickly. “I just…”
The tears are making it harder and harder to talk, to actually make the words come out, so instead of finishing your sentence, you do what you’ve wanted to do for days. You quickly close the space between the two of you and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He puts his arms around you a second later, and pulls you tight against him, leaning his head against yours. It demolishes whatever control you might have had over the tears, and you sob into him.
You feel bad about all the snot that’s getting on him.
He stands there with you like that until your sobs begin to slow.
“We should get you to bed,” he eventually says. “You’re gonna crash hard tomorrow after all that walking.”
You’ve been so distracted by all of this that you’d forgotten how much your legs hurt, but now you notice it again, along with the growing pain in your back and hips. He’s right, tomorrow is going to suck, but you don’t even care, anymore. He’ll be right there with you, taking care of you, and nothing else matters.
You eventually let go of each other and head back inside the house, his arm now wrapped around your waist and your hand tucked into his back pocket.
“Sorry about all the snot,” you say.
“It’ll wash out,” he replies.
You smile for the first time in several days.
“Hey, we should take a nighttime stroll together, sometime,” you say. “It was actually kind of nice.”
He stays quiet for a minute.
“Ok,” he finally says, “but you’re bringing your cane next time.”
You let out a little huff. You hate that thing. It makes you feel so self-conscious. Still, you’re definitely going to be paying for not using it over the next couple of days.
“Deal,” you say.
