In The Shadow of Sleep

The Drop was loud, louder than it usually was on a Friday night. Some surfing event brought in way more than just the regulars. You’d offered to help Deran run the bar, cutting up limes, getting new glasses, cleaning off tables. You could use the money.

It finally slowed down closer to midnight, a few regulars straggling behind. Deran had let you off, but with the rest of the Cody brothers around, you decided to stick around too.

Andrew had been eying you all night. It wasn’t anything new. Your boyfriend was protective, tracking your movement and any other guy in the bar that got too close or didn’t pass whatever checklist he had in his head. He’d sit at the bar or at a table in the corner—glass of beer pulled up to his lips—eyes looking out over the rim as they followed you.

“Jesus man”, Craig says beside him, “You’re eying her like she’s meat.”

Pope doesn’t answer, just a rough scoff.

“Let him alone, man”, Deran says, swiping the glass from in front Craig.

J sat next to them, watching their conversation, eyes flicking to you briefly. He had that younger brother protective relationship with you. He’d stare people down like Pope did, just not as intensely.

“M’just keeping an eye on her”, Pope finally says, setting his glass down and adjusting himself to sit up straighter.

He’s got his legs wide like he always does, one arm thrown over the back cushion of the booth—his head turned slightly forward as he watched you reach for another glass—this time for yourself and not a customer.

“Where’s she gonna go man?”, Baz laughs, signaling to Deran he wants a refill.

“Not with you man, that’s for sure”, Craig’s booming laugh echoes next.

That gets the smallest smile from Pope.

“Nah, not my type”. Baz says, rolling his neck, “She only likes crazy guys. Ain’t that right, Pope?” He’s patting him on the chest. Like he thinks it’s a compliment or a win on his part.

Pope’s jaw ticks before tightening, but he doesn’t answer.

“Baz”, Deran cuts in.

But Baz keeps going;

“I mean how fucked in the head do you think she has to be to get with Pope?”

Pope’s seething inside. He doesn’t even care about the comments towards him, no; he was used to that. But the comments towards you? Those had his blood boiling.

“Shut up”, Pope grits, still not looking towards his brother.

He just raises his glass again, taking a longer swig.

“Aw what’s the matter Popey? Can’t take a little criticism?”, Baz is still laughing; “We all know your head’s not right.”

Pope’s finger taps against the edge of the glass, still watching you move around the bar. Eyes not wavering or blinking—only his jaw tightening the longer Baz speaks.

“Seriously man, stop it”, Deran warns.

Pope can see Craig’s nod of agreement from the corner of his eye. By now J had sensed the tension building and had left, heading towards the courtyard behind the bar.

“Seriously guys? I know that chick’s gotta be freaky as hell. Fucking Pope, must be some kind of messed up with a sick ass kink to-“

The sound of glass shattering echoes through the bar, Pope’s footsteps as he stands following quickly behind.

“I said shut up!”, Pope shouts, fists clenched and chest heaving.

You spin around, eyes wide at the sudden noise.

Your heart clenches as tight as Pope’s fist when you see him. His jaw so tight his teeth might break. Face red and angry.

You don’t hear what Baz says next, but it hits Pope hard. He’s across the room in two easy strides, gripping Baz by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into a wall behind them with a loud and echoing thud. The thought of the wall cracking flickers through your mind briefly. But it’s gone just as fast as it came when you see Pope raising his fist.

The bar had fallen completely silent other than the scuffle of feet as Pope went at Baz, the sound of his fist connecting with his face. Baz stumbled, but was swinging right back. It didn’t take long for a swing to connect with Pope’s face. You winced at the sound.

Craig and Deran’s shouting echoed around you as they tried to pull the two men off of each other, fists still swinging and words flying that you couldn’t make out. Pope had Baz by the shirt collar now, cheeks already red and starting to bruise.

“Andy! Stop it!”

Your words fell on deaf ears, Pope was too angry to hear anything besides the rage pumping through his body. Baz looked almost afraid for a moment as Pope raised his fist again; lip swollen and bloody—eyes wide to match. You were sure you saw a sudden realization that his words may have gone too far this time flicker through his eyes. If it were any other situation, you would’ve been smug about Baz finally getting what he deserved.

But not here in public, not now where everyone could see, where anyone could show up; especially police.

“Andrew!”, Your voice was more stern now, louder, dripping with plea.

Finally his movements stuttered, head whipping around and eyes flickering around until they met yours. You could see him soften immediately.

He saw the look on your face, the tears threatening to spill out of fear, out of anger. You didn’t know which you felt more of in that moment.

“Put him down!”, You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

You didn’t think it worked.

Still, Pope dropped his grip on Baz’s shirt, taking a step back with his eyes still trained on you.

“Fucking psycho”, Baz spit blood, wiping at his mouth—looking at his hand as he pulled it back.

Pope’s head swung around, but Deran stopped him.

