#jochelle

Sometimes he welcomed the water boarding, looked ahead to the beatings, craved the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. 

It was better than the stillness, than the question of whether or not he was dead. He called out and called out to no avail, no words left his throat despite how much he tried. 

His movement was stilled though he tried desperately to thrash his limbs, at the most there was a clang of metal on metal as the chains that bound hit against the bars of the radiator they were woven around.

Nothing. 

I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead. 

He springs sitting upward in an instant, body drenched in a layer of cold sweat as he struggles to catch his breath and get his bearings – he doesn’t care which comes first. 

It’s not that room, it’s his room, their room. 

A hand wraps around his bicep and he moves from it as though it was molten hot, unable to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a dog. His posture is prime to attack, he’d had the option of flight ripped from him and all that was left was flight. 

“Josh, it’s me. It’s me." 

The voice is gentle, soft and he knows it, he knows he does. 

"Do you trust me?" 

It’s something she’s asked him before, whether joking or serious, it’s a grounding question for him because the answer is automatic, close to second nature. 

He musters a nod, his shoulders relaxing and a breath being exhaled as she runs her hand soothingly along his back. 

He's a hitman with a heart and she's a con artist with morals, it was always going to have an expiration date. 

They're both a little bit wrong, just a tiny bit broken but when they're together those faults don't seem so glaring. Things don't seem as lonely any more, not until she re-dresses and he gets to watch her walk away again. 

Each time makes him feel more hollow than the last. 

She needs to leave before the look on his face breaks her in two, and she might have to had he not caught her wrist. The anger buzzes around them, blame and regret tainting the air between them as he lets her go without letting her go. 

Her fingernails dig into the back of his neck as he pins her up against the wall, mouth demanding and hands roaming. It takes a moment for her to surrender fully, the pair of them knowing it's not goodbye.