*So, I actually listened to Taylor Swift's 'This Love' while writing this chapter. But since I couldn't find the proper video or any lyric video to go along with it this, you're all going to have to deal. But 'This Love' is the song that goes along with it.
Grace
Water runs down into the tub, the air inside of the bathroom misty. My feet are submerged in hot, scolding water as I attempted to warm them back up again. Sitting in nothing but my shirt and underwear as I was used the edge of the tub as seat, I watched the water twirl in circles when I moved my feet.
My cheeks were sticky from dried tear tracks, and my shirt was stained in tears. The back of my neck was starting to ache from sitting in an awkward position for too long. Even though the water was running and the bathroom was stationed at the back of the house on the second floor I was still able to hear shouting coming from downstairs.
As I'm more focused on the yelling then the water, I feel it come up to just two inches below my knee and my hand instantly reaches over and turns it off. That's when I hear it, the words I mean, and they become much clearer. Much louder than they had when the water had been running.
I cringe at the intensity, the anger, the venom that was leaking from their mouths. It was Will vs. James, and Will was currently winning the battle. They were arguing over me, which wasn't unusual, but then it all stops as if they realized something. Everything goes dead quiet, a silence flowing over us. For some reason I suck in a breath, terrified of what they had all realized.
And then it comes to me. In the last fifteen minutes that I'd been up here I never once made any attempt to listen. As soon as I entered the bathroom I shut with a slam, locking it for good measure, and then going to the bathtub and turning on the hot water. They had stopped yelling because I had turned off the water – which might have looked like I was trying to listen; trying to hear what they have to say.
I wouldn't deny that me standing in between the two of them had been stupid, idiotic of me, but that didn't mean there wasn't pause. There had been a six second pause before Will had punched me, though it may not have been intended for me, Will still had enough to realize I was standing in front of him.
I had watch as both men had stumbled back, ready to fight again but stopped when I was in the middle. Both Will and I were at fault, and the only reason why my excuse makes sense is because I was protecting him. James was older, had more experience with fighting, and was easily kicking Will's ass. A blind person could see that.
My heart still felt heavy and I was still angry, but I was slowly calming down to where I was in the starting range of being rational. When my feet no longer feel like popsicles, I hook the drain out of the tub and dry my feet off with a towel. Walking in front of the mirror I pause – like there was invisible hand pulling me back.
Turning, I come face to face with myself and my reflection in the mirror. I don't look surprised when I find that my eyes are bloodshot, my air is a mess, and the area around my eyes is puffy. From not putting any ice or something cold on my face the spot where Will had punched me was swelled and purplish.
In all honesty, I looked like one of the extra from Walking Dead and I didn't care. I could've looked worse. The thing that was really screwed up was my heart at the moment.
Blowing out a huff of air I unlock the door, open it, and then step out. There was no one in the hallway as I walked down it and towards Will's old bedroom. My eyes look over the pictures that hung on the walls and every time I do this I always find something more interesting to look at. The tips of my fingers glide against the wall as I walk, and a minute passes as I take my time.
When I get to the bedroom I spent what was probably five minutes just looking at everything there was to see. I knock on the door first, but when I don't hear a response from the other side I enter. There's nobody inside, which I'm grateful for at the moment, and I head over to my suitcase.
I rummage through it, looking for something warmer to wear and only find a pair of jeans and black winter jacket that I stole from Will. Tugging on the jeans, my legs becoming cold once again, and then the coat last. I scan the bedroom, looking for any warm boot wear, and I find my uggs that had somehow ended up in the corner near the closest. Grabbing them, I put them on, one foot at a time and then I exit the room.
When I'm downstairs the rest of them try their best not to stare at me or the bruise on my face. Will, on the other hand, looks absolutely terrified and it's probably because it looks like I'm ready to high-tail it out of here. A sharp pang hits my heart and I remember that he's still my boyfriend and that I love him.
"I love you, Will," I tell him before I shut the door the house. The thing is I don't exactly know who I was trying to reassure though, him or myself? He says it back and a ghost of smile tugs at my lips before the door is fully closed.
He loves me.
(Time lapse)
I came back to an empty house, it completely quiet. Changing back into my pajamas and grabbing a book out of my bag I head to the music room. Once in there I shut the door and go and sit down at the window seat, curling myself into a ball as I read. It's cold near the window so I bundle up in a blanket, and for some strange reason it smelt like Will – or maybe it's just the shirt I'm wearing.
As I'm reading the door creaks open, and at first, I ignore it. Thinking it was gravity doing its thing, but I do a double take when I remember I had shut it. Dropping the book open onto my stomach I look over and see Will standing in the entryway.
His blonde hair is a mess and is sticking up in all different directions, his wearing the same thing he was earlier, except this time, he looked miserable. Even with split lip, a bruised cheekbone, and slight limp he still, somehow, was able to look handsome. He pulled off the whole 'bad-boy' vibe pretty well.
"Hi," that's the only word that I can make out at the moment as we just stare at each other.
