[Like Real People Do - Hozier]
//tw: trauma, PTSD, violence//
In total, Orion was gone for 41 days.
At first, I don't know how I know this. I don't count them up, looking at a calendar, and no one tells me. But I was keeping track of them all, on my own, something under my skin that I didn't know what there. I counted each of those 41 days as they happened. I can't forget a single one.
Goddess, I wish I could.
-
It's so strange, when we first arrive. I didn't realize how neat I had been keeping our room. It is almost ominously sterile and spotless, everything straightened to military precision. It doesn't look as if someone lives here.
Orion is standing beside me, as tall and beautiful as always. I can't quite seem to care so much about our room. I'm more worried about the dark circles still haunting Orion's gaunt face and how to get rid of them.
He takes a breath, and even with that small movement, it feels a bit more like home. I want the air to carry his scent, again.
Orion moves towards the bathroom door but stops before he gets far, looking at me softly.
"Lee," he says gently, "I'm just going to take a shower. 20 minutes, tops."
I tense, but nod. This makes sense. The doctors had scrubbed him clean a million times, but it's been so long since he had a decent shower, warm and familiar.
"Okay."
"Lee," he repeats quietly, and I look down and see that my knuckles are turning white where they are latched on to his hand.
"Oh," I say stupidly. I try to force my fingers to relax, but they fight against me in a survival instinct. It would be like letting go of a breath under water.
Slowly, agonizingly, my fingers break out of the claw. I release a breathy laugh.
"See you in 20 minutes," I say. It's supposed to make my stress seem funny and clear the anxiety from the air, but my voice shakes and it just makes my desperation that much clearer. 20 minutes is easy, I tell myself. Just the first 20 normal, non surgical minutes that you'll be apart since he's been saved. It will be good to rip the bandage off.
But I can hear my heartbeat speeding in my chest. Orion must hear it too, because he reaches out and takes back my hand. I hold it lightly, afraid of getting too attached again.
"Mmm," he ponders faux-casually, "there is a new initiative for reducing water waste. Join me?"
My shoulders relax.
The shower is already sending tendrils of steam sticking to the mirror. I wince as Orion attempts to casually take off his shirt before taking a sharp, pained breath.
"Here," I step forward, familiar with the problem. Either the wounds are reopening from his movement - unlikely, with his healing - or he's straining muscles that are still recovering from the trauma. I've had to go through it alone before. I won't let him.
Orion puts his arms down. I carefully begin to pull his shirt up across his skin. "Alrighty, now carefully lift this arm."
Orion keeps his eyes from me, his expression darkening with shame. I place the shirt on the bathroom counter.
"Maybe you should take a bath instead," I say warily, examining his wrists, still slightly red and raw. My own hands are finally free of bandages. They did scar. I don't look at them, very much.
"Where did the 'we' go?" Orion replies.
"Maybe we should take a bath instead," I supplant.
He winces.
"Say it more romantically," he recommends with a wry, pained smile.
"Take a bubble bath with me," I venture. And then, because I'm not exactly sure if that's romantic enough, I add, "I'll be very naked and very close by."
Orion laughs, but his smile puckers into a grimace of pain. "Sounds perfect. But I'll be fine. It's just a shower."
I've never showered with any one before. It all seems like it would be very romantic, and I try to play that angle, for Orion, but I just want to take care of him. When he turns and I fully see his back, wet and glaring under the shower lights, I must stare at it too long, because Orion's voice is low and vulnerable when he speaks.
"Are they very ugly?"
He is talking about the scars that I'd never seen this clearly before. His back is covered in dozens of criss-crosses, jagged, uneven, and twisting from the chain that was used on him so many times. Even with his healing and the surgery, his once-smooth skin puckers with ragged lines from his shoulders to the end of his spine. A piece of paper torn to bits.
Goddess, the idea of him living through each one breaks my heart.
"They are," I tell him, my hair still saturating with the water. "But they're not you, Orion."
"Strange," he says softly, "to be on the other side of those words."
I never used to cry, before. Maybe Orion's absence broke something inside of me that can't be fixed, and it's leaking out of my eyes. Orion turns around so the most violent scars on his back aren't visible.
