she's a rattlesnake

for a moment, she thinks about telling him no. mostly because saying yes feels like encouraging whatever this is. and she’s still not entirely convinced there isn’t a punchline coming. “ you’re serious ? ” her eyes narrow slightly. he looks serious. and it’s fucking weird. “ fine. ” she pushes away from the wall. “ but but if this is some weird attempt at being charming, you’re about twenty years late. ” she starts toward home, hands shoved into her jacket pockets. the silence isn’t awkward. that’s the annoying part. it probably should be. instead, it splays between them easily, like they haven’t spent years orbiting each other through mutual friends, hometown gossip, and random run-ins. eventually, she glances over. “ you know one of my friends used to talk to you. ” the memory surfaces suddenly. she can’t remember why. “ or tried to, anyway. ” a small huff of amusement. “ i remember having to hear about it constantly. ” the roll of her eyes. “ actually, that’s probably why i didn’t give a fuck about you. ” there’s an obscure tone to it. “ i’d already gotten the shitty secondhand experience. ” a pause. “ saved me a lot of time, honestly. ” the corner of her mouth twitches. she’s not trying to be mean, but she’s definitely enjoying the jabs at his character.

a  laugh  escapes  him,  low  and  incredulous,  carried  away  by  the  cool  night  air  as  they  walk.  of  course  that’s  what  she  remembers.  not  the  touchdowns  nor  the  stadium  lights.  not  the  way  this  town  practically  idolized  him  before  he  was  old  enough  to  understand  that  worship  was  just  another  form  of  conditional  affection.  some  girl  complaining  about  him.  “ christ, ”  he  mutters,  dragging  a  hand  across  the  back  of  his  neck.  “ you  really  came  into  this  conversation  with  years  of  negative  peer  reviews. ”  his  mouth  twitches.  “ what’d  i  do ? ”  he  wonders  aloud,  “ lemme  guess.  didn’t  call.  forgot  her  name.  broke  her  heart. ”  the  last  one  earns  a  slight  wince.  then,  annoyingly,  a  face  surfaces.  dark  hair.  the  lake  party  before  he  left  for  summer  camp.  she’d  spent  half  the  summer  beside  him,  tucked  into  passenger  seats  and  bonfire  circles  while  recruiters  called  and  coaches  filled  his  head  with  visions  of  stadiums  far  larger  than  this  town.  he  remembers  kissing  her  the  night  before  he  left  and  promising  he’d  text.  he  thinks  he  even  meant  it.  then  camp  started,  football  consuming  every  waking  hour,  one  missed  call  turning  into  ten.  a  week  became  a  month.  “ wait, ”  his  brow  furrows.  “ emily  mercer ? ”  a  grimace  follows  almost  immediately.  “ oh,  shit. ”  he  glances  sideways  at  yara.  “ okay,  in  my  defense, ”  he  points  at  her  accusingly,  “ i  was  young  and  profoundly  stupid. ”  yet  there’s  an  uncomfortable  resemblance  between  that  version  of  himself  and  the  man  currently  walking  beside  her,  both  equally  adept  at  chasing  the  next  distraction  rather  than  risking  sincerity. 

there’s  a  wave  of  anger  that  washes  through  him,  and  when  it’s  gone,  there’s  nothing  at  all.  because  whatever  mind  whirl  he  had  been  going  through  these  past  days  is  suddenly  replaced  by  shame.  he  nods  lightly,  attempting  to  push  the  glass  in  his  hand  to  any  surface  he  can  reach,  away  from  her  gaze,  behind  the  door.  “  thanks  for  the  notes  “  it’s  all  he  mumbles,  not  bothering  to  address  his  lack  of  presence.  they  both  knew  it  was  true,  they  both  knew  it  wouldn’t  matter  anyway.  at  the  end  of  the  day  money  would  talk,  his  absence  erased  from  his  curriculum  and  some  extra  projects  snapping  into  reality  to  bring  up  his  grades.  “  my  phone  is  out  and  i  can’t  find  my  charger  “  it  springs  out  of  his  mouth  all  of  the  sudden.  “  it’s  why  i  haven’t  texted  back  “  among  other  things,  surely.  but  he  wouldn’t  dare  to  share  that  part  with  her.  “  i’m  sorry  “  for  that  and  a  lot  more. 

