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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

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Burning in a Hopeless Dream

Boston QZ : part 8 ‘Dust to Dust’

A/N: I sat down and wrote this all in one go. I literally could not stop writing. The words just kept flowing and this is just going to be one cluster fuck of emotions.

Summary: A winter blizzard has you and Joel trapped in the apartment together. You’re worried about Tess as she hasn’t been home in days. To calm you down, Joel suggests you have some whiskey with him.

~work count : 5.3k~

Warnings: age gap (m/c is 28) angst, trauma, PTSD, triggering themes, drinking to cope, graphic mentions of death, loss, child death, angst, lots of swearing, repressed feelings, unestablished relationship, mild violence, emotional trauma, angry outbursts, feelings of guilt, pain, comfort, soft ! joel, feelings of agony, angry ! joel (+18) minors dni !

Songs for this chapter :

“Dust to Dust” by The Civil Wars

“my tears ricochet” by Taylor Swift

“I’m with You” by Vance Joy

“After the Storm” by Mumford and Sons

“evermore” by Taylor Swift

“Rescue” by Lauren Daigle

“Sign of the Times” by Harry Styles

___________________

December 24th 2020 : Boston QZ

Winter was already proving to be unforgiving this year. The Boston QZ had been hit with a 4 day blizzard. It was like something out of the movies. You weren’t even sure how many feet of snow had fallen already. The wind was howling and the blowing snow was creating a thick wall. Opaque and ferocious, this blizzard had enveloped the city into darkness. Tess had gotten caught up in the storm days ago. Joel insisted that she head home with him before the storm worsened but she had something to finish. Rather, someone. He trusted his partner enough to find shelter if things turned for the worst so he had headed home. Tess was too tough to let some snow take her out. She had managed to seek shelter elsewhere with a few other QZ residents that were waiting out the storm.

It was just you and Joel in the apartment now. He showed no signs of concern if Tess had survived the brunt of the storm. He was the most relaxed you had seen him in months. He was laying on the couch, his head resting comfortably against the pillow with his arms crossed over his chest. His broken watch is facing towards you. He wasn’t exactly asleep, just resting his eyes.

You were sitting on the floor across from him, your back against the wall with your nose buried deep in a book. It was the only viable distraction for you to not think about Tess, and her chance of survival. The book you were reading was titled, “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Brontë. The pages were worn and some were even torn. You appreciated the foot notes that the previous owner had left. You could tell whoever owned this book, adored it deeply. You wondered if that person had made it out alive, and if they did, did they miss this book as much as you imagined them to? You found yourself enveloped in the story of Catherine and Heathcliff. A tragic romance nonetheless. You would describe their love as being soulmates. Their love existed on a higher, spiritual plane. Two people who have an affinity for one another. This affinity draws them together, irresistibly. You recount all the times Heathcliff refers to Catherine as his soul. His fucking soul.

Heathcliff reminds you of Joel, in some aspects. It’s their broodiness, you first thought. Their passion for the ones they love. Heathcliff was dealt challenging hands, yet his love for Catherine was undeniable. He was cruel, vindictive and he sought revenge. You didn’t think Joel carried these traits. Or perhaps, it was your heart trying to convince you that Joel Miller was a good man. You stop at the part where Heathcliff finds his Catherine on her death bed. The words he has spoken are chilling.

‘You teach me how cruel you’ve been-cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort–you deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me and cry and wring out my kisses and tears. They’ll blight you– they’ll damn you. You loved me-then what right had you to leave me? What right- answer me for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart-you have broken it- and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much worse for me, That I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you- oh, God would you like to live with your soul in the grave?’ You slammed the book shut. It was too much and you decided then that Heathcliff was a monster. Your Joel was nothing like him. You couldn’t imagine him acting like this, speaking to Tess, or you on your deathbed in this fashion? You hadn’t realized a stray tear had rolled down your cheek and when you felt it, you quickly wiped it away. Heathcliff’s undying love for Catherine turned him cold, unforgiving, and violent.

The sound of the book slamming shut was enough for Joel to open his eyes, turning his head slightly to look over at you. He had a deep frown on his face. Had you been crying? He had seen you wipe the tear away.

You had set the book down to the side then, pushing it far away as you processed what you had just read. You hadn’t even noticed that Joel was awake now. That he had seen you wipe a tear. You were too consumed in Catherine and Heathcliff to notice.

