ST. FRED

Jay listened, his eyes gazing into hers – half sleepy, half pained. He listened to every word, repeating them over in his mind as if he wanted to drill her forgiveness so far into him that he’d eventually begin to forgive himself, that eventually – he’d seen himself and his past the way she did. His eyes never left hers, watching as her eyes twinkled with moisture in the light of the rising sun, welling up with tears…

How could she cry? Now? After hearing everything he’d done, everything he’d put those families through, if there even were any? How could she forgive him so easily and tell him that after all these years of suffering, of guilt, shame and regret feasting on him – that all of that was unnecessary? That, in fact, what he’d done had been a good thing? Jake swallowed hard, lifting a hand to hold the left side of her face, his eyes – still – gazing deeply into hers, as if searching for conviction. You’re a good man, he heard her say – you would’ve saved me.

“I’m sorry –” he said suddenly, the words leaving him in half a whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to keep it from you. I was thinking of telling you weeks ago but every time I tried, I just…” he paused, “I don’t know, I just couldn’t. And I berated myself for it but…you’re right, we shouldn’t have secrets between each other. I want to tell you everything. I want you to know everything, I want – ” he stopped – his love for her overwhelming, raining over him, drowning him like the water of a million seas, “I love you.”

she couldn’t see darkness in him. as hard as she looked, she could find shadows, yes — but even shadows come from the shining of a light, and inside his eyes she searched for something monstrous, something famished, and all she found was regret and fear (the same kind she held in her heart, spirits haunting her — them, now, attached to their shoulders like guardian angels). it should’ve been worth a laugh, the fear they’d both had to confess their stories to each other — and how well they fit against one another now, like they were nothing but characters from the same book, cut out of their own story for too long. 

forehead brushing against his, her hand on his face, the way they’d been so many times before. a simple act yet already so familiar that it felt like home each time; breathing into him, her tiny, modest tears touching his lashes. fred’s arms moved instinctively when he spoke again, such regret in his voice — they wrapped around him, needing there to be nothing in between the two of them but the thin layer of her shirt, needing him to feel her heart, know that he wouldn’t find anything inside of it that wasn’t love, or understanding, or unshakable faith. “shh”, freddie shushed him softly, lips grazing against his cheek. “it’s okay. it’s okay. i kept it from you, too. it’s okay”. 

her kiss was chaste then, grazing his lips with no real need to taste him, just needing him to know she was there, on his side, a part of him no matter what. when she pulled away (just an inch, just enough for him to breathe), her eyes were still in his. her voice soft, a private whisper: not a demand, but a statement — “i love you. we have no secrets now.”

[ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] i’m too pretty for that. those turds are yours. [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] 😑😒 😑😒 😑😒 😑😒 [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] sure. what were you gonna invite me to, huh? a round of bingo? speed dating at the nursing home? maybe a crochet convention?

jordan: 🙄 only sometimes.

jordan: she's a dangerous woman that needs to come to terms with her reality!

jordan: two things can be true at the same time, you know.

jordan: besides.. you don't need any more grays. 😏

freddie: ...you're a dangerous woman that needs to come to terms with her reality and yet you're still walking free. how's that?

freddie: you're the same person who gave me shit for calling you old the other day, right?

SANTI KNEW SHE’D EITHER FIND IT HILARIOUS - OR THROW SOMETHING AT HIM in exasperation. That was just how their friendship worked. As he looked at her face, then, he realised there was a higher chance of the latter happening. Yeah, he was so getting his ass kicked. Literally. Santi let out a somewhat hilarious yelp as her fingers flicked harshly against him, sitting back and rubbing the forming red mark on his skin with a forlorn look on her face. “Hey. I didn’t ask you to worry about me. I was only at work, and believe it or not, I was behaving myself.” He pouted; not that it would make her feel at all sympathetic towards him, nor would it stop her from worrying about him.

