Aris Jones X Reader One Shots

Still Wounded (Part 2)

I really, really wish I didn't have today off. I just want to go to work and forget about it all. I just want to plant things and take my frustration out on the dirt as I dig holes. Is that too much to ask?

I would have settled for him having to go to work too. Anything that meant not being near him. Anything at all.

I was up before him. Or at least before he left the room. Figuring that was for the best, I left in last night’s tank top and sweats, blanket around my shoulders. Walking out the door, I carelessly let it shut as I took a seat on the porch.

It's nice here. It’s peaceful. Life is safe. There's no real threats. There's nothing that's going to hurt us. The only way we're going to die is old age or stupidity.

Why isn't that enough? What could he possibly be waiting for? Why is he only okay with those nights if it's not for a family?

I don't get it. I want to get it, but he shuts down. Every. Single. Time.

I want a kid. I’ve survived the unsurvivable, been through a living hell, have known true grief, and I just want a kid. The one I had dreamed of. Having a family, getting to have a family without worrying about if one of you won't make it home that night, used to be impossible. Now that is isn't, I want what I have for years. I want that dream to be a reality.

What sucks is that I only want it with him. I never imagined it any other way. I never dreamed about it with anyone but him.

He’s ruining it. He suddenly doesn't seem to want that cliche but picture perfect life, and I don't know why. He won't tell me why.

It's not supposed to be like this.

With a frustrated groan, I buried my face in my hands, fighting the urge to scream into them. To cry, and yell, and, hit something, and pull my hair.

“Hi.”

Having been too caught up in my head, I didn't hear the door shut or him sitting next to me, also in last night's clothes and with a blanket over him.

“I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You never talk about it. About why. And that sucks, because I would listen without a second thought. I would comfort you the way you do me, and you know that so why? Why can't you just talk to me?”I pleaded, facing him. Staring straight ahead, he just looked out at the sea, his breath slightly shaky. Still sitting by him, despite my definite anger and confusion, I took his hand in mine, firmly locking our fingers together.

“It still hurts sometimes. A lot. Knowing I’m here and happy. Knowing I’m a part of the reason people aren't. It hurts. It aches, and I don't know how to let it go. I don't think I can.”

Squeezing his hand, I stayed still as he rested his head on my shoulder, a small sigh leaving him as he kept his eyes forward. With nothing but the sounds of the overpowering waves, faint noises of people working, and birds, it was peaceful. It was wonderful.

“You deserve to be happy. Being miserable isn't going to do anything. It isn't going to bring anyone back,”I said gently, resting my head on top of his.

“I feel guilty. Out of nowhere sometimes too. I’ll be okay, and then I’m not. And there's nothing I can do about it.”

“You did what you thought was right. You know better than anyone here what they were capable of, what kind of mind games they would play. You know what they did was wrong.”

“But that doesn't make what I did any less wrong.”

Wrapping my arms around him, I kept him close to me. Leaning almost his entire weight against him, he let me hold him, as though it would make the weight on his shoulders lighter.

“You were young. You were young, and you were growing, and you were alone, and you were vulnerable. You were there for them to mold you, to make you their puppet. And you fit that mold perfectly and moved every time they pulled your strings. It's what they wanted.”

“I know.”

“And now you're not that. You're older, and you've grown, and you’re surrounded by love, and you’re stronger than you’ve ever been. You're authentically you. The things you think, the things you hate, the things you love, the people you surround yourself with, that's your choice now. You get to decide.”

“I don't feel strong sometimes. It just sucks. It hurts all the time. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of feeling like this.”

“I know. I don't know exactly what that feels like, but I know what it's like to feel bad just for being alive sometimes. We all do.”

“I don't think I deserve happiness sometimes. And a family with you would make me really, really happy. Being with you is already the greatest thing ever, and if it gets better, I don't know if I’ll be able to take it. I don't know how I’ll not break, and I don't want to be like that. I don't want to have those feelings while raising our kid.”

So it all comes back full circle. His past that he had almost no control over then and absolutely none now, still haunts him.

“Aris,”I started, grabbing his hands as I pulled away. “That feeling will never completely leave. Survivors' guilt never really does, but you're so much better than you once were. I remember the nights we would sit outside and mourn everything and everyone. I remember how miserable everything once was. Now, while there are still some nights I just have to wonder why, I appreciate all the good here. You do too. So, since this is the easiest it gets, why wait just because you think you don't deserve it?”

“Do you really think I could be a good dad?”He whispered, lightly squeezing my hands.

“I know you’ll be the best dad,”I assured him.

“You’ll be a very good mom.”

“I hope so.”

“You will be,”He shrugged, giving me a small smile.

“I think we’ll be good parents.”

“Well, time to find out then,”He grinned, pulling me up and into his arms, holding my bridal style. Wrapping mine around his shoulders, I let him carry me inside with a ridiculously wide smile and a gentle kiss.