she  watches  him  tuck  the  glass  out  of  the  sight,  the  gesture  aching  more  than  the  bottle  itself.  there’s  a  peculiar  kind  of  sadness  in  being  lied  to  by  someone  who  knows  you  can  see  the  truth.  her  gaze  lingers  on  him  for  a  moment  before  dropping  to  the  notes  in  her  hands.  “ you  don’t  have  to  explain  why  your  phone  died, ”  the  words  are  softly  spoken  —  not  cruel,  but  not  entirely  gentle  either.  because  the  charger  is  irrelevant.  the  silence,  however,  is  not.  she  steps  forward  just  enough  to  set  the  notes  beside  the  door,  careful  not  to  cross  the  threshold  he  seems  intent  on  maintaining.  “ and  you  don’t  have  to  apologize. ”  if  he  was  apologizing  for  missing  the  lectures,  he  should  know  that,  “ i  wasn’t  worried  about  the  lectures. ”  the  admission  settles  between  them,  quiet  and  unavoidable.  she  studies  him  for  a  moment,  noting  the  exhaustion  carved  into  his  face,  the  shame  he  keeps  trying  to  conceal  beneath  indifference.  it  reminds  her  of  old  mirrors,  of  years  spent  drifting  through  her  own  life,  hoping  distance  might  make  suffering  less  conspicuous.  her  expression  softens.  “ i  just  wanted  to  know  you  were  alive,  theo. ”  the  words  leave  her  before  she  can  register  the  weight  of  what  she’s  saying,  sentiment  carrying  more  feeling  than  she  intended. 

"i did not," she says immediately, pointing at him from across the island, "i borrowed. there is a significant difference and i will not be rewriting history." she turns to grab a glass from the cabinet, fills it, slides it across the island toward him. "i also returned things. eventually." a small smile tugs at the end of petals. already moving toward the oven when the timer goes off. dylan pulls it open with the easy confidence of someone who grew up surrounded by private chefs and decided somewhere along the way that she'd rather just do it herself. most of the time, at least. there's something grounding about it, the whole process, something that belongs only to her. the smell that fills the kitchen is good and she knows it. she sets it on the stovetop, pulls off the mitts, gives it approximately two seconds of satisfied consideration before she's already reaching for the pizza cutter. "so, clueless or do you have another recommendation?" queries not looking up, dragging it through the center of the pizza. "we need to decide now before we spend the whole night arguing about it instead of watching anything and then the pizza gets cold and you think i lost my touch."

“ right.  borrowed  indefinitely, ”  a  laugh  escapes  him  as  he  catches  the  pointed  finger  aimed  in  his  direction,  “ an  important  legal  distinction. ”  he  accepts  the  glass  she  slides  across  the  island  before  his  gaze  is  following  her  toward  the  oven.  for  a  moment,  he  simply  watches.  there  has  always  been  an  incongruity  to  dylan  he  found  endlessly  captivating.  raised  amidst  assistants  and  private  chefs,  yet  she  still  gravitates  toward  the  ordinary  parts  of  life,  as  though  she  needs  tangible  proof  that  not  everything  has  to  be  curated  for  her.  the  scent  of  pizza  fills  the  kitchen  —  warm  and  familiar  —  and  he  feels  an  unsettling  pang  of  nostalgia.  “ you  say  that  like  there’s  ever  been  a  universe  where  i  thought  you  lost  your  touch. ”  the  compliment  is  uttered  before  he  can  scrutinize  it.  pushing  off  the  island,  he  drifts  closer,  stealing  a  glance  at  the  pizza.  “ as  much  as  it  pains  me  to  admit  it,  clueless  is  probably  the  safer  option, ”  a  smirk  tugs  at  his  mouth.  “ la  la  land  feels  a  little  too  emotionally  devastating  for  a  thursday  night. ”  a  beat.  “ besides,  you’ll  turn  it  into  a  debate,  and  somehow  i’ll  end  up  losing  despite  being  right. ”  she  had  him  wrapped  around  her  finger  for  so  long  that  surrender  became  instinct,  acquiescing  to  her  for  years,  long  before  either  of  them  possessed  the  courage  to  call  what  existed  between  them  by  its  proper  name.  he  tells  himself  things  are  different  now.  the  apprehension  lingering  inside  his  chest  suggests  otherwise.