Santiago’s pout faded though, as she started calling him old again. “First off, we’re the same damn age, you’re not allowed to call me old.” At least she was smiling now, even if it was at his expense. “Second of all, even if I do have a few greys, I can totally rock the salt and pepper look, even if some people decide to disagree. And finally - you’re right, I don’t like it when people point it out. What gave you that idea?” He finished sarcastically, though he began to mirror the smile on her face. “C’mon. Give it five years and I’ll come to terms with being a silver fox.”

she knew far too well that she shouldn’t be pouring salt in the proverbial wound — but, first: teasing santi was easily the best pastime she could ever find, and he always made it worth it, what with his cartoonish looks and the drama soaking in every reaction from him. second — she liked to believe all her teasing, her merciless harassing and the casual bullying she subjected him to were all inscribed into the frame of tough love — whatever she did to him, was out of love. more or less. sometimes, it was just for the sake of ruining his day. as was happening right now: she witnessed his theatrical monologue and then tilted her head, letting a vaguely mocking, definitely childish pout curl her lips.

“aw, santi. i’m sorry, i hate to break it to you, but in five years you’ll start looking like everyone’s dad — while me, five years? i’m gonna have the jessica rabbit vibe i’ve been striving all my life for”. as she spoke, she reached over the counter to give the impression that she would flick her fingers again — her hand went to his shoulder instead, patting it sympathetically and letting her gaze plant itself right in his eyes. “just admit it, santi. it’s time to pick a retirement home for you, come on”.

Jake watched as she moved closer, taking comfort in her warmth, in her energy – it had been calm, smooth, like gentle waves lapping over a quiet shore. He took a deep breath, as deep as he could muster, the heat of her hands radiating through-out, stilling and warming the places in him that had gone cold. He thought suddenly of her text, having screenshot it the day he first read it. He remembered it word for word – if someone killed someone else to defend themselves then I’d understand it, it’s just that. It was as if, then, when she had written it, she could see right through him, as if she knew what he’d done and why he fled London. He had read it so many times over again, contemplating just this – exactly what he’d been doing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his eyes drifting to a particular crease on the t-shirt she’d been wearing, his mind in places he hated it being in. He sat in silence for a moment, the only audible sounds coming from the birds morning song outside his bedroom window and his own heart beat. Finally, he looked at her, the words feeling as if they were lodged in his throat, unwilling to come out. 

“My father had an affair with the wives of one of these men, in the crime ring and they found out and killed him. I held onto it for years, the anger, the grief, wishing with all I had that I could make him pay and when I left uni, having been a cop for about a year and some change, I found him. The guy.” He paused and bit his lower lip, turning away, gulping. “I killed him. I saw him in the streets and I just shot him, point blank, in the head without even thinking about it. I just did it without thinking of the consequences, of whether or not he had a family, kids, brothers, sisters. And I panicked. Mike took the fault for me, told the department that the man was part of the crime ring and was dangerous and tried to kill him, so he got to him first. Then I packed what I had and moved to Arizona. All of this happened in two days. I was in England on a Friday night, then suddenly in a motel room on Monday morning in a completely different country.” 

He took a deep breath, wanting to stop then and there but figured there wasn’t any point. If he was going to tell her about what he’d done, he would tell her everything. He was already knee-deep, what was the point in stopping now? “So, after Amanda, the whole thing with her, I was kidnapped. I was a cop then, too. –  I was at a petrol station one night, I was knocked out and dragged into a van and woke up in someone’s basement. Apparently this crime ring had ties to people in Arizona and somehow they figured out who I was and I was tortured for two days,” flashes of what he’d gone through came to mind now, only flashes, small ones that he had forgotten – most of them still forgotten from the trauma of it all, “I ended up escaping and they found me trying to leave, so I killed them, too. The two men who had kidnapped me. All in self-defense that time. But again, I thought, what if they had families, you know?” He glanced at Fred, “What if they had children and a wife and I took these men away from all that? What even made me think I had the right to kill those men? Cause I was a cop? Cause I had some sort of power they didn’t? How is any of what I’ve done even justified cause of a stupid fucking title? –The scary part is, I don’t even know if I can handle it. Who’s to say I won’t get trigger happy and kill someone else?”

