" 'cause every scrap of you would be taken from me "
---
aurora astor.
The storming rain pelts across the industrial windows surrounding me in the dead of night, dragging me further into the horrid pits of this hell within my mind. I just lay out over the tarp on my belly, gliding my worn-out brush across the texture of the canvas.
In the meanwhile, Leo's momentary curiosity got the best of him as he enthusiastically explored the new art studio room with a wagging tail and now he's passed out with his onyx fluffy body curled into my side with snores blending with the rain.
The hues of white blend with my furious strokes across this black paint to create shades of gray. The thunderstorm raging beyond the glass panes of the window flashes vivid moments of the night through my head over and over like some cruel loop.
And the more I stare down at this dark painting, stripped of any true color, the more I spiral deeper into this grief and guilt crawling through every inch of my skin.
I wonder what it would be like to still have them here – to walk through the art gallery with mom or sing at the top of my lungs in the kitchen to the 1975 with dad once more.
I wonder what it would be like to watch mom blush over a stupid bouquet of sunflowers that dad picked up on the way back from work once more.
I wonder what it would be like to become engulfed in their arms once more.
I have no right to wonder because it's all my fault.
I didn't even realize the guilt consumed me until a hot tear blazed down my cheek to merge with the hues brushed across the canvas beneath me.
"Ace?" His tired, accented voice catches me off-guard, rasping with sleep coated over his words. And my head whips over, finding an unfamiliar sight that has my glassy eyes widening in the process.
I just sniffle softly, quickly wiping away the evidence from the corner of my eye before he catches on while the clarity of the sight before me only confirms the odd sight.
I stare up at him, pulling off the doorframe he was leaning on and padding in. Yet, he's wrapped up in a fluffy, pink hooded robe that lays undone to expose his lack of clothing despite those snug boxers on his inked hips.
He rubs at his puffy eye with the back of his hand as the hood shadows his unruly chestnut curls peeking out at the top of his bedhead.
I have no idea how he manages to do it, honestly. I have no idea how he can stand there looking so cute in his fluffy robe with his puffy eyes from our disturbed sleep to contrast with his entire existence and the dark ink etched into his skin.
It beats me, all I know is that he's art in every way – an overwhelming well of inspiration to my paintings that could never run dry.
I can't help but softly smile at the adorable sight, only now realizing that ... I don't think I'd have this moment if they were here.
And the war never ceases within the knots tightening in my belly and my mind, conflicting for superiority in something as complex as the past and present.
He assesses the sight of me before him, pinching his eyebrows together at the time while treading over to settle himself beside me. He loosens a deep, reliving breath while he leans back against one of the colorful throw pillows, examining my features at eye-level now.
"What's this?" I playfully glance down at the pink robe over his inked olive skin, pinching at the fluffy material between my thumb and index finger.
A soft smirk curls on his lips as he snickers at me under his breath, scrunching his nose up slightly to contain it as his head tilts to pierce his exhausted gaze into mine. "What's this one's story?" He exhaustedly mumbles, and I can only shrug without true words to describe the sheer pain unleashed across the canvas.
The dark hues invent an ovular mirror of sorts, reflecting back a horrifying ghost of a soul with its hands pressed to the mirror – desperate to escape the hell that exists in the past it's trapped in.
"Don't know," I untruthfully mumble under my breath as gaze down at the darkness drying across the canvas.
He just hums, examining my features while boring his gaze into my soul practically. "Huh, so what are you going to do with all these paintings?" He curiously murmurs.
I just glance back down at it, and blow out a weak raspberry at the thought. "Think I'll sell them," I mumble under my breath.
"All of them?" He whispers, and I just hum as I glance up to find his eyebrows pinched together at my words.
Examining me further, those piercing green eyes scan over my face. "What're you doing up? Hm?" He inquires while he reaches over, slipping on the dangling pieces of raven hair over my face to tuck behind my ear.
"Couldn't sleep," I truthfully tell him while his green eyes drop to my cheek, humming deeply as he drags his thumb across my cheekbone to deliberately rub something off my skin.
"Why not?" He mumbles, stifling back a small yawn which has my stomach twisting in the slightest.
"I'm alright, Harry, go back to sleep," I softly request, but he just shakes his head adamantly while glancing down at my painting before me.
Unable to look me in the eyes in his exhausted apprehension, "can't without you," he raspily admits to only warm the heaviness hung in my chest.