"most people don't even get the back room," he says it without looking up, wrench finding the right angle. "you're getting the premium experience and i don't think you fully appreciate it." he works for a beat, the radio filling the gap comfortably, then — "so what were you doing today before this?" resurfaces briefly to grab a different tool, glancing over at her. "please tell me you weren't driving around like that all morning. i need to know how many people almost died before you got here." and then he's already back under the hood before she can answer, voice carrying through easily. "also, don't lean on that frame, i just painted it." he lets that sit for a long moment, long enough that she might actually straighten up. then — "nah i'm just messing with you. that was like three weeks ago." he surfaces again, nodding toward the back. "couch is more comfortable than the doorway. you don't have to stand there like you're waiting for permission." dropping his tools back in the tool box, he shuts the hood of the car and wiping his hand across the filthy rag. "any tips on how to make my sales pitch even better?"

she  lifts  her  mug  slightly,  amusement  glinting  in  her  eyes.  “ for  the  record,  i am  appreciating  it.  i  don’t  know  many  establishments  that  offer  complimentary  coffee,  a  couch,  and  personalized  insults  as  part  of  the  customer  experience. ”  her  smile  lingers  as  she  takes  another  sip.  at  his  question,  she  considers  it  for  a  moment.  “ nothing   particularly  exciting. ”  it  was  her  day  off,  which  typically  consisted  of,  “ errands.  a  grocery  run. ”  a  beat.  “ and  before  you  ask,  no  innocent  civilians  were  harmed  in  the  process. ”  the  accusation  still  manages  to  draw  another  laugh  from  her.  when  he  warns  her  about  the  frame,  she  straightens  almost  immediately,  eyes  widening  before  realization  dawns  and  she  narrows  them  at  him.  “ you’re  insufferable, ”  yet  the  amusement  never  leaves  her  voice.  the  thing  is,  she  can’t  remember  the  last  time  being  around  someone  felt  this  uncomplicated.  no  performance  required,  just  conversation  unfolding  with  an  ease  that  feels  increasingly  dangerous  in  its  own  right.  at  his  gesture  toward  the  couch,  she  wanders  farther  into  the  shop  before  settling  onto  the  edge  of  it.  she  tilts  her  head  thoughtfully  at  his  final  question,  “ well,  first  of  all,  stop  insulting  your  customers. ”  a  pause.  “ or  don’t.  at  this  point,  i  think  the  insults  might  actually  be  part  of  the  charm. ” 

" dallas, " it's a little more sharp now, like letting out a warning shot. she doesn't want to talk about the bruised skin or even tread along the territory of ethan. she was at the bar to get away from it all. grasp tightens around the beer she had been nursing for the past hour, and she's turning to face him. " it doesn't matter. " she can't give him more of an answer than that. no matter what had transpired, she knew she would have to go back to ethan. she had vowed to : for better and for worse. " promise. "

the  promise  sits  between  them  like  a  closed  door.  he  knows  better  than  most  there  were  battles  people  returned  to  willingly,  not  because  they  were  blind  to  the  damage,  but  because  leaving  felt  even  more  impossible.  he’d  built  a  life  out  of  witnessing  wounds  nobody  wanted  examined  too  closely  —  foster  homes,  addicts,  broken  men  and  women  leaning  across  bars  at  closing  time.  his  gaze  lingers  on  her  wrist  for  a  moment  longer  before  dropping  to  the  beer  clenched  in  her  hand.  “ if  you  want  me  to  drop  it,  i’ll  drop  it.  but  i’m  not  gonna  pretend  i  didn’t  see  it. ”  the  words  leave  quietly  with  no  judgment,  no  ultimatum.  just  the  truth.  then  he  looks  away  first,  granting  her  the  mercy  of  an  exit  he  suspected  nobody  else  in  her  life  ever  did. 