freddie listened silently — each word, she knew, was supposed to draw a reaction out of her. somewhat outraged, plenty scared. it didn’t. she let the words pool into her ears, conjuring images, painting pictures, and when the fear did set in it wasn’t because of what he’d done, but the sight of him covered in blood, cut to pieces, at the mercy of men out for his blood — a distinct jolt of pain through her stomach, like she’d been there too, like the mere sight of him was enough for all his aching to reflect itself into her. her hands never once leaving his head — she fought off the instinct to pull him closer, hold him close to her heart, just so he’d have more room to air his thoughts out. but her eyes would not leave him: as he slowly dissected himself for her, she would not dare pretend she couldn’t see the pain it took him.

but there was none of the outrage that had to be expected from her. none of the resentment at having had this kept from her. she understood this — the need to carry the weight of the world, the need to hide. and in revealing himself to her, he’d made her the keeper of this: all his sorrow, all his shame. she could feel a flutter in her stomach, a terror at the new responsibility, to keep him safe despite the evil that had touched him already, and no matter how hard she could hold him, she would not squeeze it out of him; she could not kiss his wounds better; but she could try and give them meaning.

“hey”. her tone was soft, understanding — but it was firm. it demanded to be heard. eyes locked into his, not shying away from this: even if her own words were stuck in her throat like knives. “don’t think about the family. think about the victims. think about the people you saved”. she saw herself, twenty-three years before: a kid at the hands of a vile, rotten man. the memory tasted like acid at the mouth of her stomach, and still she was grateful to feel it — it kept the anger alive. “my uncle had two wives, five kids, a grandson. i’d have been happy to see him dead. i know it’s horrible — but i would have. because there was me, but there were a dozen other girls under his thumb, and families he demanded payments from, and people he’d thrown in a river because they glanced at him sideways once”. 

they came out of her storm-like, her anger and her fear, forever laced together. they came out without the clinical precision she’d held the night before, in listing all the things she was ashamed for: they were unfiltered now, unadulterated. she needed him to know the beating heart of his shame marched in tune with her own — that even if she hadn’t pulled a trigger, and her hands had not been stained by blood, she could see the necessity of evil when it tore the things you most needed from you. tilting her head slightly, her gaze running down all his features — the shaky look in his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way she could see his adam’s apple recoiling over and over, swallowing each word like they all begged to come back in his throat. freddie let a caress run down his cheek, her thumb drawing circles against his cheekbone.

“i know you. i don’t care who you were, how much time has passed — i know you. sometimes we do horrible things for the people we love. sometimes we do horrible things ‘cause we fuck up.” a bitter scoff breaking through her words, tiny emotional tears peeking at her eyes. “i drove my mother to an early grave because i fucked up so spectacularly, jay. but you fought. you survived — you became a good man”. he’d seen her cry what felt like a hundred times already — just this once her tears didn’t come from sorrow. it was an odd thing, a chemical reaction resulting from the added effects of relief, empathy, the despair in wanting him safe — and love, always, overwhelming, annihilating, threatening even the basic concepts of morality. “you’re a good man”, freddie repeated, in a hushed breath. “and i know that because i know that if i’d met you twenty years ago, you would’ve saved me. you’re a good man”.

The words hit him like a ninety kilo weight, mercilessly colliding into him without objection: I don’t wanna keep secrets. Jake only stared, throwing on a quick smile as to not make her question why he’d suddenly found himself more in his head than usual. But there he was, laying there, his eyes gazing into hers but not entirely looking, his thoughts now miles away in places he thought he’d never find it again, save for his nightmares.

“Sure, yeah,” he smirked mindlessly, eyes that had been gazing into hers finally seeing her, coming back to the present. How could he tell her? How could he confess to her the real reason why he moved to the states and then here from Arizona? No one ever questioned why some man from outside of London decided to take up residence in Charming, out of all the places in the world – Charming, and he liked it that way, wanted to keep it that way but here Fred was, with just five words, unknowingly urging him to confess to what he’d done. 