His eyes lift back up to mine, staring at me as if those simple words didn't just fall from his lips. "Talk to me, love," he requests. I just swallow thickly in my own pent-up frustration welling in my chaotic mind.
Sighing under my breath with a subtle shrug, his curiosity caves before me with a small exhale. "Alright, I'll be back then," he casually mumbles as my eyes instantly trace down to watch his abdomen muscles flex as he sits himself back up.
A strained exhale leaves his lips as he gets up to his feet, exposing the ink on his knees and his tiger tattoo inked into his toned thigh above me.
I stammer on words as he treks out of the room, and I scoff under my breath while mumbling words under my breath. I toss the paintbrush into the inky water translucent through the liter-sized mason jar, roughed-up from the years of my own form of escapism.
I just shift slightly, hoping to not wake Leo's snores in the process as I shift the aching position to sit upright again. I sigh under my breath at the transition, staring down at the unfinished painting on the tarp with its dark themes and accents of grief and guilt coinciding with each other.
But my dissociating gaze snaps over at the movement out of the corner of my eye, catching Harry grinning like an idiot with a metal spoon clamped in his mouth.
A small smile finds its way onto my face as he carefully steps around Leo and his green gaze meets mine as I notice him holding two pints of ice cream in either hand. He settles behind me, and I glance over at my shoulder at him positioning me between his spread legs.
His puffy eyes just sparkle as he hands over a pint to me, removing his spoon from his mouth to smile at me. "I couldn't help myself, I started without you," he tips his to me to showcase his green mint-chocolate chip ice cream with a dent already made in it.
I just shake my head as I pry open the lid to toss to the side, settling further into his warm chest to his approving hum. "Spoon?" I mumble while looking back at him, already midnight snacking on his mint-chocolate chip ice cream leaving the sweet substance across his cherry lips.
"Pocket," he mumbles while his mouth full, glancing down at the pink pocket of his fluffy robe. I just laugh at him while his dimple carves into his cheek while he tiredly beams with his spoon snug in his mouth.
I slide my hand into his pocket while he smirks at me, and I shake my head as my fingers grasp the cool metal to draw.
The inviting cookies and cream ice cream sits cold in my fingers as I dig my spoon in, scooping a bite into my mouth to savor the flavor in momentary calm.
"Let me have some," he mumbles at me, knowing the exact moment I scooped another bite to ask his question.
I glance over at him over my shoulder, slowly allowing the cold substance to melt on my tongue from my previous bite as he opens his mouth to my inviting spoonful.
I snort at his absurdity, watching him stick his pink tongue out further for me to guide the spoon into his mouth. He smiles as he scraps off the ice cream into his mouth, humming in approval as he allows it to melt on his tongue.
I take another scoop of myself, staring down at the ice cream before me as I lean back into Harry's warmth. "Wanna talk about it now, babe?" He lightly murmurs while wrapping his lips around another scoop of his own this time, smelling the cool mint drift across my nose.
I just run the tip of my metal spoon around the rim of the pint, numbing my palms as my mind attempts to find the words to even describe the emotions welling up within me.
It's all just still alive in my head.
"Don't know, just a bad ..." my tongue trips on the word dream, knowing that if it was a dream, none of that would have happened in the first place, "night."
I settle on, and he hums softly beside me, "mhm." My eyes lift to him in confusion, engulfed in the culprit of his mint-chocolate chip ice cream. He takes another big scoop with the hood of his robe shadowing his prominent content in the sweet treat.
"'S one of my favorites ... try some," he casually mumbles before offering up a scoop of the green mint-chocolate chip ice cream.
I chuckle softly, parting my lips to take the cool, sweet mint blending with dark chocolate chips off the cold metal of the spoon.
His puffy, jade eyes widen, awaiting my reaction while it melts on my tongue to cool the entirety of my mouth. "Definitely sexy," I softly mumble, granting a reliving smile on his lips as he nods in acknowledgment.
"Come on, baby," he murmurs quietly to me, and my eyebrows drag together as I take another scoop of cookies and cream onto my tongue. "What's going on?" He coaxes the shambles of words out of my chaotic mind with a comforting stroke of his hand across my hip.
"I don't know, when I have nights like this, it just plays on a loop over and over and over again ..." I admit to him, practically exhaling the words as they tangibly release into the world instead of the confines of my mind. His rings dig into my hip with the light, reassuring squeeze as the storm matches the havoc within.
