Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

9 5 ~ B l u e

                 

Present Day ~ July 23, 2011

By the time I get back to the couch, Rusty's asleep. I don't know what it is about the way she is lying, maybe it was her arms braced in fists in front of her face or the shivering of her shoulders in the warm room, but I know she is trapped in a dream.

She is just so vulnerable, so real. She may have always tried to put an act on around me, always tried to hide her face. In her sleep, she is doing the same, positioned like she is trying to guard herself against everything outside of the small spot on the cushion she is curled up on.

I set the cocoa on the coffee table and lower myself into the floor beside her. I just look at her, at everything she is. Messy hair, long eyelashes, naturally blushed cheeks.

It's like... I don't know... She makes me feel something new. Something new and terrifying. I've never gotten quite so nervous and excited around the same person before.

Something about her just pulls at me, like someone has hooked me right in the chest and kept trailing me along behind her. And the weird thing is, I don't think of that as a bad thing.

She doesn't want other people to help her, yet I can't help but offer it anyway.

Carefully, I reach out and take one of her fists in my hands. She clenches it tighter in her sleep like she wants to fight me off, and buries her face deeper into the couch pillow. I don't even know the whole story, but I know I hate that man for everything he did. I want to take it all away. She may act tough, but she's fragile inside. We all are. On the brink of shattering. She doesn't deserve this.

When she tries to pull back from me in her sleep I whisper softly, "Shh... It's okay Rusty." I can't tell if she heard me or not so I continue. "It's only Blue. Okay? It's just me, it's Blue."

I feel her fist relax in my hand and I uncurl it with my fingers, tracing the lines of her palm. I smile a little. My mom used to do this to my hand when she was still here. When I was younger, and she came in to kiss me goodnight, she would take my hand, and trace it with her own.

I guess I never really understood why, but I kind of understand it now. Everywhere that my skin touches Rusty's there is a little tingle. I like it. Tracing the lines on her hand is an excuse to feel that.

She stirs in her sleep a little and I want to reach out and brush her hair out of her face but I don't. She's too peaceful.

Instead, I lay a light kiss on the back of her hand before placing it back on the couch. I feel that tingle on my lips, and I can't help but smile.

I grab a blanket off of the back of the couch and drape it over her. I hear her say something, so low that I almost don't notice it.

I come level with her face again, which is still hidden by her hands. She's mumbling something, but I can't exactly tell what.

"Hmm?" I ask, wanting to know. What is she dreaming about?

And then I hear it, and at first, I think I'm dreaming too, but then she says it again. It's just one word, two small syllables that make my heart start racing.

"Anna," I repeat back to her. Is that your name? Is that what you are trying to hide from me? I have so many questions but instead, I just sit down next to her on the couch, her head just inches from me. The articles had her photo but not her name... probably because she's a minor.

I smile down at her a little. Anna. I like that name.

I grab a book off of the table, opening up to the last page I read. I'll go to sleep, but first, I think I'll stay down here a little while longer. I don't want to leave her alone.