bethyl drabbles

drowning

He drowned in her touch, drowned when she sang, until he could hardly breathe and was far too overwhelmed to take notice of the all the well lit candles, because it was all too dark, until she'd turn and face him.
Then, only then was it bright again.
Yet he was still drowning.
Drowning when she stood, gave a cheeky grin and bowed, and all he could do was offer a smile.
What could he do?
"I don't think I've ever seen you smile like that, before."
His throat burns and his ears are certainly clogged. He can hardly decipher what she says, not when he's lost in the sea.
"Like what?" His tone rises near the end.
"Dunno," she purses her lips, bites on the inside of her cheek.
Her hands meet the edge of the casket where he lay, his head moving to face the ceiling once again as she stares at her own hands, his wrist meeting his forehead.
"What happens if they come back?" Her voice is but a whisper, and she's scared. He hears it. He knows it.
"Place is sealed up tight." He mumbles after a few seconds, glancing towards her. Their eyes meet, and she can't draw hers away.
She sucks in a breath, as if she's too scared to ask what she ponders. He's almost about to ask what, about ready to open his mouth and let the water fill his lungs so he can drown some more, when she scrunches her eyebrows upwards, a hopeful disposition about her.
"This might sound weird."
And he chuckles. Water seeps in through his lips and he's snorting briefly, shaking his head shortly.
"Everything you say sounds weird, Greene."
Her smile grows and his heart yearns as she glances down, her grin never leaving her face.
"I was just..." She bites her lip, focusing back on his eyes, a dark blue.
"Please don't sleep in there." She blurts quickly, her eyes pressed shut.
All the things he can say, he can refuse, he can ignore her and turn on his side, but he doesn't. He instead chooses to sink further, drown ever more, open his mouth and let the water fill his lungs and nod.
"Okay."

➵

He sees her.
It's been months, but he's finally found her.
She is a vision.
She's standing in her ripped jeans and brown farming boots, grey cardigan over her yellow polo. She's bloody and her hair is pulled tightly over her head, and new scars adorn her face, but she's standing, and she's breathing.
He feels the cool water slide down his back as his head lifts from the current, his eyes sting and burn but he's breathing with her sight.
The words are blurry, his ears are clogged. But he remembers holding someone back, being angry because she seemed angry, so he had all the right reasons, he figured.
The words are blurry, except for hers. When she strides up purposefully, and he wants to reach out and pull her back, hold her and steal her away from this place.
But he can't. He's cold and frozen in his place, shaking from drowning for far too long, treading beneath the surface.
"I get it now."
It's too fast. It's too fast. He barely can decipher her stabbing the officer, her being shot, blood spattering every which way, staining his lips.
No, he's faster. Before he slips back beneath the current he's shooting the officer, and then he falls, his back first, the icy needles stabbing him until it's all too familiar and he's sobbing, sinking further to the ground and to the floor.

➵

Everyone is thirsty.
The empty bottles and canteens say so.
He isn't. He can't feel anything, let alone thirst.
He doesn't need water, he'll find himself thinking, he doesn't need water to feel like he's drowning.