[For Liebgott]

[thewordofweb]

Grant's been right. The one thing that I've been putting off doing right now is the one thing I need to do, but the guilt has been swarming me something terrible. How can I help it? Joe spent the worst day of his life here (maybe second worst) and I'd been a shadow after that, never leaving his side if I could help it. And then because of one small trip to the bookcase, I was gone for nearly two days straight.

I had gone to the kitchen to see the damage and now that the sun is low enough in the sky, I'm back in front of my door, ready to head into the bedroom (mine, his...ours, I suppose). I said I loved him and then days later, I just vanished. I still don't know if I can even bear to tell him what's really going on.

All I do manage is opening the door and taking two steps in, hanging my head and swallowing down the lump in my throat, trying to keep myself on the precarious precipice so I don't fall off and lose my composure. "I'm back," I say, hushed, avoiding eye contact. I don't think I can look at him and not lose it. I really don't.

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[thewordofweb.livejournal.com]

The moment he touches me, I try and shy away, to inch forward so he doesn't feel the way my body is shaking at the very moment of existing. I shake and I tremble and I quake and every breath rabbits in and out without delay because I'm still so fucking scared of what I found, of what's going to happen to me. Whether today, tomorrow, or sixteen years from now. I turn enough so that my forearm muffles any sounds from my mouth and my forehead is buried into my pillow.

What the fuck am I even supposed to be strong for? I wasn't strong enough to have the will to keep living, what the hell...what the hell am I supposed to do here. I lift my head, enough to spit out a forced, "Good!" in as cheerful and pathetic a tone I can muster.

[soldier-singled.livejournal.com]

Joe takes his hand back, staring down at him. His jaw tightens and he folds his arms.

"I don't know what the fuck you want from me, Webster."

[thewordofweb.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's easier if he's mad at me. That's what I tell myself. But as I turn over to look at him with my cheeks slightly murky for the wetness on them and my eyes still bloodshot, I don't want him to be annoyed or upset when I need him. Intrinsically, I know that truth more than any other, even if it's not healthy. "Please don't be mad," I nearly beg, even if there's an echo of strain. "If you want to be, I'll get up, I'll go to your room, but..."

But what? But I don't even know. "Joe," I get out, shaking my head, not knowing what to say. "I'm so sorry."

[soldier-singled.livejournal.com]

Joe's mouth twists and he shakes his head, swinging his legs out of bed.

"Go to sleep, Webster. I'm gonna take a walk."

[thewordofweb.livejournal.com]

For some reason, that's what does it. I go from absolutely lost to just a kind of calm that seems to permeate and make me feel just a bit more hopeless than before. I nod at him and curl up with the pillow, shifting until I'm in the center of the bed with my pillow and my cheek pressed to it, watching his back as I keep curled.

"Okay," I agree, voice dulled and quiet. I made this bed and now I lie in it. And I lie to him.