You turned your head to the side, resting it against the wall and you listened to the howling wind. Finally, you spoke. “Joel? Are you awake?..”

He closed his eyes then, breathing in through his nose and exhaled softly before he slowly sat up. “Yeah, Doll.” He rasped. “I’m up. ‘You alright over there?” His Texas accent was thick, and it melted through your body like warm whiskey. Coating your senses in a figurative blanket. Warm, and familiar.

“Is Tess going to be alright? It’s been days and the storm hasn’t let up and what if she–”

He cut your ramblings off then.

“Gwen. Take it easy, breathe. She’s g’nna be alright. It’s Tess. She ain’t gonna let some snowstorm take her out.” He was looking at you then but your eyes were still trained on the window.

“Hey, look at me. Gwen?” His voice was soft but his tone held some urgency. He didn’t want you worrying your mind over things that were out of your control.

Slowly, you looked over at him. His brown eyes were soft, and inviting.

“You gotta trust me when I tell you that she’s g’nna be fine. Trust me.”

You nodded then. Appreciating his reassurance in that moment because truthfully, you were absolutely terrified for Tess’s safety.

“Good girl.” He placed his hands on his knees as he slowly rose from the couch and his footsteps headed into the kitchen. Your eyes followed his back, watching him.

“Where are you going?..”

He paused then. Turning to face you. He had never seen you this way before. You looked so fragile, so delicate unlike your normal sarcastic self. Where was that part of you now? In that moment, he missed your smart mouth, your banter and witty remarks.

“Nowhere, Doll. ‘Jus g’nna grab some whiskey and a couple glasses. You look like you could use a drink.”

You let out a sigh of relief. Rationally, you knew there was nowhere for Joel to go. Your fear was eating away at you, bit by bit. Fear was clouding your sense of rationale and you didn’t know how to control it.

He returned to you then. Sliding a glass onto the coffee table and poured a splash of the amber liquid into it. He motioned you over then before he sank down into the couch once more and poured his own glass. “C’mon. We’re gonna take our minds off of the situation that we can’t control, alright? Drink with me, Doll.”

You watched as the liquid splashed into your glass before you had scooted over to the coffee table. Sitting down on the other side of it, facing him with your elbows resting on the worn wood. You picked up the glass then, swirling the liquid around. Before you could take a sip, Joel had leaned over the table, his glass outstretched to you and his eyes focused on yours. You followed his motion and clinked your glasses together before you brought the rim of your glass to your lips and took a sip. The whiskey tasted like how you imagined Joel’s kisses did. Smoky, sweet, and absolutely fucking addicting.

“I see why you enjoy this stuff.” There was a hint of a smile over the rim of your glass.

“Yeah?. It ain’t half bad. ‘Nothin like the stuff I used to drink back in Austin. Some of the best whiskey I have ever had was from Texas. Would never say that outloud to any Kentuckians, they’d probably shoot me on the spot.” He chuckled a little then as he took a sip, far larger than yours.

You stifled a laugh then, shaking your head at his comment.

“Well, it’s a good thing there’s no Kentuckians around to hear your blasphemy, huh?”

He nodded then, holding his glass between his knees, against his thigh comfortably as he looked at you.

“Yeah, thank fuck for that. I think they’re just afraid to admit that Texas just does everything better.”

You took another sip then, this one bigger. You wanted to feel the familiar burn in your stomach.

“Easy there, cowboy.”

He raised his eyebrow at you then. “Mmm. It's alright, Doll. You Chicagoans wouldn’t understand good whiskey if it slapped ya in the face.”

He brought his glass back up to his lips, smirking over the rim at you.

“Ohh. I see how it is. Well, fine. You may have the best Whiskey, but we have deep dish Pizza, and a fucking gigantic, BEAN.”

Joel let out a deep chuckle then, shaking his head as he took another sip. The liquor was already warming him up in a physical sense, but you were warming his soul without even realizing it.

“Deep dish pizza sounds like a fuckin heart attack on a damn plate. The ‘hell is someone supposed to do with a giant bean?”

You laughed then. It was a small one but it was undeniably, your sweet laugh.