"I didn't mean for this to be sad," Orion says, so quiet that it's almost lost in the sound of the stream. He reaches out and presses the palm of his hand to my cheek.
"Sorry," I choke out, and I pull away from him for a moment so he can't feel the tears streaming down my face.
"Ever since we met," I begin shakily, "I've been afraid of ruining you. I've - I've been horrified of making you like me. And I finally did. If you never met me - if I never brought all of my mess into your life -"
I cut myself off, because I can see the response fluttering in his black eyes, and it makes me realize that he's comforting me, which is definitely not how this is supposed to work. He's not supposed to get hurt and make me feel better about it.
"Lee," he begins softly. "I don't blame you for this. For any of this."
"But if Dad -"
"Being with me is dangerous," he points out, "they were coming for me any way. What if they had added you to the list, because of me?"
They didn't, I want to argue, but Orion presses his hand onto the wall, leaning his body weight on it, and I know the exhaustion of standing so long is finally getting to him.
"How about that bath?" he says weakly.
I run the water warm and keep it devoid of any soapy products that might burn in his wounds.
"Had a lot of practice nursing dilapidated wolves before?" Orion asks like casual conversation as I carefully handle the still red marks on his wrists.
"Yes. Myself."
"You're not -"
"Then neither are you."
Orion pulls his hands from mine. He seems to finally take in how unromantic this is; how we cannot pretend like he doesn't need my help, how we cannot pretend like I can't leave him alone and breathe at the same time. He seems to sink as he realizes that we can't return to normal, all at once, that he still has healing to do.
"I've changed my mind," he whispers. "I'll just get dressed. You go ahead and we can eat dinner together. No hospital food."
He doesn't move, waiting for me to leave before he tries to dress himself. He doesn't want me to see.
Lightly, lightly, I press my hand over his heart. It beats, steady. The small patches of scarring flesh peeking onto the backs of my hands look less garfish, somehow, next to his too-pale skin.
"Let me love you," I whisper. "Let me give back some of the care you've given me."
"Lee - " he begins, self-deprecating and sardonic.
"Don't be an idiot about it," I threaten, "I swear if you say something stupid right now I will punch you right in the face."
His smile is watery and weak, but it is genuine.
"Yes ma'am."
"Say it more romantically," I suggest with an attempt at a smile.
Orion takes my hand back in his. "Yes, Lee. Anything."
So, Orion steps into the water, and he doesn't protest as I begin to wash the hospital scent out of his buzzed hair. I sit in front of him, settling in to the warmth of the water as I touch him. It is enough, to take him in. He closes his eyes, tired, leaning forward closer to me. I can see the knobs of his spine.
"Someday," he breathes, his eyes still closed, "I'll romance you properly."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yes," he promises. I admire the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones.
"And now you wonder - " Orion continues, "how am I planning on doing that?"
I gently wash over his shoulders, and when I look back to his face, he's looking at me, dark eyes soft and desperate.
"I was wondering that, actually," I reply.
"I'm going to steal you away," he explains, "and I'm going to take you everywhere. We're going to dance in every major city in the world and fall in love."
"That does sound nice," I say. I reach out and trace my palm over his cheekbone.
"But?"
"But I don't need any of that, Orion. I could fall in love with you anywhere."
Orion smiles, but it seems shaky. His lip trembles and he looks away from me.
"I. I," he whispers, halting and hesitant.
I freeze. A singular drop of water falls from his chin. Orion's face is lowered, so his eyes are hidden in the dark of shadow.
"I was," he chokes out, his voice catching in his throat. He takes a moment of quiet, but then he continues - "I was so - afraid."
Orion's head falls forward. In the next moment, he begins to cry. Small, silent sobs shake his too-bony shoulders. I pull him close to me, resting his head in the crook of my neck.
We cry together, mourning everything that has been lost.
-
That night, I don't sleep. Orion drifts off almost immediately, his breath steadying.
I look at his sleeping form, curled into the covers, and I know I won't be able to sleep. Not when I could just take him in, alive, recovering, with me again.
I watch the way his chest rises and falls with his breaths, and that's how I stay for hours, memorizing him.
It means that I'm awake when it happens.
I think I shift slightly, pulling the covers closer to me. I do something that startles him awake.
