{Unedited}
We may not choose to believe it, but words hurt us.
I hate you.
And we can get so caught up in these words, that we say it to ourselves.
You're so stupid - why would you do that?
Then we say it to others, even if we don't entirely mean it.
Leave me alone.
Maybe we say it because we're upset that they're said to us.
I don't want to see your face anymore.
And we want to return the words to someone else.
I don't love you anymore.
Sometimes we just forget the consequences of our words more than our actions.
I hate you. I wish I never loved you.
Statements started out small, never really meaning much other than just wanting to let them know they were doing something wrong, or it was bothering you.
"Tim, babe," you sighed, entering the lounge. The sun was beginning to dim just below the hills, creating a glow across Tim's features.
His head slowly turned to you, eyes darting in confusion. "Yes?"
"It was your turn to do the washing today," you said, sitting down on the couch, not too far for him suspect anything.
"Shit," he mumbled, standing up from the couch. "I'll-"
"I already did it," you stated, maybe harsher than you intended. The words came out, still.
"I really am sorry," Tim said, sitting next to you. His arm wrapped around your shoulders in an attempt of comfort. "I promise I'll it tomorrow - and the day after," he quickly added, smiling genuinely at you. You smiled back, knowing that your passiveness was holding you back from what you really wanted to say. Because even then, he still didn't do the washing.
It wouldn't have been a few weeks later when the words wanted to come back, but you forced them down admissibly.
"You've been coming home later than usual," you said that morning, fingers dancing between Tim's shoulder blades.
You both knew he was tired from his missions, but he would remind you anyway. "I know, it's just- the team needs me, you know?"
Nodding silently, you watched him get out of bed and enter the bathroom, not offering a single look or smile.
I still miss you, you thought, resting back down on the bed, eyes staring at the bleak ceiling. You suddenly had the thought of Tim not missing you when he was away on missions. Regretting it instantly, you pushed it away. You're so stupid for not noticing, you thought. Why would you do that?
A sixty-three hour period passed a few days over a week later when Tim hadn't responded to any of your texts or calls.
"Are you sure you haven't heard from him?" You asked, tears threatening to fall as you bit your thumbnail.
"Positive," Dick said. "Nothing from the Titans either."
Sighing, you ran your spare hand through your unkempt hair. "What about Bruce?" You said, knowing that on the other side of the phone, Bruce was close and listening. "Has he-"
And almost as if he knew, Tim walked into the flat, his face bearing a bright smile. Ending the call, you turned to Tim. You both expected a hug from one-another, but you were too entirely unnerved to move any closer to him.
"Hi, (Y/N)," Tim said, smile deflating into a more tired one. He stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek and continuing into the kitchen, snacking on whatever you had left in the pantry.
"Where were you?" You finally asked, realizing he wasn't going to tell you unless you brought it up yourself.
"Pardon?" Tim responded, staring at you in confusion despite the fact he heard exactly those three simple words.
"I've been trying to contact you for almost three days now. Fuck, Tim, I even went to Dick for help. I was freaking out, because what if-"
"(Y/N), I'm sorry," Tim sighed, walking over and giving you a hug, which you then realized it was something he would have normally done first. "I-I was on a mission, and I couldn't tell anyone."
"Obviously," you said, pulling yourself out of Tim's hold. "You were complete radio silent."
"I didn't want to compromise anyone on the team-"
"I know, I know," you said, rubbing your face tiredly. "It's always been about keeping your team safe, I understand that." You tried to ignore the pointed look Tim gave you. "But I also want to make sure you're okay. I-"
"But I'm fine, (Y/N)."
"Yes, Tim," you huffed in annoyance, a mix of anger and anxiety shoving away any other thoughts - they wanted the words out. "But I need to make sure you're safe. I need that communication from you."
You felt your stomach churn as you watched Tim's features stir into one of annoyance.
"I tell you everything!"
"Oh, yeah? Then where was your mission, Tim? Where was it?"
Tim was silent now. "Hey," he mumbled. "You know I love you."