“Pope! Cmon man, that’s enough!”

“No! He doesn’t get to talk like that! He said-“

“I know what he said!”, Deran says back, dropping his hand from Pope’s chest; “I know what he said man. But fighting isn’t gonna fix it.”

You watch as Pope finally seems to come back down to where he is, fists opening and closing at his sides, jaw crooked and ticking as he thinks. He lets out a huff through his nose before shaking his head, letting his gaze find you again.

But as he steps forward, you take a step back.

For a moment he falters, unsure if it’s anger or fear in your eyes. Fear that he caused you. Fear of him. The sound of his heart shattering was almost audible in the small bar.

“I’m going to pick up Lena to drop her off at her friend’s house, then i’m going home”, You say it to the entire room, one hand still up in slight defense in front of you as you bring them both to your chest, throwing down the rag in your hands.

“Let me drive you-“

“No.”

You move past the bar, only stopping when you hear Craig’s voice.

“Pope needs patched up-“

“Pope can clearly take care of himself.”

Pope’s entire world shattered. You never called him Pope once the entire time you’ve known him. But now here it was, that godforsaken nickname that haunted him, leaving your lips. The last place he ever wanted it to be.

Fuck, he’d really screwed up.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

You hadn’t heard from Pope the rest of the night. Half of you expected him to try and call, maybe send a text, but you got nothing. The only mention of him came from Lena as you pulled into a spot outside her friend’s house.

“Where’s Uncle Pope?”, She asked softly.

Your heart clenched.

“He’s with Deran and Craig, you’ll see him when we pick you up.”

“Promise?”, The little girl holds out her pinky to you.

You feel yourself soften, a small smile tugging at your lips as you offer your pinky in return, closing them around each other; “I promise.”

Satisfied with your response, she reaches for her bag.

“Cmon! Let’s go inside!”

Sometime after dropping Lena off you find yourself back at your place, not Baz’s on the water front where you spent most of your time with Pope. Not at Pope’s place either. You texted Deran that Lena wanted Pope to pick her up the next day, letting them know where you’d be. If you didn’t show up at Baz’s, Pope would worry.

Even now mad at him, you couldn’t help but worry.

Across town—Pope wasn’t any better. For once he was in his own barely furnished apartment, curled up on the shower floor. The water running way too hot. All he could think of was the look on your face. How scared you seemed. The sound of that name leaving your lips.

Pope.

Cause that’s all he’d ever be right? The monster that Smurf had so carefully created?

He couldn’t shake it from his mind when he finally stood after what felt like hours, turning off the stream and stepping out of the bathroom. He didn’t bother with clothes, just let the water droplets drip onto the floor as he walked.

He checked his phone, the only thing being from Deran, just passing on the information of where you’d be. Still nothing from you.

Pope ran his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back as he stared out the window at the waves crashing against the shore. Mind too loud. For once, he found himself being pulled toward his bed—letting his body flop against the hardly used mattress. The comforter around him turning slightly damp. He didn’t sleep, no, he was way past a time where he’d be able to do that. Especially without you next to him. He curled back up into a ball, staring blankly ahead, hands under his wet hair as he blinked slowly. Afraid to move and cause damage anywhere else.

In his mind, that’s what this was; damage. Caused by the monster that didn’t know any better, the monster still somehow run by Smurf, even when he’d distanced himself. He wanted to be better, not just for himself, but for you.

Shit, he really needed you.

His body felt hollow lying alone in the bed, but maybe—if he thought hard enough—he could pretend the warmth over his skin was from you being cuddled up next to him, and not the scalding shower he’d just stepped out of.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Somewhere in between spiraling and trying to keep himself sane, Pope fell back into his normal routine of taking Lena to school and picking her up. It became a good distraction for him. Unfortunately for Pope, he found himself unable to hide from her. No, she was one of the few people who could read him just as well as you could.

“Why are you sad?”, Lena asked him over cereal as they sat at the kitchen counter.

Pope paused mid cereal bite.

“What?-M’not?…M’not sad”, Pope tried.

Lena narrowed her eyes; “Yes you are.”

Pope set his spoon back in his bowl, before shaking his head.

“Not sad. Just…thinking.”

Lena resumed eating; “About what?”

Pope sighed; “I don’t really know.”

It suddenly dawned on him that he really hadn’t known what he was specifically thinking about over the past few days except you.

“Where’s Auntie?”

God, that made Pope’s heart clench with a softness and a strain that had become all too familiar lately. You and Lena had become connected at the hip pretty much the moment Pope introduced you.

“I don’t really know that either”, Pope tells her honestly.

It was true, Pope who normally knew where you were through his brothers, the safety app on both your phone’s, or from a general watching—had decided to really give you space. He hadn’t seen you since that night in the bar.

“Why not?”, Lena kept her questions coming.

“We had an argument.”

