A Songbook In The Making//S.M.

2. Stitches

"You watch me
Bleed until I can't breathe
Shaking
Fallin onto my knees...

Tripping over myself
Aching
Begging you to come help"

By the time Shawn and Lucy were five, Shawn started keeping notes on Lucy. When he learned how to write, as soon as he learned something about her, he immediately wrote it down, ran to his room, and stuffed the paper in the secret compartment in the floor between the door and his dresser. He only did this because, unlike Lucy, he pretty much had the memory of a goldfish.

But most importantly, they were always there for each other.

When he was five, and his little sister was being born, Lucy sat in the waiting room with him. As he tapped on the arm of the chair nervously, legs swinging beneath him, she held his hand, reassuringly.

When she was seven, and her dad left, Shawn was there. When she called him at midnight, he snuck out of his window, climbing across the tree, to her house, and climbed in. When he saw Lucy practically breaking in her room, it tore him apart. Her head buried into her knees, which were pulled up to her chest, loud sobs echoing in the room, heavy, shuddering breaths wracking her little body. He immediately climbed into her bed with her, holding her, until she wasn't able to cry anymore. Until nothing came out, until she was so dehydrated, no more salty tears came to her blue-green eyes. Then, as she settled down, he got up from the comfortable bed.

"Wait, Shawn, where are you going?"

"Don't worry, Lu." Shawn assures her, smiling. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Ok." She smiled slightly, for the first and the last time that night. He pulled off the tear-soaked pillows from the bed, grabbing clean ones from the hall closet, placing them underneath her weary head. Shawn then hurried to the laundry room, throwing the cases into the washer. He walked to the kitchen, pouring her a glass of water. He carefully climbed the stairs to her room with the glass, only to find Lucy sound asleep. Shawn sighed, setting the glass on her bedside table. He covered her with the sheets, turned off the blue lamp, and climbed through the window, climbing across the tree, finding himself back in his room. He crawled into his bed, let his eyes drift close, and his mind wander to the dangerous extent of his unconscious imagination, wondering if anything would ever be the same again.

A/N Thanks guys, for the views, I'm really excited for this book. Sorry this is really short. But vote and please comment. Commenting really helps me, believe it or not, especially when it's feedback. I don't even care if it's bad or good, just comment. Until next time...

-A