"Hi," he greets back, and I couldn't imagine this getting any awkward. Thinking over what I was going to say, and when I come up with a sentence that sounds the least offensive I say it.
"I-Is there something I can do for you?" I ask, sitting up and closing my book but not before sliding the bookmark into it.
He tilts his head to the side. "Well ... everyone is out, going grocery shopping because the roads are clear right now, I decided to take advantage of the quietness. If you look over there—," he points over to the table near the piano and I see his laptop for the first time, "—I was trying to get some work done. But ... nature called."
Everything made sense now; the reason why the blanket smelled like him or and why the cushions beneath me were strangely warm. He'd been sitting here, doing his thing, and I totally ruined it all. A lot of my anger towards what happened earlier this morning was almost gone, so when I look back at him, my eyes are wide.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I can move?" I say as I'm about to get up but he shakes his head.
He moves his hand frantically in a 'no' gesture. "You don't have to do that! I mean, only if you really want too. I can go and find somewhere else to work."
I bite my lip. "No, I intruded, it's my fault."
"No, please, stay. It was an accident." He tells me, but it comes out as more of a plead.
"Its okay, Will. It's my fault. I can move," I state, being more persistent.
In that second we both saw through each other's acts. There was a lot more meaning in our words that we were willing to admit. We just stare at each other, not knowing what to say. An uncomfortable silence falls over and my shoulders sag. I let out a breath through my nose, an idea forming in my head.
"W-Why don't we share the seat? It can obviously fit the two of us," I suggest, swallowing harshly as I waited for his answer. There isn't one though as he strides forward, straight for his laptop, and for a second I swear he was coming at me, but that was just my mind playing tricks on me.
I try to hide the cringe I give, but he notices and steps back, shocked. His eyes are blown wide as the grip he has on his laptop is shaky, and it falls out of his hands but I reach forward and grab it before it can hit the floor.
"You're scared of me," he says and I look up at him, my eyebrows knitting together.
Setting the computer down I shake my head. "No, no, no Will. I'm not scared of you."
"Then why did you cringe?" He asks, suspiciously.
Standing up I step towards him back he takes a step back. "Will ... You punched me – and I know it was an accident, but it does terrify me a little. Okay? It's perfectly normal to flinch, cringe, or close your eyes when you're not expecting movement."
He doesn't look so convince by that as he tells me, "I don't want you to be scared of me, ever."
This time, when I move forward he doesn't step back. I reach up when I'm close enough and cup his cheek with my hand. "I'm sorry."
"For what exactly?" He questions.
"For everything," I answer with a sigh.
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "D-Don't be sorry, Grace. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But I do!" I shout, flinging my arms up in the air as my eyes start to burn.
"No, no you don't – don't do that, Grace. I'm the one who punched you; I'm the one who hurt you." He said, stepping closer to me and the distance between us is only a centimeter. "It's my fault that."
"It's not. It's really not. I shouldn't have gotten in the way of you two—"
"Six seconds," he says, cutting me off.
I raise an eyebrow at him in confusion. "What?"
"I counted. There was a six seconds pause, and I knew you were there, standing in front of me, but I still swung my arm out! Six fucking seconds!" He cries, tears that had blurred his vision start to slip down his cheeks. "I swear, Grace, that I didn't mean too. I didn't mean to hurt you."
A small smile tugs at my lips. "I know."
"Do you? Because I don't," He admits, bowing his head in ashament. "I love you; I love you so damn much that it hurts. That's the one thing I'm sure of: my love for you."
By the end of his sentence a choked sob is escaping past my lips. "It's okay that you're not sure, Will. I know it was an accident. It does hurt to love you, it hurts because it's messy, confusing, and downright maddening – but that's what love is. Because, even though earlier I wanted to slap you, tell you to screw off, I couldn't. I knew that if I lost you, I'd lose myself in the process."
He smiles at my words and seconds later his lips are crashing onto mine in a heated kiss. His hands are cupping my cheeks while my arms wrap around his waist. One of his hands fall down to my left hip and he pushes me forward, causing our chests to collide.
Our lips are pressed hard together and our tears mix together as I feel him grin. Standing up on my tip toes I deepen the kiss, my hands traveling up from his neck to his hair where I tug on the strands.
We pull apart shortly, breaths uneven and our lips swollen. He ends up tugging me back into his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. My face was buried in his shirt, my head titled to the side so I could breathe.
"I thought I never get to that again," he whispers into my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear.
I hug him even tighter, my eyes closing. "Me either."
He presses a light kiss to my forehead. "I don't ever want to lose you, Grace. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Don't worry, you won't.You have me, you have all of me."
Hiiii, I hope you all enjoyed this update. If any of you have Instagram mines alexandra_salviulo. (My profile picture is also of a bear, instead of bird. Don't ask me why. I also don't post pictures of myself. You might find out that I just like posting pictures of my dogs, things I bake, quotes I find or created from the random but sometimes emotion thoughts in my brain.)
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