“Me too,” he gulped. The room suddenly felt hot, stuffy, as if the walls were closing in – closer to their shared sanctuary that was his bed, threatening to suffocate him – and he knew that it was now or never. “Fred,” he breathed, gulping again – his throat tight, dry. “I, uh, look,” lifting himself upright, he sat back against the headrest of his bed. “I have to tell you something. I don’t even know how to start but it’s about my past,” he turned to look at her, “there’s a reason I moved to Arizona from the U.K. I was a cop in London, fresh out of university and, I did something. My father, when I was twenty, was murdered by this member of a crime ring back in England, they’re pretty well known through-out the U.K. That’s what made me want to become a cop. I was very close to my father, he was all the family I had back home, really; he and his friend Mike,” he paused, “anyway, I haven’t told anyone about this. I just don’t want you to think bad of me…”

she felt the shift in the mood like a gust of wind, suddenly a little bit colder, a little less comfortable than the cotton-padded comfort they’d been trapped in. a violent heartbeat clenching her throat: had she said something wrong? had he just suddenly remembered about their conversations — her confession, had he suddenly realized he could not want such a rotten, spoiled thing in his bed? her gaze suddenly turning a shade of concerned, eyes looking into him, scanning for hints, reactions beyond the smile on his lips that she could tell was, if not fake, a smoke screen to keep deeper truths hidden.

and that scared her.

but the issue wasn’t with her, and the second he spoke again she recognized a hesitation in him that had been hers the night before. it meant that something (most likely dark, heavy: the kind of intruder that sits on your ribcage and slowly fractures you over time) had to come out. that didn’t scare her — the words she’d spoken the night before didn’t just mean she loved him. they meant she loved all of him — even the demons she’d sensed lurking beneath his skin, even though he’d never spoken of them. she let him pour hints over her. pieces of the life he’d had back in europe, trails of a world she didn’t know at all. she listened, her own heartbeat rising gently in tune with his. 

slowly, freddie let herself sit up right on the bed, a hand propping her up, the sheets falling to her lap. “hey”, she let a hand rest over the side of his face: needing him to know she was there. she could see something close to fear inside of him, the usually clear blue of his eyes now turning to cloudy, rough waters. “it’s okay. whatever it is, it’s okay”. her fingertips against the soft flesh of his neck, she could feel his pulse through his veins  — accelerated, teetering around the edge of something that scared him. she pulled closer still: if he was hers, then his fear was, too. eyes searching for his, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “jake. i know you. i love you.”, then, letting her other hand reach his face too, urging him to look into her eyes and see the truth in her words. “whatever you did, it’s not gonna change that”.

I always do – she’d been right. Jake hadn’t mentioned it, didn’t want her to be aware of something that may have made her overthink something that had for once been good for her – but he took notice that every night she’d spend at his place, she’d sleep the whole night through. He’d seen this at one in the morning, two in the morning, three, even – when he’d wake up from yet another one of those nightmares, memories of days gone by, regret filling him like an empty pitcher meant for water, not thick, dark mud. He’d seen her sleep as if it’d been centuries since she last did.

He felt her knee graze against his, mindlessly pulling back his own just a few inches as he watched her wake and mention the previous night. “I did, yeah,” he smirked, mimicking her movement and sliding a hand beneath his pillow, his eyes gazing into hers. “You’re pretty light, it was easy.” He paused, his gaze trailing against certain areas of her features, the crook of her neck, her lips, the blue in her eyes and how well they complimented her red hair. He sighed, contentedly, before continuing, “it’s nice waking up next to you. We should do this more often.”

she could’ve spent forever in this moment. let her life become nothing more than lying there, eyes into his, overwhelmed by every little trace of life moving around them and marking the time they shared. the image of him carrying her — the way he’d apologized for the alarm — the way he always, always asked how she’d slept when she stayed the night — all of it overwhelming, notions of love and care she’d never known before, couldn’t give a meaning for. he cared for her: in the most tangible, practical way. he prevented her from throwing herself away every day, like her bones were too broken, too frail for the weight of her ghouls and he was saying it’s okay, lean into me, i will carry you. freddie felt that old, familiar feeling rush to her stomach first, then her chest, her head — soaked in her own feelings so much they threatened to spill out of her eyes.