“Oh, it WAS a heart attack on a plate man but god, it was so good! Friday nights were our order out nights and we used to get Lou Malnati’s like, every other week? Shit was so good, Joel. The cheese was endless and the crust? It was so buttery and flakey. Melted in your mouth. As for the bean, you don’t do anything with it! It’s just Chicago's most famous landmark. Serious tourist attraction. If you didn’t visit the BEAN, you weren’t doing Chicago justice.”

He took another sip then as he listened to your laugh, your voice as you recounted a memory of the past. “I’m sorry Doll, but endless amounts of cheese sounds like a terrible fuckin time to me. This so-called BEAN sounds interesting though. I’ll give you that.”

“If you're lactose intolerant then that insane amount of cheese is most definitely, NOT a good idea.”

He took another sip then and he was enjoying the fact that you were comfortable enough to talk about these things and he hoped that in doing so, you weren’t thinking about the storm any longer.

“So Chicago has heart attack pizza, and a giant bean. Anything else I should know about it?”

You paused then. Recounting your 11 short years in the city like it was just yesterday. There was so much more you had wanted to see and experience.

“I um, I only lived there till I was eleven. On outbreak day, my family and I headed north. As far north as we could go. My uncle had a horse ranch in Michigan. It was close to the Canadian border. I stayed there till I was 20.” You had taken a big sip of the liquor then. This was the first time you had ever spoken about your experience when the world as you knew it came to an end.

Joel was frozen on the spot. Your confession was not something he had been expecting and it hit him like a ton of fucking bricks that you were only a year younger than Sarah when she– he polished off his glass then. Chucking the liquor down his throat, and pouring himself another shortly after. He splashed a bit more into your glass as well.

“I’m sorry Doll. We don’t have to talk about this stuff. I don’t wanna go and make you upset or anythin.” He was careful with his choice of words and the tone he used. He could tell just by your demeanor, that this was a sensitive topic for you.

In response, you took a bigger sip of the whiskey, waving your hand slightly and shaking your head. “No, Joel. It's fine. Really. I want to talk about it, if that’s alright? I just–this is the first time I have spoken to anyone about it.”

He nodded then and rested the glass against his thigh once more. “Sure we can talk about it, Doll. Whatever makes you comfortable, alright? So, the horse ranch that your uncle owned, what was it like?”

This was a side of Joel that you never thought you’d see. He was so gentle, so understanding and this is why your comparison of Joel to Heathcliff, was false.

“Oh, it was wonderful. I’d go up there every Summer for a few months. The first time I was on a horse was when I was 7. Had been around them since I was a little thing, according to my mom. Anyway, my uncle bred Quarter Horses. You have those in Austin, right?”

He nodded then.

“We had a few Mustang’s as well. Rescued them from a kill pen down south. Some other livestock as well. There was one quarter horse that was my absolute favorite. Her name was Honey. She was a Palomino with the softest dappling. She was the sweetest soul, Joel. I’d be mucking out stalls, doing my usual chores and she’d just follow me around. We were best friends. She taught me so much and–” You paused then, tears beginning to well in your eyes at the memory.

Joel set his glass down on instinct and leaned over the table, gently grabbing your soft hands in his larger ones. “Hey. Hey, Gwen. ‘It’s alright. You’re okay Doll, ‘m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

You sniffled a little then feeling a spark of electricity when he had ever so gently grabbed your hands. You could see the worry strike across his face as you had teared up.

“She died 5 years after the outbreak. I was sixteen then. Some raiders came through in the middle of the night that winter. Shot her and–most of the others. I was fucking devestated. Who the hell just shoots an animal, a pet like that, Joel? Then I remembered that all morals were lost after the outbreak. No one gave a shit about a fucking horse.” You spat the last part out. You had lost so much after the world ended and Joel had no idea just what you had to endure to survive.

His hands gently squeezing yours was enough to bring you back down to reality. You took notice of his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hands. His knees were pressed firmly against the coffee table.

“Gwen, I'm so sorry about Honey. She sounds incredible. I’m sure your bond with her was unbreakable. Horses are incredibly intuitive creatures, ya know. She loved you Gwen, I'm sure of it.”

You let a few tears slip then from his affirmation. You couldn’t help it and Joel had let go of your one hand to gently brush your tears away. He found himself gently holding your cheek in his warm palm, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Yeah, you’re right. She did love me, and I still love her.” You subconsciously found yourself leaning into his comforting touch, your eyes closing momentarily as you took a deep breath and looked up at him, your eyes glassy.