" no. " the lie slips out she won't allow herself to give into him so easy, even when she feels helpless in his presence. she's tired of the back and forth, the constant mind games and uncertainty. she's not sure why it matters to him when they weren't even dating. he had made that clear. it's why she had another in her bed — with carter, she didn't feel so confused all the time. he was an easy distraction, helping curb her true desire. " i don't want you here. " her voice is unsure, barely a mutter slicing through the palpable silence as she's pushing away from him. " leave. "

he  stands  there  for  a  beat,  watching  her,  the  uncertainty  laced  in  her  voice  more  telling  than  the  words  themselves.  if  she  truly  wanted  him  gone,  she’d  be  angrier.  colder.  not  looking  at  him  like  this.  a  humorless  laugh  leaves  him,  quiet  and  disbelieving.  “ that’s  the  best  lie  you’ve  ever  told  me. ”  his  gaze  drags  over  her  then,  catching  on  the  little  details  she  overlooked  in  her  haste  —  a  button  fastened  into  the  wrong  hole,  hair  not  quite  sitting  the  way  it  should,  the  faint  disarray  that  clings  to  her  like  evidence.  his  expression  darkens  with  suspicion.  “ you  get  dressed  in  the  dark ? ”  his  voice  is  edged  with  mockery,  “ or  am  i  supposed  to  believe  you  always  look  this  guilty  when  i  show  up ? ”  his  eyes  linger  a  moment  longer  than  necessary.  “ who’s  here,  amber ? ” 

her brow furrows, genuinely confused, and she looks down at herself like the shirt is going to offer some kind of explanation. "what? brooks, i gave you all your stuff back. this is —" blonde stops. something shifts in her face, a slow and deeply unfortunate recognition settling in as she actually looks at it this time. the faded graphic. the way it hits her mid-thigh. "oh! oh, that's," she looks up at him and there is absolutely nothing she can do about the warmth crawling up the back of her neck before she allows a laugh to pass through lips. "i genuinely forgot," she says, which is true. "i could wash it and give it back to you if you want it ..." now she's wondering if she had anything else that belonged to him that she never gave back in that stupid box all those years ago. "do you want something to drink?"

the  sight  of  her  in  his  shirt  is  disarmingly  familiar,  like  stepping  into  a  photograph  from  a  life  he’d  spent  months  convincing  himself  belonged  in  the  past.  he  watches  the  realization  dawn  across  her  face  in  stages  and  he  can’t  help  the  laugh  that  escapes  him  —  warm,  unrestrained,  far  too  fond  for  his  own  good.  “ no,  keep  it, ”  he  shakes  his  head,  dismissing  the  offer  with  an  easy  wave  of  his  hand.  “ pretty  sure  it’s  yours  at  this  point. ”  the  truth  is,  he’d  forgotten  about  the  shirt  entirely.  forgotten  plenty  of  things,  actually.  not  because  they  didn’t  matter,  but  because  there  had  once  been  so  many  pieces  of  himself  scattered  throughout  her  life  that  keeping  track  became  near  impossible.  at  her  question,  he  answers,  “ water’s  good. ”  a  faint  smile  tugs  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  as  his  gaze  drifts  back  to  the  faded  graphic  stretched  across  the  fabric  before  he  can  stop  it.  “ you  always  did  have  a  habit  of  claiming  my  clothes. ”  the  observation  is  light,  softened  by  memory. 