and his words, then. his voice still hoarse from sleep, but a gentle melody to her ears. “yeah”, she let her eyes close a second, imagining that there were invisible strings of light running from him to her and back again. pouring warmth were ice had been for years, thawing gently, making way for spring. “we really should”. when she opened her eyes again, they were fixed into his: not shying away from his gaze, the way he could look right into the heart of her, so deep she didn’t even know what he’d find. she couldn’t promise him much more than this — her mindless desire, and the promise to let him gaze into her whenever he wanted, take from her whatever he needed. all she wanted, really, was to carry him too: give him all he gave to her, without even realizing it. freddie’s smile dissipated, weighed down by the gravity of the thoughts now clouding her minds. gentle, fragile, but reminiscent of sorrow. “thank you for last night”, she whispered, and her eyes drifted away from him, before looking back into him for the strength he always gave her. “i know i was a pain in the ass in the beginning, i just —”, she sighed, and let out a smile: the bitter kind, the one that says it hurt but i’ll be okay, let me stay with you and i’ll be okay. “— i didn’t wanna keep it from you anymore. i don’t wanna keep secrets. not from you”.

The confirmation was enough for Estella. The tone, the expression, it seemed like it had truly been a while since Freddie got that break. “Ask and you shall receive babe.” she mused. “Hm, alright then…” She pulled out and unlocked her phone as she looked at her calendar. “We can do something a few weeks after the town meeting. I kinda have a jam packed schedule around then, but we can touch base to see what works best for the both of us.” Before Freddie could refuse, Este smiled and cleared the air, “Think of it as a really good tip. So don’t worry about expenses…Also fuck Preston, Hoopers won’t burn the fuck down and can live without you for a few days. You deserve a break.”  

Learning about how much time she had left, the business woman tilted her head and narrowed her gaze. “Do you have anyone in the back that can cover?” She then opened up her purse and took out a couple of bills, “Consider me a miracle. Get them and say they have a large tip waiting for them to finish up the rest of your shift. Go home or do whatever you normally do…” 

it suddenly clicked — like deja-vu, the connection was quickly made in her brain. the reason she trusted estella’s opinion so much, the reason she cared: she reminded her of her sister. they looked nothing alike, of course, but the way she carried herself — the way she dished out advice like she knew better, like she knew her intimately, it was a sharp realization as freddie abandoned her smile for a second, remembering the way angie would stare her down after offering some encouraging advice, daring her to not go through with it. her gaze stuck on estella as she let the bills out on the counter, barely able to think of a proper reply — manners would have her refusing, but she knew manners where of little importance when it came to estella laurent. “uh, es, you don’t have to —” she attempted  a weak protest, nervous laughter breaking out of the barrier of her lips. 

estella would not be moved, she knew — by the time she left, she’d follow through with her advice and gotten herself a day off. she could’ve used the rest: let her bones soak in some pink-colored bath foam. she thought, absent-mindedly, about returning the favor in some ways (a bottle of wine perhaps). the plan estella had cooked up for the both of them then resurfaced — yeah, she’d definitely have to refuse that one, if only to not feel like a total leech. she could still appreciate the gesture ,and estella’s spirited way of caring. as relaxation took a hold of her, allowing her to rest her eyes and lean her head back against the bathtub, freddie imagined herself on a beach somewhere, soaking in the sun. yeah, perhaps estella had been right. she could’ve used a break.

At her words, he smiled softly, there were times that he wondered if he really was a good guy, if he was doing everything right, if his actions showed that he was good. His insecurities a lot of times, made him doubt himself, so when someone said something like that, always made him smile, was a good way to stroke his ego, and make his doubts disappear, even if just temporarily, even if just for a second, made him think that maybe he was really a good person, maybe he was really doing things right. He did everything someone would consider a good guy to do, yet, there were times that he still doubted it, “I try,” he gave her a smile, “You’re welcome,” she was trying to change the subject, and that was something that he noticed, he didn’t mind, not everyone was a fan of having a sappy conversation for too long. Or it wasn’t even about that, it was about the fact they were talking about her, he wasn’t a big fan of talking about himself for too long either, especially if the subject wasn’t a happy and cheerful one, “For a long time,” he laughed, “Practically my whole life, I moved here when I was 6, and now I’m 32,” he could have lived somewhere else before, but he barely remembered it, so Charming was home to him, “How about you?”