“Joel, I’m not sure I can say much more.”

He nodded then, still gently holding your face, afraid that if he let go, you would shatter.

“That’s’alright darlin. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, okay? Just, tell me if there’s anythin else I should be doing to comfort you.”

You grabbed your glass then, downing the contents quickly before you reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured more into your glass. The buzz coming on was definitely a slow fucking burn.

“After she died, things just started to get worse. By the time I was 20, our family members were being picked off. If it wasn’t infected, it was raiders or natural causes. It’s like we were plagued or somethin. We thought we were safe just from how remote the area was. We weren’t near any major cities or anything like that. We were practically out in the wilderness.”

You had a slight flush to your cheeks now from the amount of liquor you had consumed and before your brain could stop you, you were reaching up and brushing your fingertips against his plush lips. When you realized what you had done, your eyes had gone wide and you went to move your fingers but Joel had reached out and gently grabbed your wrist holding your hand in place.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have.”

“Gwen, you’re okay. You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay?” He breathed out. Selfishly, he didn’t want your touch to cease. He was afraid that at any moment now you would pull away from him completely.

You watched with a drunk gaze as he gently set your wrist back down on the coffee table and you took another sip. Starting to feel the full effects of the whiskey taking place.

“Joel, tell me something about you, please. Anything. Doesn’t have to be super personal. Just, anything you feel comfortable with.”

Joel was a little stunned that you had wanted to know anything about him. He didn’t think you wanted to be close to him at all, in any sense.

“Alright, anything at all?” He cleared his throat then, recounting the years before the outbreak and what he missed the most, that wouldn’t give away too much about himself.

“I used to be a carpenter. My younger brother, Tommy was one as well. We’d take just about any job. Whatever pays the bills, right? I enjoyed it for the most part. The real bummer was the weird fuckin hours we worked but I enjoyed bein on my feet and having something to do.”

“You were a carpenter?” You slurred slightly, the rim of the glass was resting against your forehead gently.

“I was, yeah. Why? Do I not look like the carpenter type?”

You shook your head then, setting the glass down and pushed it far away.

“Took you more for the lumberjack type honestly.”

Joel chuckled then, he had gently released your hands from his grip then when he deemed you were mentally stable again and he leaned back against the couch, his arm resting along the back of it now, with his drink in hand.

“Coming from you, I’ll go ahead and take that as a compliment. Cause I’m sure that’s what you meant it as.”

You had 100% meant it more than a compliment but these were just your drunk words talking, right? You had the whiskey to use for an excuse.

“What do you miss most from the past? Or, what do you think about the most?” You asked.

Joel paused then as the conversation dipped back down into a heavier one.

“What do I miss the most?” ‘My daughter’, he thought to himself

He couldn’t tell you about Sarah. It was too soon, too painful of memories to bring up. If he told you about how his daughter died in his arms 17 years ago, he’d be opening up to you entirely. The thought of him doing this terrified him.

So he did what he did best, he lied. “A good, American style cheeseburger and a pack of cold ones, on ice.” he said as he took another long sip of his whiskey.

You laughed then, nearly snorting through your nose because that was the most Joel answer he could have given you.

“Are you fucking serious? A good American style cheeseburger and a pack of cold ones? Man, that was literally the most Texas thing I think you have ever said to me.”

“You bet your ass that’s what I miss the most, ‘darlin.” He winked then, for good measure. He was starting to feel his own buzz come on and his cheeks were looking flushed like yours.

Did he just fucking wink at you or were you really that drunk that you were hallucinating things now?

“You’re fuckin unbelievable, Miller.”

You polished off your glass then and by your slight sway as you sat on the floor, Joel could tell you had tipped over the edge a bit so he did the right thing and grabbed your empty glass and pushed it to the far side of the table along with the bottle.

“Can I get you some water or somethin, doll?”

You shook your head then, very slowly.

“Nope, I’m good, no water for me. Appreciate the offer though. can I—would it be alright if I came and sat by you?”

His eyebrow slightly raised in your direction and his heart fucking skipped a beat when you asked if you could come sit by him. Alcohol made you nervous, and ballsy at the same fucking time. What a dangerous combination.

He nodded then, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him.