the laugh that comes out of him is genuine. "accuracy," he shakes his head, something fond in it he doesn't bother hiding. "yeah, sure. let's go with that." a beat, then — "technically it's my dad's mug. so," the joke lands lighter than it has any right to, "sentimental." surfaces from under the hood and something in his expression shifts almost imperceptibly — just a half second where it catches up to him. "sorry ... that probably wasn't funny." states it simply, no performance around it, already reaching for a different sized wrench. not heavy, not asking her to do anything with it. just honest in the way that slips out when your guard is mostly down. then, easy again, mock-wounded, "i gave you a discount and a couch. and yeah okay the coffee thing, that's fair, but you also showed up unannounced, like i said, so we're splitting that one." he ducks back under the hood, the smile still there even with no one to see it. "you coming back out or are you planning to live in there?"

the  remark  about  his  father  had  been  delivered  lightly,  but  she  caught  the  infinitesimal  shift  in  tone  that  followed.  most  people  spent  years  learning  how  to  camouflage  old  wounds  beneath  humor  while  she  spent  years  learning  how  to  spot  them.  “ fair  enough.  some  things  are  worth  being  territorial  over. ”  she  lets  the  subject  rest  with  no  probing  questions,  just  the  quiet  acknowledgement  that  she’d  heard  what  he  hadn’t  quite  said  aloud.  then  he  returns  them  to  safer  territory,  drawing  another  easy  laugh  from  her.  she  takes  another  sip  before  wandering  back  toward  the  garage,  gravitating  toward  the  familiar  cadence  of  his  voice  and  the  rhythmic  sounds  of  him  working.  “ oh,  don’t  worry,  rhys.  i’m  taking  a  mental  note  of  all  these  concessions.  the  discount.  the  couch. ”  a  beat.  “ very  compelling  customer  retention  strategy  you  got  here. ”  she  stops  near  the  doorway,  leaning  one  shoulder  against  the  frame.  “ and  no,  i’m  not  planning  to  live  back  there. ”  a  small,  teasing  smile  follows,  “ though  your  sales  pitch  is  improving. ” 

the words hit harder than they should. his first instinct is to laugh it off. make a shitty joke. pick a fight. anything but sit with the uncomfortable weight settling somewhere beneath his ribs. because she’s looking at him like she’s finally tired. and somehow that’s worse. for a second, he hates her for saying it. hates that she can reduce months of airports, missed calls, week-long benders, and excuses into a single sentence. the worst part is she isn’t wrong. his jaw shifts. “ yeah. ” that’s all he says at first. his gaze parts somewhere over her shoulder. the thing she doesn’t understand is that disappearing never feels like a choice when he’s doing it. it feels like breathing. like seeing a fire and running before it can spread. except lately every city feels smaller than the last. every hotel room looks the same. every face blurs together. and somehow she keeps following him there too. the comedown mornings. the flights. the hours he spends staring out windows pretending he isn’t thinking about calling her. his hand drags over his mouth. “ wouldn’t recommend it. ” bitter. “ turns out all your problems fit in a carry-on. ” he means for it to sound dismissive. but it doesn’t. his eyes find hers again. for once, there’s nothing to throw back at her. no excuse he’s interested in hearing himself say. just the shitty realization that she’s one of the only people who’s ever expected more from him. and that he’s spent months proving her right for expecting the worst. his throat tightens. and instead of saying any of it, he looks away. “ guess you’re smarter than me then, faeryn. ”

it  would  have  been  easier  if  he’d  argued,  deflected,  offered  up  another  excuse  wrapped  in  charm  and  carelessness.  she’d  spent  enough  years  preparing  for  disappointment  to  know  what  to  do  with  that  version  of  sebastian.  this  one  is  infinitely  more  disarming.  her  jaw  shifts,  gaze  lingering  on  him  before  drifting  toward  the  floor.  there  was  a  time  when  she  would’ve  followed  him  anywhere.  before  she  understood  that  loving  him  often  meant  watching  his  back  disappear  into  another  departure  gate.  a  humorless  laugh  escapes  her.  “ don’t  do  that, ”  the  words  are  quiet,  but  no  less  incisive.  “ don’t  stand  there  and  act  like  this  is  because  i’m  smarter  than  you. ”  her  arms  fold  across  her  chest  in  a  familiar  barricade.  figure  skating  taught  her  that  discipline  could  compensate  for  almost  anything  —  pain,  exhaustion,  heartbreak  —  but  there  was  no  training  regimen  for  missing  somebody  who  kept  choosing  absence.  “ you  keep  talking  like  leaving  happened  to  you.  like  you’re  the  victim  of  your  own  restlessness. ”  but  every  time  he  disappeared,  she  stayed,  unable  to  move  on.  still  checking  the  mailbox  for  postcards  written  from  cities  she’d  never  see  because  she  was  busy  building  a  life  that  demanded  consistency.  still  convincing  herself  that  this  time  could  be  different.  “ i  didn’t  need  you  to  be  perfect, ”  softer  now  and  somehow  more  dangerous  for  it.  “ i  just  needed  you  to  be  there. ”  for  a  girl  who  spent  her  entire  life  asking  impossible  things  of  herself,  it  had  been  the  easiest  thing  she’d  ever  asked  of  him. 

