02-21-2018, 04:01 AM
"baby, please don't go
if i wake up tomorrow, will you still be here?"
if i wake up tomorrow, will you still be here?"
She kisses him back and for a moment, his world stops spinning; he lets her pull him in, sliding his hand beneath the sheets. His fingertips brush gently down her side and though he tries to be cautious, he grips her hip and tries to pull her in closer to himself—but he can’t, he can’t keep doing this to her when he knows it’s killing her. Adrian brings his hand up to cup her face, murmuring things that ought to soothe her, but they’re both aware of what’s happening here and nothing he says is going to make any of this better.
“Yes it is,” he stresses those three little words because she needs to hear them.
She needs to know.
“It’s me, it’s always been me—” he’s cut off by her declaration, it almost sounds more like a plea to whatever God is listening than a statement and he presses his lips to hers again to shut her up. She shouldn’t be saying things like that, not when he has his mind set on leaving; it’s for her sake, he keeps telling himself, because deep down this is fucking killing him and he doesn’t ever want to leave this room.
Adrian remembers the first time they saw it; big and bright, her eyes had lit up as she gushed over the empty space and went about telling him just how she wanted to decorate it and where she was going to put everything. She’d done up the whole goddamn apartment shortly after they moved in and made it a home, their home—you’d be hard pressed to look around the place and not spot a picture of them together or with their friends and family—and for the first time since his dad left things had felt normal and everything was going to be fine.
Of course, it’d all been a lie.
He should have known better.
Adrian pulls back from her, kneeling at the side of the bed with her hands in his and his blood hammering in his ears. “I make you sick,” he tell hers, straight-faced and dead serious. “The pills won’t help, the doctors can’t help. I don’t know how they didn’t realize—look, I’ve always been like this. Magic just breaks when I’m around.” And she’s magic, pure fucking magic. He doesn’t want to leave this room.
“Yes it is,” he stresses those three little words because she needs to hear them.
She needs to know.
“It’s me, it’s always been me—” he’s cut off by her declaration, it almost sounds more like a plea to whatever God is listening than a statement and he presses his lips to hers again to shut her up. She shouldn’t be saying things like that, not when he has his mind set on leaving; it’s for her sake, he keeps telling himself, because deep down this is fucking killing him and he doesn’t ever want to leave this room.
Adrian remembers the first time they saw it; big and bright, her eyes had lit up as she gushed over the empty space and went about telling him just how she wanted to decorate it and where she was going to put everything. She’d done up the whole goddamn apartment shortly after they moved in and made it a home, their home—you’d be hard pressed to look around the place and not spot a picture of them together or with their friends and family—and for the first time since his dad left things had felt normal and everything was going to be fine.
Of course, it’d all been a lie.
He should have known better.
Adrian pulls back from her, kneeling at the side of the bed with her hands in his and his blood hammering in his ears. “I make you sick,” he tell hers, straight-faced and dead serious. “The pills won’t help, the doctors can’t help. I don’t know how they didn’t realize—look, I’ve always been like this. Magic just breaks when I’m around.” And she’s magic, pure fucking magic. He doesn’t want to leave this room.