it was an old game she played, pulling herself away from the edge of dangerous conversations. she was good at it, still: had been playing it for the good part of a decade now, giving the impression of being free, good spirited, alive — but it was nothing more than an act, really. might as well have a had a hand moving her around like a puppet: though she genuinely cared for those she encountered along her days, freddie’s words seldom matched the true thoughts lingering in her mind. still. the conversation was pleasant enough that pretending to be cool was just a little easier — at some point it came natural, one might have even considered it genuine. “wow. that’s a lot”, she commented, the drink reaching its ending portion and she was itching for a smoke already. she offered a smirk, shrugging. “bout a decade, more or less”. freddie smiled. though she’d stumbled into charming without truly thinking it would become a home, she’d found herself a life in it — how odd to think about it now, the gap between her two lives. “guess i’m close to being a resident by now”.

Estella: it's probably for the best and besides it's a good thing, that means you're busy 😉

Estella: it's gonna take more than a few gunshot wounds and bruises to get me dead. also why are you afraid? do i give off that vibe that you're a pain in the ass? 🤔

Estella: i still have a sling, but luckily off the crutches...except i'm still limping, but best to look on the bright side of things right? HBU? ☺️

Fred: When you put it like that!

Fred: yeah, you're a tough nut to crack, I know ♥ I'm glad you are, really. And a limp can be sexy, you'll become one of those Bond villains type!

Fred: Nah, I KNOW I'm a pain in the ass

The previous night had been spent with Freddie asleep in Jake’s arms, his free hand looking through the paperwork he’d been going through earlier that day. An hour or so had gone by before he found himself drifting off, carrying her to bed and tucking her in, shutting off all the lights before heading to sleep himself, the sight of her looking so peaceful in his bed, a view he didn’t want to ever forget, knowing how much she had given of herself that night – and then to know she could rest so easily with him, it was reassuring; a reminder that she trusted him completely.

The following morning arrived too soon. Jake’s arm had been wrapped around her tightly, his head resting against the nape of her neck before hearing the dreadful racket of his alarm going off, stirring him from his sleep in an instant. “Shit,” he turned, eyes half-open and reached for the phone, switching it off hastily. He read the time: 6:45 A.M. and found himself sighing, turning on his left side again, seeing that it had awoken Fred too. 

Jake grinned, finding her heavy eyes endearing, a warmth rousing in his chest at the vision of her tucked in his sheets, in his house and at one point – before that fucking alarm – in his arms. “Morning,” he smirked, lowering the blanket below his chest, “sorry about the alarm, I forgot to turn it off last night. How are you? How’d you sleep?”

waking up was abrupt — but not unwelcome. though they’d barely gotten a few hours’ worth of sleep, fred’s eyes adjusted easily to the sound of jake’s alarm, opening slowly, blinking twice at the faint morning light from the window. too bright — this wasn’t the living room. she remembered sitting on the couch after the shower, relaxed, maybe too much — while a yawn cut off her stream of consciousness, she realized she must had fallen asleep against him. not surprising — before him, her time for sleep was reduced to a handful of shaky, shallow hours tossing and turning in a cold bed. now she slept more each night, and more peacefully, like her body was just now relearning the concept of calm. letting her eyes adjust to the light, freddie lay still while her gaze settled over him, the outline of his body, the reflections of light in his irises. she suddenly remembered high school, an art class, a million years ago — talking about painters, how light was fundamental, how it shaped things. she’d never really understood that until now: until the light cascading down his skin was a sight so pure, so moving, it trickled down her skin in shivers.

“hey. it’s okay”, freddie smiled pulling in closer to him, leaving a gentle, sleepy peck on his lips before returning her head on the pillow. “like a baby — i always do”. she let her hands slip beneath the pillow, her body stirring with the first hints of life returning to her muscles — the alcohol from the night before causing a gentle throbbing in her head, much less painful than it would’ve been, had the previous night not drained most of it from her system. it was easily ignored — easily set aside by all the sensations returning to her now, as she returned to waking life. she remembered their conversations in the car. remembered how she’d pulled her own words out of her body, like rotten flesh — she remembered how he hadn’t run away in disgust, and a rush of that burning feeling (ever present, part of her now), washed over her again. how different she felt — looked, even — from the girl who’d danced with him to a led zeppelin song, months before. she’d felt the need to fight him off then, like an unwanted intruder: now all of her had been opened up to him, and the comfort she was finding in not hiding away almost brought tears to her eyes. yawning, freddie pulled her legs closer, her knee brushing against his. a smirk crept over her lips, her words a playful whisper — “did you have to carry me from the couch? i would’ve loved to see that”.