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" i don't know what compelled you to come here, but you need to leave. "

losing  her  entirely  sat  beneath  his  ribs  like  a  shrapnel.  he  told  himself  he  was  here  because  she’d  ignored  every  call  and  text  for  two  weeks  straight  while  the  things  burning  his  tongue  couldn’t  be  said  through  a  screen.  after  everything  they’d  survived  together,  he  deserved  at  least  five  minutes  of  her  time.  “ look,  i’m  not  here  to  make  things  worse, ”  his  voice  is  low  and  steady,  lacking  its  usual  edge.  “ if  you  want  me  to  leave,  i’ll  go.  i  just  ..  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  sahar. ” 

had changed her attire approximately five times before the doorbell rings. figured the oversized t-shirt and shorts were a much more appropriate outfit compared to the silk robe now tossed onto the floor of her closet. she gives herself exactly three seconds in the hallway mirror before she pads barefoot to the front door and pulls it open. "hey," she says, like she hasn't been thinking about this all week. steps back to let him in, already moving toward the kitchen. "i made pizza," she calls over her shoulder, casual, like it's nothing, like she didn't spend twenty minutes debating whether homemade was too much effort and whether too much effort would be obvious. "it's still in the oven, should be like ten more minutes." she rounds the kitchen island and leans against the counter, arms crossing loosely over her chest as she looks at him. "so ... how was your day?"

the  entire  drive  over  had  felt  ill-advised  before  he  arrives  in  a  faded  dodgers  cap  pulled  low  over  his  eyes  and  a  dark  hoodie  despite  the  evening’s  temperature  —  the  kind  of  attire  designed  to  discourage  recognition,  a  survival  instinct  taught  by  years  of  tabloid  photographers.  when  the  door  swings  open  to  reveal  her,  his  guilt  and  anticipation  have  become  nearly  indistinguishable.  “ hey, ”  he  returns  easily,  stepping  inside,  shrugging  out  of  his  hoodie  as  he  follows  her  toward  the  kitchen.  his  gaze  tracks  her  before  catching  on  the  oversized  material  hanging  from  her  frame.  his  shirt.  a  charcoal  tee  he  lost  years  ago  and  the  memory  of  her  stealing  clothes  from  his  closet  settles  heavily  in  his  chest.  “ i  could’ve  sworn  you  robbed  me  blind  after  the  breakup, ”  even  though  the  comment  is  meant  to  be  casual,  his  pulse  isn’t.  a  faint  smile  tugs  at  his  mouth  as  he  leans  against  the  island.  “ pizza  smells  better  than  my  day,  honestly.  how  was  yours ? ” 

he watches her go for exactly one second longer than he means to. "creative," he calls after her, already turning back to the car. "i've got material you haven't even heard yet. i was already thinking some stuff up before you came," homme gets back to work, the familiar rhythm of it settling around him. the shop fills with the sounds it's supposed to — metal on metal, the low hum of the radio from somewhere in the back. comfortable. not quiet in the way that needs filling. he'd had girls at the shop before. never felt like this though, like the air had shifted slightly and he was still deciding whether to acknowledge it. ultimately, he doesn't. "there's a mug on the second shelf," rhys raises his voice so it carries through. "the blue one. don't use the one that says world's okayest mechanic, that's mine and it's sentimental." tone proves that he's only joking as attention is returned to the car in front of him. "also the coffee's already made so if it's cold that's on you for showing up unannounced. does that count as another insult?"