You slowly rose from where you were sitting on the floor and made your way over to the couch, plopping down beside him with a thud. His fingers that were resting along the back of the couch were now lightly grazing your shoulder and he couldn’t help but gently grasp at your shirt, sliding the material through his fingers. He was so dangerously close now you could nearly taste the whiskey on his breath.

“You cold?” He asked when he noticed you shiver slightly, it was a different kind of shiver, the good kind.

“No. No. I’m good.”

He didn’t listen and reached behind him, grabbing the thick quilt and draping it over you gently then.

“If ‘m overstepping, just let me know. I’ve had this question on my mind for, well, let’s just say awhile. What’re all your tattoos mean? I’ve uh-seen a few, here and there.” His tone sounded nervous. Why was he nervous? It was just a simple, normal question after all. It was the close proximity that you were to him that was really tripping him up.

“Oh, you’ve noticed them, huh?” You had the tiniest smirk on your lips then as you looked at him. The alcohol made you all warm and fuzzy inside, but the way Joel was looking at you now, had the same effect. This one was even more intense.

You sat up then, rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie. You had an array of wildflowers on your forearm, above it on your bicep was a small horseshoe and when you turned your arm around, you had your zodiac sign written out, ‘Aries’ you then rolled your jeans up your ankle revealing a knife slicing through a rose. The biggest shock of all is when you had turned your back to him and slowly lifted the bottom of your sweatshirt. In the middle of your lower back, higher than a tramp stamp, was a single, delicate butterfly.

He nearly sucked in a breath at the sliver of exposed skin but you had turned around again before he had a chance to brush his fingers against it.

“The horseshoe means the most to me. Got it after Honey died. The rest of them were pretty much my fuck it, the world has ended and I’ve got nothing to lose, choices.”

“Well, I think they’re all pretty fuckin cool. Thought about gettin a few myself at one point but never pulled the trigger on it.”

“Damn.” You said, slightly disappointed. “You definitely could have rocked a sleeve or somethin, I bet.”

“There ain’t no way. You’re just being nice for nothin.” He chuckled.

“No, no! I’m serious. You’d look good.”

He cleared his throat a little then. “Where the hell did you manage to find someone to tattoo you in the middle of the fucking end of the world?”

“My cousin was actually a tattoo artist. He had to make his own tattoo gun from scratch but honestly, he did a good enough job for the materials he had.”

He nodded then.

“Well, if on the off chance we ever run into a tattoo artist in this god forsaken, shit hole of a world, I’ll get a tattoo.”

“Oh bull fuckin shit man, you won’t. You’re serious?” You totally believed that Joel was completely shitting you there’s no way he’d really go and do that.

“I’m dead serious. We find one and I'll get a tattoo. Swear on what’s left of my life.” Based off his tone alone, you could tell he really wasn’t bluffing so you grasped each other's hands, and shook on it.

“I’ll hold you to it, Miller.”

______

You weren’t sure how much time had passed with how easily your chatter together had flowed. You both found yourselves leaning in towards each other and his fingers hadn’t moved from the spot on your shoulder. The chemistry was undeniable. You just got on together so well and now it seemed like you both weren’t trying to fight it. You were just letting it happen.

There was always one question simmering in your mind. Why did Joel constantly wear a broken watch? You had no idea that asking him this question would have consequences. If you had known this, you would have never asked.

You couldn’t help it, the alcohol was still bubbling in your gut and you didn’t think it was a terrible question to ask. Boy, were you wrong.

“Joel? Why do you always wear that broken watch on your wrist?” It was just a question, a simple question. One that anyone would ask.

Joel immediately tensed up. As soon as, ‘broken watch’ slipped past your pretty lips, it was like it all came rushing back at once. Like he was constantly being knocked into a treacherous wave, gasping for air but never reaching the surface. A figurative knife had been twisted into his gut, sending white hot pain surging through his veins. His ears had started to ring as he recounted his baby girl's screams. The bullets whizzing past, her body tumbling into the dry grass. “C’mon baby girl, I gotta get you up.” The look on Tommy’s face as he watched his brother hold his dead daughter, clutched against his chest, sobbing.

He didn’t even hear you ask him if he was okay. He could hear her screams getting louder, and louder. The bullets, her body tumbling, her blood, lifeless eyes, Tommy, help me. The bullets, her body tumbling, her blood, the bullets. The bullets. The bullets. Her body—

“DON’T FUCKIN TOUCH ME!”

