CHAPTER633
I wake up in bed to the gentle strumming of what sounds like Arry’s guitar and blink in the darkness of the apartment bedroom. I crawled in here when I got back and willed myself to try and sleep in his absence and must have finally passed out.
I sit up and listen hard to what might have been a dream, but I hear it again, soft, distant like he’s playing his guitar but not near the couch where he would normally sit. I blink awake with the realization he may be home and pull myself upright to rub my face.
Without hesitation I get up and almost fall over the end of the bed in the unfamiliar space, head still used to our Paris bedroom in pitch blackness and curse myself out for being so ungraceful. I’m wearing one of his t-shirts, I needed the comfort when I got here and slide out expecting to see him on the couch but he’s not there.
The noise of a low melody draws my eyes to the long glass wall of the apartment behind the dining space and I catch sight of his silhouette on the rainy skyline. He has the throws and scatter pillows on the floor by the window and is sitting cross-legged strumming his guitar in the grey light of an early hour dawn as he looks out over the city. He looks haggard even from here and I hesitate about whether I should go over to him or not.
It’s obvious he wants solitude, but I can’t stand not being able to console him and touch him. I now understand why it’s so hard for him to give me my space when I need it. Your heart over rules your head and you want to be with them to fix it in any way you can. It’s agony to watch the one you love suffer when you feel powerless about it, a longing so bad to mend them.
I wander cautiously closer and recognize the song he’s strumming quietly, softly tugging the strings, so he doesn’t make a lot of noise and I wonder if it’s because he didn’t want me to come to him or if he didn’t want to wake me.
Arry’s playing one of his favorite songs and the lyrics I know so well are not lost on me. The Scientist by Coldplay, lingering in the air between us and I my heart hitches up in my throat. Emotion spiking inside of me and I wonder if this is his way of telling me something.
A song about falling apart and going back to the start. A song about parting, and I can’t take it anymore. it’s like the worst kind of message from someone’s heart that you never want to hear and it’s almost like I’ve already lost him.
Why else would he play this to himself? It’s totally a breakup song.
I can’t even begin to accept it at all or take this song as anything more than him playing songs he likes. I can’t. I’ll die if Arry doesn’t want to be with me anymore. We’re two halves of a whole, we make each other complete. He’s told me so a million times and I won’t let him push me out of his life after everything.
I won’t lose him, not now, not ever. I will fight for him.
I walk out into the space behind him and stand almost a foot from him before he looks up and sees me. He doesn’t stop strumming his guitar, but he falters when he catches sight of me in his t-shirt and naked legs. I know I must look like a kid in an oversized top, but I don’t care. Words stick in my throat as I hesitate, head swirling with so many things and panic gripping my insides. After a moment he stops and gazes at me sadly.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I came over here, so I wouldn’t.” He looks back down and shifts his instrument to get comfier and goes back to strumming random chords. I cross my arms over my chest and for a second, despite our weirdness, I get a slight hint of hope that he seems less angry. More somber but not really as hostile as he was and maybe, just maybe I have a chance of talking him out of whatever this is.
“How’s your dad?” I edge forward and slowly kneel down on the edge of the throw bed he’s made on the floor and watch for signs of resistance, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge me sitting down in front of him. I inch a tiny bit closer and nestle myself down in a bid to make it clear I’m staying.
“Okay. Well, he will be. They had to open a clogged valve in his heart, and they are working out treatments in the next few days to make sure he’ll be around for a few years more.” He sounds relieved, but he doesn’t look it. He seems exhausted and I wish he had come to bed when he got home instead of sitting out here inside his own head. I know what he’s like. He would have been sat here overthinking life, torturing himself over the past few weeks of not talking to his dad. Blaming himself.
I ache to wrap my arms around him and end up hugging myself tighter, pulling my legs under me to curl up while watching him focus on the strings as he keeps strumming away like he isn’t interested in me being here.
My hearts hammering through my rib cage, hands clammy and my mind prompting me to say something, anything to him to break this huge frozen wall that’s built between us, but my voice betrays me and won’t function. I sit and hopelessly look at him and feel like a massive failure in life. I should know how to do this for him. How to be a girlfriend, how to support him when he needs me.
“Go back to bed, Sophie.” He commands softly, and I know it’s a huge hint that he wants to be left alone. I’m obviously making him feel agitated with my silent sitting here and it wounds me. I get up automatically without thinking, bruised and scalded by his rejection and close to tears. Little kid Sophie, impulsively walking off instead of facing the problem, but my feet won’t move. An invisible barrier holding me still and urging me to stay.
My heart and soul are sitting three feet away from me, hurting and I am being completely shit at any sort of consoling or showing him what he means to me. He loves me, I know he does. Underneath all the hurt and doubts and chaos in that brain and I won’t let him drift further away. He can’t have lost how he feels about me in a matter of days after, eight years of infatuation. I need to stop being so immature. Swallow my pride and be brave for once. Take the lead, be what he needs even if he resists.
I step towards him instead of away and lean down to pull his guitar out of his hands impulsively. Scared to death of how he will react but determined to do this. He flinches with surprise as I whip it away and lay it down on the floor beside him carefully. He’s looking at me like I have lost my mind yet says nothing as I try to not let my nerves get the better of me.
I don’t stop to wait for an invitation, pull his arm out of his lap and climb onto it, straddling his crossed legs so we are chest to chest and wrap my arms around his neck to cradle my head against his chest. My legs tuck around behind his butt, so he is fully encircled by my body and I hold my breath for the reaction I know is probably coming, focusing on hugging him the best I can. It’s the only thing I know how to do for him, and I know what his cuddles do for me when I need consoling. I am praying this is enough of a start to fix what’s broken.
He stiffens and doesn’t move at my affectionate assault. Even though my body is shaking with adrenalin and fear, I refuse to back down and get off him. If he wants me to let go, he’s going to have to physically remove me and I don’t intend to make it easy for him.
I want to cuddle him and touch him and wrap myself all the way around him, whether he wants me to or not. He needs a hug and I am the most qualified person in the world to give it to him. He feels exactly like home for me. His body heat and unique Arrick smell surrounding me, and I screw my eyes tight as I cling on for dear life.
This is my place; this is my heart.
“What are you doing?” He breathes into the top of my hair, his arms still by his side and I only squeeze him more, closing my eyes tighter as I breathe him in and try to get lost in how he feels. I have missed him so much. I can’t remember the last time we held each other this way and it’s what I need.
“I’m giving you a hug, because I think you need one.” I sigh against his chest. Savoring the strong solid mass of my boy and how much his touch can change everything. I need him more than I think he knows, and I hope he still needs me too.
It seems like an eternity of strained silence, of hugging a statue before there’s a twinge of reaction from him. Slowly I feel him move, his abdomen tenses as his shoulders flex and my heart drops, feeling his body get ready to evict me from his. I hold my breath when his hands slide over my hips and softly cover them as he grips on. I’m waiting for the push, the old ‘get off me’ removal, but he doesn’t. Instead he snakes his hands around me and circles my body with strong arms before hugging me tight in against him bodily. Every inch of me molding to his snugly and he sinks his face down behind my head and breathes out slowly with a long exhale, like releasing pressure."
