hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

Jillie fiddles with her phone, tempted to text Paul. She's been tempted to text Paul since all but ditching him in that little cafe. She'd panicked. She couldn't help it, at the time. He'd admitted to losing someone and all she could think was what she'd done to herself. The scars on her arms. The scar on her neck.

She's not good for him, not as a friend and not as anything more than that.

So she'd panicked. Distanced herself a little it, and had felt like it was the right move when he'd done it right back.

But she misses talking to him. And looking at him. And listening to his voice.

God, she's pathetic.

She stares down at her phone and types out half a message before deleting it. Then she starts a different message. She deletes that, too. Then she shakes her head and finally types, How'd the job hunt go? Tell me over coffee? and sends it before she can change her mind.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

arrowofthegod

"That's okay. I won't hold it against you," he says, smiling against the rim of his cup. "No broken bones? Impressive, in a sportswoman." He holds up his left hand. "This finger, this finger and this finger," he says, bending them in turn. "All during basketball games. What's it like being a twin?"

From:

hebeimmortalized

She wants to reach out and fiddle with the previously broken fingers, like she could feel the healed bone through his skin. But she recalls the intensity of his reaction the last time she'd touched him without warning, and she instead twists her fingers into a napkin.

"It's . . . normal, for me, I guess?" she offers. "I know that's kind of a shitty answer. I don't have a basis for comparison, though. Jack is . . . the other half of me, probably literally. He knows me better than anyone. I have no secrets from him." She pauses, then bites her lip. "Too intense?"

From:

arrowofthegod

"Not at all," says Paul, shaking his head. "If anything I'm jealous. I've never had that. And I'm an only child."

From:

hebeimmortalized

"What's that like?" she asks. "The 'only'iest I've been was in the hospital, after . . ." She trails off, fiddles with her napkin, and tries to remember if Paul actually knows how bad she'd gotten, tries to remember if she'd told him about her mom, her own scars, her stint in the hospital.

From:

arrowofthegod

"You don't have to tell me until you want to," he says, learning to notice when she stumbles and rushing to reassure her. "If you want to." He smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring.

From:

hebeimmortalized

"Um. Not just yet," she murmurs. "So, only childness?" She will tell him, eventually. But she's not ready yet. She can't see the way his face will change when he understands. Not yet.

From:

arrowofthegod

"Only child," he says, nodding. "My parents wanted more kids, but it never happened for them." He shrugs, pushes one hand back through his dark hair. "But Kevin might as well be my brother. I've known him that long. That well."

From:

hebeimmortalized

"But you probably didn't have to share all your toys with him," Jillie reasons. "So, emotionally speaking, it feels the same, but logistically, it's not." She grins a little and lifts one shoulder. "You love your parents?" she asks then. It's not a small question, like the others. But it distracts her from wanting to push her fingers into his hair.

From:

arrowofthegod

"I adore my parents," says Paul, nodding. "My mom is...particular. She can be a little bit difficult to get on with, but, yeah...I love her." He tilts his head. "What about you? You talk about Jack a lot, but not your mom and dad."

From:

hebeimmortalized

"It's easier not to, since they're not here," she admits. "Dad's a politician. Mom is a politician's wife." She makes a face, like that should explain her parents in a nutshell. "But they're actually pretty great? Dad's a little . . . protective."

She looks at him, steadily, seriously. Then she turns her face away so he has to see her profile, and she stares, unfocused, at the coffee menu on the wall when she adds, "I really fucked up, one day? I was really sick, and medicine wasn't working, and I sort of . . . Not 'sort of', I did, um." She starts to rub her forearm, the scar along it. Like she can scrub it off.

"I stabbed my mom. Really bad. I don't— I can't remember if I wanted to hurt her? Or it I just wanted everyone to stop yelling. Or if I thought she was something, someone else." Her fingers are fluttering a little when she lifts her hand to cover her mouth.

"When I realized what'd happened, I, um. I was in the basement, alone. I saw what happened, and I couldn't— I couldn't deal. So I tried to make the problem go away."

She turns her wrist towards him, so he can see them both, the scar lacing up either forearm.

"I tried to make . . . me go away." She turns her head the other way, to show him the scar on her throat, and she resolutely doesn't look at Paul's face.

From:

arrowofthegod

He's quiet for a long moment while she tells him; it wouldn't be appropriate to interrupt, to overlap. He waits until she's finished and then he lets out a soft breath. He reaches out, tentative, almost hesitant and touches the edge of the scar on her right wrist. He wishes he could explain to her how beautiful she looks to him right then.

"I'm so sorry that that happened to you, Jillie," he says, as gentle as he has it in him to be.

From:

hebeimmortalized

No one has ever really said that to her before. She's gone through countless therapy sessions during which they told her it wasn't her fault. She's spoken at length to her mother about it. She understands she wasn't responsible for it.

But not once has anyone ever said, implied or otherwise, that she was as much a victim as her mother. She feels her chin tremble and she looks down. Slowly, so Paul knows it's not because he's touching her, she pulls her arms close to her body and hugs herself.

She still doesn't look at him.

From:

arrowofthegod

"My girlfriend died," he says, feeling like he owes her this - his own pain to shadow hers - "And I was driving. I was angry with her. It was raining. I saw a gap and steered for it, but I was never going to hit it. For...the longest time, I wished that I was dead. Not actively enough to..." He swallows. "But I wanted it. More than anything. I wouldn't have fought it."

Even if he had, in the end.

From:

hebeimmortalized

"I'm sorry," she whispers. This is them, she realizes. What had he said? Comparing their damage. She swallows and puts her hand back on the table, a silent offering, if he needs or wants it.

From:

arrowofthegod

"I'm better than I was," he admits and it feels like something huge to say. He reaches out, tentatively, and he takes her hand.

From:

hebeimmortalized

She nods, gently squeezing. "Sometimes that's all we can hope for," she agrees.

From:

arrowofthegod

He squeezes her hand back, finds himself unwilling to pull away.

"The life we build in the ruins," he says, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

From:

hebeimmortalized

She bites her lip and looks down, smiling. "That was . . . really poetic, actually," she says, sounding truly impressed. She doesn't release his hand. His thumb on her knuckles feels good, grounding.

From:

arrowofthegod

His cheeks colour with genuine pleasure. He finds that he's comfortable holding her hand.

"Something nobody's ever accused me of."

From:

hebeimmortalized

"Maybe you have a calling you never dreamed of," she teases, though her voice is still soft, warm. No tears had fallen, though they'd threatened for a time, but all the same she reaches with her free hand to carefully wipe the waterline of her lower eyelid.

"We should . . . talk about happier things. Like . . . when's your birthday?"

From:

arrowofthegod

"August," says Paul, almost surprised when she doesn't take her hand away. "Yours?"

From:

hebeimmortalized

"December," she answers. "I'll tell you now, you're not allowed to combine Christmas and birthday for me or Jack, okay? If you end up deciding to buy either of us presents."

From:

arrowofthegod

"If," says Paul, grinning and he squeezes her fingers. There's something about her that makes it easy to make him smile, more than it feels like he's smiled in years.