You knew that Tim knew that you were going to be silent after saying that. He would say that in every argument you'd have, and you knew your passive personality would let him win. But the words wanted out.
"You don't show it very well," you finally said.
"Excuse me-"
Everything was coming out now. You couldn't help it. You wanted him to know everything you were feeling. But the words you were saying weren't enough for him to understand. "I give you so much, Tim! I moved away from my parents to be with you! And now you're rarely here - like this is some kind of stopover for you to just use when you want to - like this isn't our home."
Tim sighed, his annoyed glare aimed at you. "I never forced you to live with me - I never forced you to do anything."
You felt your body deflate. "I did it because I loved you - because I thought you wanted to stay with me."
Tim's eyes widened at your statement, realizing what you were saying. "(Y/N), no, wait. Of course, I want to be with you - I-I love you, okay? You know that- please." Shaking your head, you shoved him away, sobbing as you forced him out the door. Tim was probably crying as hard as you were at that point. "No, (Y/N), please-"
"Leave me alone!" You cried, slamming the door and locking it quickly. "I don't want to see your face anymore!"
There was a deafening silence in the apartment now, but you could feel Tim behind the door like a cat waiting for its owner.
"Just leave me alone," you kept whispering. "It's what you do best, after all."
A month passed and it was your turn to go radio silence, not that you had disappeared, or even left the apartment for that matter. But your phone battery had died a few weeks prior due to the intense number of calls you had received - more of them from Tim than anyone else.
But after that month, a wash of guilt went over you. Unsure if it was because of the lack of communication you had brought down between Tim and yourself, or if you prior passive-personality was attempting to crawl back into your now thickened skin.
Pulling yourself out of your bed, you snatched out an old suitcase Tim had stored away - in case anything long-term came up for one of his missions, he would excuse. Dismissing the thought, you hauled handfuls of Tim's clothes into the suitcase, uncaring if they were to crumple or potentially fall out when you zipped it up.
The apartment felt cleaner, despite the unkempt look of the suitcase. However, it still felt fresh - as if the motion of erasing any objects relating to Tim eased your thoughts. You knew you should've hated yourself for smiling at the matter, but you were happier alone now.
You plugged your phone into its charger, and once it came back to life, much like you had earlier, you called Tim.
"(Y/N)?" He answered, his voice hoarse. For some reason, you hoped it was because he had been crying.
"I'm coming over," you said, knowing well he was staying with Bruce for the meantime. "I'm giving you your stuff back."
"I-I don't want any of that crap back," Tim pleaded, "I want you back."
Ignoring his cry, you hung up the phone, before leaving the apartment for the first time that month.
Pulling up to the manor, you saw that Tim was already outside, planted in the driveway. His posture reminded you of yourself in a way - vulnerable, overthinking, perhaps even gullible.
The dragging of the suitcase against the concrete pulled Tim out of his thoughts, and his eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, not that you were actually doing too well on your part either, but you liked to tell yourself that you were getting there.
Tim stuttered as he stood. "I-I'm so sorry."
"I know," you said. "Me too."
"A-and I know you're mad and angry at me-"
"I know, Tim," you sighed, the suitcase between you both creating a metaphor for the wall between you and Tim, although he was more reluctant to let it stay there.
"I still love you, (Y/N)," he said, exasperated. "And I just-"
The words came out. "I don't love you anymore."
There the silence was again because the words hurt both you and Tim. When you realized he had nothing left to say, you turned around, jumping back into your car, flicking on the engine.
When you glanced back out the window, you knew he was yelling, words incoherent as pools of tears leaked down his cheeks.
"I hate you!" He screamed. There they are again. "I wish I never loved you!"
They're back.
"Me too," you mumbled.
But maybe, just this one time, they won't hurt you so much.
* * *
a/n: if this doesnt upload properly this time i am actually going to have another mental breakdown BECAUSE I DO NOT NEED THIS RIGHT NOW
this isnt a metaphor. i am hurting. i am crying.