Joel’s sudden, loud and almost pained outburst, had you stumbling against the back of the couch, like a frightened animal.

“Joel I’m sorry— I didn’t know I’m sorry I should have never asked you.”

He looked over at you slowly then, his eyes were stinging with tears that he refused to let spill over and he couldn’t hold it back.

“Why do I fuckin wear this watch, Gwen? You really want to know?” He spat out.

“Joel no, it’s okay I don’t need to know I’m—”

“My dead fucking daughter gave me this watch on my 36 birthday, 17 fucking years ago. She went and got it fixed for me because she knew I’d never go and do it myself. She died bleeding out in my fucking arms and you wanna know what killed her?” He seethed.

“Not cordyceps.” “The fucking military shot her down, in my arms. THE FUCKING MILITARY SHOT US WHEN WE WEREN’T INFECTED. SHE HAD A TWISTED FUCKING ANKLE AND THEY SHOT HER!”

He yelled out, almost in a wail tone and he picked up the empty glass and threw it at the wall as hard as he could, it shattered into a million tiny pieces on impact. You were fucking stunned, and trembling now as his gaze hardened on you.

“So there you go. I hope that fucking answers your goddamn question.” He was breathing heavily, seeing red behind his eyes and when he saw you trembling, he wanted to laugh but instead, it came out more like a choked sob. This man was absolutely broken in front of you and all you could do was watch.

“She died in my fucking arms, on my goddamn birthday. You wanna know what I did after that, huh? Sweet Gwen?” He leaned towards you then, his tone was husky and low.

“I got my revenge on every single one of those motherfuckers. You wanna know how many men I killed, baby? How many innocent lives I yanked away? I’m a murderer, Gwen. I’m a fuckin cold blooded killer.”

“Even after all the bloodshed on my hands, it still wasn’t enough. There’s a massive fuckin hole in my heart that ain’t ever gonna be filled because she’s gone, she’s fuckin gone and she ain’t ever coming back. They took her from me.” He sobbed. “They took my beautiful fuckin baby girl from me!” He picked up the other glass and threw it at the wall in the same manner as the other and when he reached for the bottle, your hand had gently grasped his wrist, ceasing his movements.

“I said don’t fuckin TOUCH ME!”

“Joel.”

“JOEL.”

“Joel. Listen to me, listen to me, please!” You pleaded, begging him to come back to you. It absolutely shattered you inside to see him like this. You felt so fucking guilty for asking him about the watch. This was all your fault, you said to yourself. All you’re fucking fault.

He was already pulling his wrist from your grasp, his breaths were shallow and his eyes were wide, and frantic.

You tightened your grip on his wrist then, your other hand reached out and grabbed his face, gently holding it between your fingers, the stubble from his beard was tickling the soft skin on your palm.

“Joel.” You spoke softer this time, hoping to ease him down from his trauma response.

“Joel, look at me, please. You’re okay. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

He met your gaze then, his skin had a slight sheen to it from the sweat building up on it and his lips were moving but no words were coming out. He was truly broken.

“You’re okay, Joel. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.” You reassured him.

A few stray tears had spilled from his eyes and he was already trying to vigorously wipe them away. This was too vulnerable for him. This was too much. Too much for him to handle. Too soon. Too fast. Too everything.

He suddenly found himself grasping for you, breaking his wrist free, only to wrap his arms around you, nearly knocking the wind out of you from how hard he had hugged you. He hugged you like his life depended on it. He was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear into thin air. His hard, rough exterior was melting away before your very eyes.

You gently found yourself grasping the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling how soft it really was. He leaned into your touch, grasping onto your waist harder. You swore you’d have bruises left behind from how hard his fingertips were holing onto you.

“I’m right here. I’m right here, Joel. Always going to be here.”

You refused to let eachother go till you could feel his heartbeat return to normal, till his fingers loosened their grip around your waist. Soon his touch was gone all together and the couch felt cold and empty without his presence. All that was left was the smell of his whiskey, and a sizzled out flame, depleted of oxygen, dying in the pit of your soul.

You heard the bedroom door slam shut shortly after as you pulled your knees up to your chest, processing everything that had just happened.

One thing was for certain, nothing was ever going to be the same after tonight.

CHAPTER 9:

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