Lena furrowed her brow; “…Is that why you’re sad?”

Pope almost laughed. He rubbed his neck instead.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The little girl shrugged; “So fix it.”

Pope raised a brow at her bluntness; “I don’t really know how to do that either.”

Lena stared at him seriously; “Just apologize.”

The words left her mouth like it was the most common knowledge on the world; and it was coming from a seven year old.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”, Lena nods, “Works with me and my

friends.”

As he sat there—spooning another mouthful of cereal in his mouth—Pope decided that maybe it was worth a try.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

When Lena was finally asleep that night—it being a rare occasion when Baz was actually home—Pope found himself sitting outside your house in his Jeep, fingers thrumming against the steering wheel.

His jaw was ticked, tongue in his cheek as he looked at the exterior of your house. The lights inside were on, he could tell it was your living room lamp by the soft yellow glow. Your car was in the driveway, he could see the flicker of the tv through your curtains. Yet he didn’t move.

You were home, he knew that, so why didn’t he move?

He stared at your front door for another hour before he forced himself out of the car with sweaty palms and a racing heart. He thought about just sitting on your doorstep, maybe you’d find him eventually, but he didn’t want to draw any outside attention.

Your welcome mat was familiar under his feet, the pale green of your door under his hovering hand stared back at him. He swallowed hard before finally, finally forcing his knuckles to rap softly against the door.

He could hear you shuffling around inside as he squeezed his eyes shut, your footsteps approaching and for once, he was nervous—no, he was scared out of his mind.

When you finally opened the door his breath hitched at the sight of you; braid down your back that would no doubt lead to the beachy waves he loved when you took it down, a pair of shorts and oh?—one of his t-shirts.

Even now, when you were supposed to be mad at him, you still wore his shirt.

You almost wince at the sight of him; face and nose still purple and bruised around his eye and across his cheek. A few small cuts from Baz’s ring. Mostly healed, but still noticeable—still something you desperately wished you could take away.

“Andrew?”, You asked softly, not expecting him to be on your front doorstep.

The minute his name left your lips Pope broke, hot tears he’d tried to push back were suddenly on his cheeks, and he found himself unable to stop them.

After a moment of stunned silence you pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him and leading him to the couch. He leaned instinctively into you almost immediately—head resting against your opposite shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him. A choked sigh slipping from his lips when your fingers came up to card through his curls.

“I’m so sorry-“, He choked out between sobs.

You were still shocked, sure you’d seen him cry before, but never as big as this.

“Hey, hey. Shh”, You say softly, “It’s ok, baby.”

But he was already shaking his head.

“It’s not ok!”, He shoves his head into your neck; “I made you upset…I-scared you.”

You cup both of his cheeks with your hands—pulling his head up so he’s looking at you—thumbs rubbing stray tears away from his red and puffy cheeks.

“Wasn’t scared of you”, You tell him, shaking your head; “I was scared for you.”

Pope furrows his eyebrows.

“Andy, I called your name twice that night before you even looked at me….I was just, upset.”

His eyes flick down to his lap—where’s he’s picking at the skin around his nails—to behind you, until he’s finally looking at you again.

“M’sorry…”, He whispers; “I just, I was so mad. At the things Baz was saying about us, about you.”

It’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows.

“What did he say?”

Pope looks away from you, but you guide him back.

“Andrew, what did he say?”

Pope inhales deeply, blinking a few times before he answers.

“That you’re probably messed up in the head to be with someone as fucked up as me…that you probably have some psycho kink…”

You immediately shake your head.

“Baby, you’re not fucked up, I promise.”

He searches your face, looking for any sign of doubt or dishonesty; he finds none.

“And fuck Baz, ok? He’s the one who’s fucked up. The stick in his ass is so big it might as well be a tree”, You huff.

Pope’s lips turn up at that, a small sound of air leaving his nose—almost a laugh.

“Baby, I promise everything he said is not true”, You continue, fingers running through his curls again; “You’ve been through a lot, yeah. But you’re not fucked up.”

You press a kiss to his knuckles, still a little swollen from connecting with Baz’s stupid face.

“Bruised…not broken.”

That’s what gets Pope to let himself finally smile, knowing you meant him and not his fist.

“Does it hurt?”, You ask softly, turning his hand over in your palm; “Or your cheek? Your nose?”

He shakes his head; “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

You don’t know whether your heart should soften or hurt inside at that.

“Cmere”, You pull him forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He sighs immediately, a weight on his shoulders lifting as his body melts into you and the couch. Feeling like he could cry again just from the relief of finally having you back in his arms.

“I love you so much, Andrew.”

Your thumb rubs soothing circles on his cheek, his eyes flicking across your face again like he’s memorizing it all over again.

“I love you too.”

He keeps repeating those three words in his head and out loud against your skin until he falls asleep that night; your hands still in his hair and his body snuggled into you.

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