SURVIVOR

// Bloody Memories //

Two days later...

Your POV

He layed besides me.

Like a human would, our hands held eachother in between our bodies.

It was quiet, the room was barely lit while my mind and fear melted out of my flesh and into the world around my body.

Tears dried over my cheeks, my sadness was replaced with a tired like feeling.

I was drained, and so was Jeff.

I didn't feel safe with him, I didn't feel safe but at the same time I didn't feel vulnerable.

The comforter covered my lower body along with his, we layed awake.

"I'm sorry." Jeff spoke, he didn't turn to face me, but kept his gaze on the ceiling alike to me.

The words echoed in my mind.

He had tried something, and I went against him.

He wasn't himself, He said, and I told myself that as well. Ofcourse he wasn't, Jeff wasn't anyone.
Just the different emotions that had slowly turned into personalities, that had grown they're own feelings and pain.

"It's okay." I stated, letting my words hang in the musty air.

"But it's really not, what I attempted...Fuck, I'm just sorry." He grew annoyed with himself, maybe even me. "I know, but I accept your apology." My grip on his hand tightened.

"Okay." He grumbled, letting out a sigh.

When situations grew with high tension, my brain learned to shut my cousiosness off and acted as if it were me. Ever since childhood, after what had happened with...him, I learned to shut off my mind whenever it ever came close to intercourse.

Days were quiet ever since my moment, no one came to see me or spoke to me other than Jeff.

I only had Jeff, and that was it.

Callie and B/f/n roamed in my mind, tears were shedded whenever I grew to miss them. They were alive, maybe Callie, what if they thought I was dead? Younger me couldn't handle that stress.

It was time to stop thinking of them, and to start about myself.

"Can we watch T.V?" I called out to whoever was willing to listen, maybe Jeff would talk to me.

Jeff was quiet when he was sober, whenever there wasn't blood or a glass bottle against his lips he never parted his cut smile.

My conversation starters never worked, never were answered.

"Mm." Jeff grunted in reply, when he sat up and stretched my mood lit up. He pushed himself off of the mattress mad walked to the television, pressing a single button and a old show came on.

Columbo, a old show I watched with my grandfather.

He took a step back, his black eyes explored the black and white screen. Clenching and unclenching his bruised fists he stayed silent, his dominant hand was wrapped in bandages from when he broke it. Jeffs shirtless body didn't move, his fingers just twitched a couple times. His lower stomach was coated with scarred lines that only a blade could perfectly cut.

I would know that.

My nose wrinkled at the line of black hair that led to his belly button, but yet again it was just body hair.

"Does this show work." He spoke in a whisper, as if he didn't have the energy or reason to speak.
"Yeah." I replied, sitting up on the mattress and leaned against the wall as I became interested in the old show. With a view steps he sat back down on the bed, letting his palms rest on his knees.