the  corners  of  her  mouth  curve  as  his  voice  followers  her  into  the  back  room.  “ i  knew  it, ”  she  calls  over  her  shoulder,  “ this  whole  thing  has  been  premeditated. ”  the  space  beyond  the  garage  is  exactly  what  she’d  expected  and  somehow  not  at  all.  it  looks  lived-in,  comfortable  ..  evidence  of  a  life  unfolding  in  the  margins  between  repair  jobs.  her  gaze  wanders  briefly  before  finding  the  shelf  he’d  mentioned.  she  can’t  resist  plucking  up  the  world’s  okayest  mechanic  mug  anyway,  a  smile  tugging  her  lips  as  she  examines  it.  “ so  the  sentimental  value  comes  from  accuracy ? ”  the  question  carries  easily  through  the  shop.  a  soft  laugh  escapes  her  as  she  returns  the  mug  to  its  place,  reaching  for  the  blue  mug  instead  as  designated.  she  pours  herself  coffee  and  when  he  accuses  her  of  showing  up  unannounced,  she  shakes  her  head.  “ no,  i  think  we’re  beyond  insults  now. i’d  classify  that  as  victim  blaming. ”  she  lifts  the  mug  in  his  direction  before  taking  a  sip,  and  still,  she  falls  back  into  their  easy  banter.  “ and  for  the  record,  if  the  coffee’s  cold,  that’s  clearly  another  consequence  of  your  subpar  customer  service. ” 

stop ? "you stop ," the words come out before she could stop herself . unable to wrap her head around the whiplash he possessed , tearing her apart from the inside out every time she spoke to him . the back and forth of his emotion entangled with her outside of limbs before he bared his teeth and all she was left with was the bruises of his fingertips and every cruel syllable that cut through her until she was a bleeding mess on the floor . "stop pretending you care . stop trying to take care of me . just stop because we both know by tomorrow all of this will go away . it'll disappear like it never happened . i need it off ," loofah drops despite herself , tears burning her eyes as she looks at him . the man who had it all , the one who knew her and gave up on her . there is no happy ending for them . it was easier now to take it out on him then to admit that this night was a clear result of her actions . choosing time and time again to be exploited in order to prove to herself that all of it was true . "just get it off , get it off , get it off !" timbre raises , hoarse and unvarnished , needing to forget the night and every single thing that led to it .

the  sound  of  her  voice  ricochets  off  the  tile,  raw  and  fractured.  by  the  time  the  loofah  slips  from  her  hand,  his  grip  on  her  wrist  has  already  loosened,  not  releasing  her  entirely  but not  restraining  her  either.  because  suddenly  none  of  this  is  about  adrian,  or  the  shower,  or  even  tonight.  it’s  about  every  other  time  that  he  walked  away,  came  back,  and  taught  her  not  to  trust  the  parts  of  him  that  cared.  the  realization  feels  heavy  inside  his  chest.  for  a  heavy prolonged beat,  he  just  stands  there,  water  hissing  against  porcelain.  the  fortified  walls  he’s  built  have  cracked  witnessing  this,  seeing  the  tears  threatening  her  eyes,  hearing  the  desperation  woven  through  every  movement  as  though  she  could  somehow  scour  the  humiliation  from  her  body  if  she  only  scrubbed  hard  enough.  his  eyes  drop  briefly  to  the  angry  red  marks  she’d  scrubbed  into  her  skin.  “ jesus  christ,  bradley. ”  without  another  word,  he  reaches  for  her  to  anchor  her  as  his  arms  fold  around  her  shoulders  and  pull  her  against  him.  the  shower  immediately  soaks  through  his  shirt,  but  he  scarcely  notices.  just  the  quiet,  stubborn  refusal  to  let  her  weather  this  moment  alone,  as  though  holding  on  is  the  only  language  he  has  left.