Words Unsaid || on hold

Chapter 9

 Smoke curled underneath the door, a familiar smell lingering in the air outside the door.  I pushed it open with my hip, clutching my work apron in my hand.  He was sprawled on the couch, a gun lying next to him on the coffee table.  He didn't move, eyes glazed and fixated on the weapon in front of him.  Moving to sit up, he grabbed it; running his fingers over the edges and curves.  He didn't seem to notice as I set my bag and keys on the counter, slipping off my shoes.  Pushing his finger near the trigger, he kept staring at it, awed.  As if deciding an answer to something, he pressed his finger on it quickly, with a newfound determination and will, a loud sound echoing in the apartment, it isn't loaded.

 "Justin!" I walked over to where he sat, half there and half in another place.

 "Isn't it amazing," he glanced at me, "the way a piece of metal can take a life—" Cutting himself off, he tapped it against his palm, "Well, just like that, I suppose." He stopped talking, entering some dark place in his head and the suddenly coming back.  "I've done it before, you know, used it.  It doesn't seem as painful as I would think— more, oh, relieving.  I wonder what that would feel like. I deserve it, Aria, I do. I've taken so many lives, shouldn't mine be gone too?"

 I reached for it, gently removing the gun from his grip and trying to keep my emotions hidden from him.  "Hey, you aren't thinking straight.  You haven't done that— you haven't taken lives.  Let's get water, okay? And then you can go to bed."

 He hummed a response, standing up and wobbling before falling back onto the couch.  Laughing, his mood seemed to change instantly.  "Why are you still here? What do you care of me?" Almost as if he was a child, he shot up and stared me right in the eye, awaiting an answer.

 I didn't reply, instead filling a glass of water and bringing it to him.  Pushing it towards him, I spoke with as much composure as I could muster, "Drink this, and then lie down."

 He chugged it as fast as he could, a glassy light in his eyes, "Quick, aren't I?"

 I gave him a small smile, knitting my eyebrows together as he attempted to lie on his side.

 Groaning, he sat back up, "I can't; it hurts."

 I knelt to his level, "Where?"

 He lifted his shirt, pointing to a swollen, purpled bruise the size of my hand.  It sat next to a light pink scar, that went across his belly button.  Small cuts surrounded the bruise; as if he had been punched.  He moaned as he pulled the fabric back down, choosing to lie on his other side.  Sticking his elbow under his head, his eyes fluttered shut, and he trailed off in the middle of a sentence.  I pulled a blanket out from the basket near the couch, placing it over him.  Who would do that? Who would hurt him?  Leaning over his face, my hair draped around him, and I pressed a quick kiss on his cheek.  It was childish; like an elementary school child touching a boy for the very first time.  A small smile came over his lips before they returned to their place, as innocent and unknowing as he looked peaceful.  A sharp pain ran over my stomach, and I hit it with my hand, willing the rumbling to stop.  Clenching the muscles together, small tears formed at the corners of my eyes, it hurts.  I sat down on the carpet, bringing my knees into my chest, make it stop.  Biting my lip, I waited for it to subside.  The pain settled into its usual dull ache; as if my body had given up trying, had given up almost as much as I had.  As if it was so, so close to breaking down completely, an unoiled machine that was loosing force.  

Standing up, I walked into the kitchen, hesitantly opening the fridge and pulling out an apple.  I chopped it carefully, watching as drops of juice fell onto the cutting board.  I cut off the tip of a slice, placing it in my mouth and chewing carefully.  I ate the slice quickly, trying to eat as much as I could before the guilt set in.  I finished the apple hastily, reaching for the box of crackers in the cupboards beneath me.  I finished a sleeve of them easily, and reached for any other food I could get my hands on.  Wrappers started to accumulate around me, and my stomach lay heavy inside me.  Crinkly and shiny, light reflected off of them like silent reminders; taunting me. I stopped, slowly, stunned.  I took a step back, hitting my back against the fridge.  Its cold outside brought me back, I ate all that.  Wetness made its way down my cheeks, and I dropped the plate I held, letting it clatter to the ground and fall into pieces. A voice whispered inside me, sneering insults— poison dripping from her words at each jab she took. I let her down. I walked away slowly, picking up the pace as I walked into my room, rifling through drawers to find relief.  He has it, remember? I ran my nails across my wrist, breaking open old cuts with their sharp edges.  I pressed my thumb on to the lines, as Noah had once done, with his same disappointment in my eyes.  

* * *

 I blinked my eyes open, arms wrapped around me tightly.  I knew these hands.  I traced his fingers, running the pads of my own over his knuckles and his nails.  The bed was white, with slightly yellow sheets across it.  Shifting around me, his eyes opened and the bright green captured my own.  He smiled lightly before pushing out his lips, looking at me expectantly.  Hesitating slightly, I pushed my own against his.  They were hot, fire-like, and I pulled back quickly, running my fingers over my lips.  He smirked deviously, skin tainting red.  I found I couldn't move, as if chained to the bed.  He moved over me, putting his weight on his elbows as he hovered on top of me.  Pressing his body onto mine, my skin burned— a boiling heat radiating over the parts of me.  "Stop," I tried, my voice coming out a whisper.  I let out a small cry as he let all of his weight go on top of me.

 I shot up, stickyness all over my body.  My face felt wet, and my voice was hoarse.  The covers were kicked aside, as if someone had struggled before finally getting free.  I stood up carefully, slowly, my vision tilting dangerously.  Sucking in air, I walked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water.  The lights were off, and the couch where Justin was, stood empty, the blanket thrown onto the ground.  The gun was missing from where I had left it on the coffee table.  Someone had cleaned up the wrappers and the broken plate I had left on the floor.  Stepping carefully, as if avoiding imaginary shards of something sharp, I took my water back to my room.  Laying down slowly, I set the glass on the night stand.  I pushed my head into the pillow, staring at the ceiling until my eyelids slowly shut.  Vaguely, I heard someone creak the door open, and stand at the foot of my bed.  Setting something down on the night stand, he lit a match, the sound of burning filling the room. The candle lit up— a light just outside my vision, glowing brightly.

"It helps keep the nightmares away," he hesitated, "I know you're awake."

The candle flickered assuringly as I gently opened my eyes, running them over his features. "Thank you," I paused, words caught in my throat, "what was that about? Earlier, I mean."

His eyes dropped, avoiding my gaze. "Don't worry about it. I— um— I'm fine."

"You know I know that lie," I let out a breath, "all too well."

His face hardened, a guarded expression in his eyes, "Forget about it."

I sat up slowly, not sure how to approach him, "I saw you break down, Justin. I'm still here. You can trust me."

"I said I'm fine." He paused between the words, emphasizing every syllable.

"Okay," I whispered, confidence disappearing. I set my head back down on the pillow, watching as he walked to the door. He turned back once to look at me with something in his eyes I couldn't understand before leaving, whispering seven words before shutting the door behind him, footsteps echoing in the hall as he crossed it. The same sentence pulsed in my head, a feeling I couldn't decipher starting in the pit of my stomach.

Why won't you let me help you?

a/n: i know, short chapter. but, here's some insight on the two characters and what's happening in their lives. hope you like it, and can't wait to talk to you all again next week.