𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

22. murdering murderers. (pt.1.)

"Tell me something about you, something no one else knows," He mumbles, laying down next to me, his head looking at my side profile. I make sure to lift my chin slightly so I don't have a disastrous double chin.

My fingernails pick at my cuticles. My mind rakes through things I can tell him, sorting through all the sad things, the funny things and the things that make me want to curl up in a little ball and die. "I was a sad kid, we've covered that much, and I think we also covered me getting turned down by every therapist for being a little shit. But there was one I liked, but she moved away. She told me to write down every little thing that made me smile, then, when I wanted to make a concrete belt and become friends with fish, I could read about the times when something so little made such a big difference," I explain, hoping it makes sense. "I still do that, I write down the stuff and hide the books because I would kill myself if anyone read those."

"So I must be a main character," he smirks.

I roll my eyes and get comfortable, turning to look out the massive window. "I think you were briefly mentioned when I was writing something about Kiara. It's in passing, obviously not important enough to fill a page."

His hand splays across my stomach covered in a shirt – his shirt, actually – and pulls me toward him. "I deserve more than a fuckin' page. I'm amazing."

"The only amazing part about you is that ego of yours, it needs to be studied." I hear him laugh behind me, a small smile spread across my face, only showing up because he can't see it. I can't contribute to the ego.

There's a few seconds of silence, but I know he's awake. "I'm sorry," He sounds strained like he really doesn't want to talk about whatever he's referring to.

I shuffle and flip over to look at him, "About what? You didn't murder anyone, did you?"

His eyes dart over my face I'm sure he can hardly see, with the light coming from a window behind me. "Crying, I didn't realise it wa–"

I press a finger to his lips, shutting him up. "Don't ever apologise for crying, you're a human with emotions and are allowed to cry. It doesn't change my opinion of you, you're fine. Don't stress. I've cried in front of you."

"It's different," he argues. It hurts how torn up about it he looks, the embarrassment runs deep, I'd be willing to bet all of my immediate family's lives on the fact JJ wasn't taught how to express emotions, and as a boy, if you don't learn young, you tend not to learn at all. The second you're told that "boys don't cry" you internalise that and it becomes your truth. And I don't want that to be JJ's truth, I want him to be able to tell someone that he's hurting.

"It's not to me. You're human, JJ. A human that, right now, is going through a lot. So much is changing, and not all of it for the better. Don't bottle shit up, I've done that and I almost got sent to a psych ward," I give him a sad smile. "You can cry in front of me, it's allowed – fuck, it's encouraged."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, and I think that's the end of it before he tucks pieces of hair that fell in front of my face, behind my ear. "You can cry in front of me too. I don't care– wait, no. I do care I just, you know?"

I lay back down, my hand cups his cheek and my thumb rubs back at forth. "I know. Now I'm about to die of sleep deprivation, so time for bed." I turn back around, and JJ pulls me back toward him. Thankfully the fan is on.

-

I sleep weirdly well, and I always sleep well, so that says something. I slept better than I do alone, better than I did at the Château – mainly because that mattress had coils sticking out and threatening to give me tetanus – and definitely better than I did with Rafe.