Drugged Hearts

t h i r t e e n » adriana

    

     I didn’t know what to do.

    He was staring at me, evocation masking his eyes as pleads for reassurance dissolved in the salty fluid welling up in his darkened irises. I didn’t know what to say because I was, too, waiting for him to say that he was joking. But he was silent, a bit too silent as all his features darkened, dawned with pain.

     I didn’t know what to do.

     My sight dropped to his lips, only to find them quivering. Once he caught what I was looking at, he curled his lips into his mouth. His fist clenched his jeans and his shoulders shook vigorously. I wanted to deny it, tell him that it was all a mistake, tell him that I didn’t want to know anymore.

     And for the first time in the course of ten minutes that we plainly stared back at each other, I knew what to do.

     I encased him with my arms as I engulfed him in a hug.

    That was the best thing I could do.

     That was the only thing I could do.

     It was silent; his head against my chest, his hands lying limply on my lap as his breathing fanned the fabric obscuring the skin from the piercing cold. No sobs were let out, no movement was done of any sort; just trickles of tears scarring my shirt and our constant breathing, mine supported by the cannula I was forced to get.

     I tightened my grip around him, placing a warm kiss on top of his ebony mane. I had so many questions scratching at my tight throat, wanting to escape. How? Why? When? Why, just why?

     “I just—“ he started but his voice cracked and, knowing myself, I couldn’t handle hearing him cry. Not he out of everyone; when the person keeping you strong breaks down, it’s hard to stay put yourself. So I squeezed him, shushing him.

     “You don’t have to, baby.”

     “I-I killed him,” he repeated as if he didn’t hear to what I had said. “The car and – and I tried, but – but…”

     “Tryston—“

     “I’m so sorry,” was the last thing he said before silent sobs escaping his sealed lips shook me to the core. I couldn’t help the tears escaping my sockets, dripping onto his head. His shaking stopped, and I watched as he moved away just a fraction so that he was capable of tilting his head up and looking at me. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, examining my featured. I felt his thumb moving shakily and brushing the tears, the burning sensation their tips radiated just by the collision with my skin drifting my eyes shut. “No, don’t cry; it isn’t even your fault,” he finally said with a hoarse voice, causing my insides to shatter as my eyes landed on the broken form he appeared in.

     “It isn’t yours either,” I whispered, gaining a humorless scoff from Tryston’s dry lips. He threw his head onto my chest, shaking it briefly.

     “You don’t know that. You don’t even know what happened.”

     “Yeah, but I know you, Tryston,” I retaliated, watching as a sad smile tugged on his lips.

     “Do you really?”

     Truthfully, I didn’t even know. His question caught me off guard, but that wasn’t why I didn’t answer; I simply didn’t have an answer.

     “Who are you, Tryston Brooks?” I asked, pushing the hair shielding his eyes back, resting my hand on top of it so that it wouldn’t fall back. His eyes were a shade of sorrow and another of hollowness, contrasting with the slight smile.