Jake heard her call and turned to look at her over his shoulder, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips when he found her, with heavy eyes gazing at him all the while. He could see the desire in her expression – the desire to have him near, just as much as he desired it, finding the idea of putting on a film a little silly now – why put on a film when he had her? When all he’d end up watching was her?

He stood upright and strolled his way to the couch she’d been sat against. He moved the pillow that sat in the middle of the couch and took its place, his hand resting against the area of her thigh, just above her knee. There had been so much he wanted to say – how beautiful she looked there, cradled in the corner with a pillow in her lap, how beautiful she looked in the shower, with nothing on but her heart, exposed to him in all it’s facets, and even other things that he’d probably never bring up; things that dealt with matters so far into the future and this was all too fresh, too new, to ever tell if that would even happen, but he thought it anyway – her moving in, maybe becoming parents of some kind of pet, marriage and all the rest of it. It shocked him – terrified him, unsure what it was about her that made him think this way when he’d been guarded, his heart in chains, for so long.

The thoughts were all too much, running through his mind, scattered like marbles so he just sat there instead, far too mentally overwhelmed to use words, with his hand on her lap, leaning back against the sofa and gazing at her with weighted eyelids and a smirk.

how many times had she done this already? crept inside his embrace like it was the home that had been kept from her for so long — everything felt so new still (intoxicating: she believed the way he could so easily get to her head had to do with how fresh and young and exhilarating all of this was — even though she suspected it had less to do with time and more with a strange pull, chemical reactions bringing their atoms together). yet she found, in the simple act of holding him close, and letting herself disappear into his arms, a feeling that reminded her of summer mornings spent in bed, coffee grounds on the kitchen sink, the fibers of a carpet against her skin, lying down with a movie on a screen — the feeling of home. a thousand miles from the place she was born, lost to the life she’d had before it turned into a nightmare — but home had been found again. 

silently, she pulled closer against him, arms wrapping around his torso, half her mind  thinking perhaps this was too much, asking too much of him, taking too many parts of a life that was his and she was intruding — but the way he held her, the way he’d comforted her, was a balm poured over ancient wounds, and now that she’d gotten a taste of this (a taste of safety, heaven-like: a taste of healing), she could barely trouble herself with questions of a moral nature. sentences pooled at the bottom of her throat, far too many to come out. she wanted to say how grateful she was. she wanted to give a word to the way he was rearranging words of concepts that had for too long been floating in her mind without a true meaning — words like trust, belief, faith. devotion. love, again: clouding her mind ‘til barely a conscious thought could come out, leaving the gentle pull from his atoms to hers to rule over her actions. with a sigh, freddie let her head rest over his shoulder, her hand finding the side of his face — the way she had in the car before, it seemed it was a place so natural to fit against she barely even had to think about it.

sleep had been creeping up on her slowly, a metaphorical blanket that carried the warmth of his embrace. she tried to fight it off weakly, not wanting to waste the moments with him, wanting to ask him more: of his life, of his past, if he thought anything like this would ever happen to him or if he, like her, felt hazy, in a barely lucid dream. she couldn’t — she found her eyelids closing quickly, drifting off against him. all that slipped past her guard, as she dozed off, were those same three words that wouldn’t stop running through her mind — “i love you”. 

[ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] if you bonk me on the head another time you’re going to make me start to question my intelligence fred. i’ve had too many of your signature head smacks.  [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] but there’s so much more shit that’s my fault and i just don’t know how to deal with it …  [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] i’ll skip town, maybe that’ll solve some shit [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] that kid’s too stubborn for his own good, so i’d look out for him cause he’s like me when i was younger.

[ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] by “everything” do you mean when you called me old just now? [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] OH I’M THE DICK [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] WOW!! [ 📱 text  ➨ freddie ] i see a divorce in our other-life-selves’ future if you keep on pissing ALL OVER our friendship garden in this life, missy.