Because one moment, I'm gazing at the mark on his shoulder, tranquil and still, and the next minute, Orion is poised above me, his hand raised and his face contorted in a snarl.
He brings his clawed hand down towards me, moving faster than I imagined he could. I roll out of the bed, barely avoiding the claws that sink all the way through the pillow, tearing into the mattress below. A killing shot.
He tears his claws across the space where my head was.
"Orion!" I shout, and he finally pauses, a growl still in his chest. I touch the bare skin of his shoulder, and this seems to be what really wakes him up. His body tenses, then relaxes, then twitches almost convulsively.
Orion cries out and flings himself to the farthest corner of the bed, shivering into a ball.
"Orion - " I start towards him, but he flinches violently away, and when he looks at me I see only pure silver in his irises, two miniature moons glowing brightly.
I step back.
It takes 30 seconds. The light begins to die in his eyes, and the fear drains from his expression, replaced with confusion - and then, deep, horrible sadness.
"I'm sorry," he croaks, "I'm sorry. I wasn't - I wasn't - what happened?"
"You had a nightmare," I say softly, moving towards him slowly.
I turn on the lamp on the bedside table, and that seems to help calm the anxiety still shaking his frame. He releases a small, unsteady breath. I hold my hand out to him.
For a moment, he just stares at it, blinking hard.
In a broken and hesitant movement, he places his quivering hand in mine.
I sit on the edge of the bed as his grip on my hand slowly strengthens. He keeps his eyes, purpled and watery, on me. But then they flicker, for just a moment, to the headboard, the shredded pillow and mattress where my body was.
He lets go of my hand. His eyes stare, unblinking, slowly filling with tears.
"What did I do?" he eventually says.
"Orion," I sigh, shifting closer to him. He leans away.
"Did I - did I attack you?" he asks, his voice confused and unsure.
I stay silent.
"I could've - I could've -" he takes in the extent of the damage and his voice dies.
"You need to take a breather," I tell him. "Come on, lets get some air. It will clear your head."
His gaze snaps to me. I jump slightly at the sudden movement.
"Are you afraid?" he asks, his voice strangely cold.
"No," I assure him.
"We promised," he reminds me, his voice nearly inaudible, "to tell each other the truth."
I swallow. "You had no control over it, Orion. It wasn't you. That's the truth."
Orion looks back at the pillow, and I watch as he pieces together a million fears into a vivid image of horror.
"G-Goddess," he cries, folding inward, cradling his head in his arms.
All at once, he stands, scrambling away from me, falling deeper into the darkness and away from the light of the lamp.
"Not safe," he says, his voice raw with defeat. "I'm not safe."
"You are safe," I promise him.
He doesn't turn to look at me.
"You're right," he replies, almost angry. "I am. You're not."
Wordlessly, I wrap my arms around him, resting my cheek on his back. It has the desired effect. His heartbeat slows to match mine. I feel the fear begin to ebb in his mind, the fight draining out of him. One of his hands comes up to mine on his chest. Our fingers interlock.
"I want to help you, Orion," I say, "but I'm worried that I don't know how."
He doesn't move, first, but then he nods, two short, sudden nods.
"You're right. You're right."
So Orion gets a therapist the next morning, and recovery begins.
-
Lucy is finally home. She looks almost as tired as I feel, and she's confined to a wheelchair, for now, not even her crutches. Her physical therapy started with Dr. Huntley, but it will continue here. It could be months before she can walk.
But it's a start.
It takes time. We have each other. In tandem, we heal. Lucy will learn to walk. Orion will learn to bleed. And I - I'm going to learn everything. I'm going to learn how to live.
I used to wonder how Orion could love me, when I was so high-maintenance. How could he stand me, with all my broken pieces? It was impossible to believe he could; he must have been lying, must have had no love for me. Kindness, yes, pity, but not love.
But I can see Orion, now, struggling to put the pieces together like I once was - like I am - and I understand it. I do not love him in spite of his scars. They are inseparable. I love him, and that includes all of the cracks and curves. I hold his hands; I tell him not to hide the soot, to heal loudly. I tell him that he isn't alone; that we are listening.
I tell him that there is more than darkness. Somewhere, there is the barest trace of a fire burning, cinders waiting for the air to ignite.