"I don't know how it's possible to feel guiltier for it every fucking day? Like Charlie, my old therapist, used to preach that time would heal all these wounds ... but if that's true then why do I feel like this all the goddamn time?" I pathetically ramble, setting the ice-cold of the pint on the tarp to sigh while covering my flushed face from the moment racing through my head again.
He sighs behind me, setting his own sweet treat down to wrap both arms around me to draw me into the plush warmth of his body heat with the material of his robe.
"But you know now, love," he whispers into my scalp while air seems to seal out of the room with the shattering of glass through my mind and the sensation of begging for every last one of my breaths.
"You know it wasn't your fault, Rory ... it was that sick fuck," he softly mumbles into my hair, dragging his ring-adorned hand down the length of my back as I melt further into his warmth.
I exhale harshly, "But I was still driving–" my voice cracks as he curses under his breath, tightening his arms around me as I rest my aching temple on his bare chest while curling into a ball between his spread legs.
"For fuck's sake," he whispers out his words like mine hurt.
"I should have just fucking looked over ... if I just looked and stopped fucking around–" I whimper on my words while he shushes me softly.
"No, no, don't fucking do that ... don't do that because you and me both know you can't go changing the past," he reveals, nothing but the honest truth with his own broken mess of a still-mysterious past.
"Life's just ... fucked, baby, none of this bullshit is up to us," he mumbles as I just curl my fist tighter on his fluffy robe.
"Why did he fucking save me that night? Why did he do this to me? Why did he make me live through this hell every day?" I mumble into his chest like I could perceive the glass shattering across my body with the impact of the car slamming into us all over again.
"God, it hurts all the fucking time inside, Harry–" he comfortingly strokes my hair to gently brush his thumb across my temple, absentmindedly rubbing slow circles to ease out the pain in my mind in silence.
"Oh, baby," he raspily blows out his words beside my ear while my mind practically burns in this never-ending hell. I squeeze my eyes shut, nearly whimpering at the pain welling up inside of me.
"Uhm ... you know I told you once that life's like the ring, hm?" He hums softly, while I manage to nod against his chest.
"Well, just like that, life's gonna throw you hit after hit – switch up combinations, take you by surprise, end up beating you until you feel like just giving up. And if there's anything I know about you, angel, it's that you don't lose." He admits, his words hitting me in the gut with their metaphorics.
"I know it hurts, love, trust me. I know what it's like to be fuckin' forced to talk to the sky. I know what it's like to feel guilty for getting this hell instead of just existing up there with them."
"But sometimes I like to think that maybe those stars of mine ... made you for me? Yeah, I just- I mean, I cannot fucking imagine talking to you like I talk to them." His hoarse, yet hesitant words close my throat while my chest overflows with utter warmth that I'm near breaking.
"So uhm ... even when you feel like you're bleeding out, you push through for that fuckin' feeling of the world finally on your side for once," he mumbles as I picture it behind the closure of my eyelids.
"Okay? I've always got you but I need you to keep fighting, please?" He wearily mumbles into my temple, and I just curl further into him as he layers a small kiss to my temple.
And I would, I'd repeat that never-ceasing monologue within me looping: "Keep fighting," even with this overwhelming pain with every step I take.
"I don't deserve you," I reveal as the wildfire attempting to burn me altogether simmers out, and a small chuckle reverbs from his chest as he sponges a few more kisses to the top of my head.
"You couldn't be more wrong, Rory."
I draw my head back, fluttering my eyes open to glance up to meet his soft jade eyes still puffy from sleep.
His pink, fluffy hood remains over his chestnut curls peeking over across his forehead, and he just apprehensively smiles down at me.
The words tickle the tip of my tongue, threatening to pour out like the brush strokes across my canvas beside us. But I bite back my words despite the overwhelming overflow of flutters coursing through my belly and smooth my hand over his cheek.
I lean up to seal my lips against his that taste like cool mint and bitter dark chocolate like a breath of fresh air, allowing him to swallow the words I don't dare to trust fall into yet.
I just know damn well that people always leave.
I couldn't risk that again, I couldn't fold my hand in this free-fall into this nostalgic oblivion.
Fuck, I couldn't go through more of this insurmountable loss.
---
ouch again lol
next chapter is ... something :)
love you,
h.