On the eighth day, she couldn't sleep. She lay awake in the humongous bed, a tattooed arm lazily slung across her torso and a stubbly chin resting on her shoulder. She didn't know what else to do other than to push him away so that she could go get some water or take some more cold medicine or something.
He mumbled and stirred a bit, but she lulled him back into a peaceful sleep. She tiptoed to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, purple circles rested under her eyes and she was just so pale and it was enough to put eight pills in her hand.
The capsules were resting on her tongue when he came in. She tried to swallow them, but she didn't really have the chance with him pinning her down and squishing her cheeks together with his big hands.
"Spit them out," he begged and pleaded.
He knew he should've watched her after she pushed him off of her. The nighttime had never been a good time for her and it was all his fault.
She was getting lost in his bloodshot eyes, the golden specks looking a lot like home to her, and she finally gave up. The slobber soaked pills fell out of her mouth and his lips were on hers in an instant. The taste of messy I love you's filled her mouth and it tasted like acid and metal because he shouldn't love her.
They'd been through it all before, picking up the pieces after she attempted. He would try to show affection and she'd push him away and after a while he would realize that she just needed space for a bit. A bit lasted three days, but he gave it to her.
She slept wherever she felt like sleeping, most of the time it was the living room floor, and he wouldn't say anything. He threw a blanket or two over her and then moped back into the bedroom to try and get some shut eye himself. She still ate whatever he brought back, but they didn't eat it together because whenever she looked at him she saw him hovering over her, begging and it made her want to puke.
He wanted to ask his mum about what to do, but knew that Caroline wouldn't want anyone else to know. She was already so weak and so vulnerable and everybody knowing would just add to it, something that neither of them wanted or needed.
She didn't push him away because she didn't want his comfort because she did more than he could understand, but she wanted him to see how far gone she was and that nothing he could do could make her better.
She couldn't hold back anymore. After three days and nights of her ignoring him and trying to make him see something that he would probably always be blind to, she crawled into bed with him. He was confused when he felt cold lips kissing the back of his neck, but after a few seconds he understood.
He turned over, she looked so beautiful, and kissed her forehead like he always did before she drifted off to sleep. She buried her face into his chest and cried.
"What's wrong?" he asked, knowing that she might not even know the answer.
She replied with a shake of her head, one that could mean no or I don't know, and he understood. He ran his fingers through her long strands of hair and hummed until she wasn't shaking and sobbing anymore, and he wondered why someone so wonderful was so sad. Her eyes were oceans that he was happy to drown in and her mind was a meadow where he admired the flowers, but didn't pick them because that just seemed wrong to him. So what if the oceans had tsunamis and some of the flowers had withered. That didn't mean anything to him. He would clean up after the storm and plant new tulips because fixing her was worth his while.
