why don't we imagines

you're safe now (j.m.)

The early morning came with a broken promise. An invitation to stumble out of bed at the lack of warmth against your skin and emptiness of his side of the mattress. Amidst the trees surrounding your home, the wind whipped along tall trunks and billowed out the sheer curtains hanging from the open bedroom window, the transparent material puffing like soft marshmallows before deflating, again and again.

You stuck your head between the two ends of fabric to survey what the morning had brought, gravely hoping your boyfriend was one of its gifts. The roads were glossy with water. Puddles spilt onto the tarmac, across the footpaths and slicked the tires of vehicles perched on the curbs, and a gloomy sheath of grey had overcome the sky.

Your eyes scanned the tiny looking individuals, the mist cold and crisp upon your skin as you began to peer further down. Your lovingly tended plants sat forgotten along the length of the windowsill, their ceramic pots drowned in a pool of dirty rainwater. With the icy temperature, shouts and groans of sleep deprived frustration came from people in their cars, their loud words resonated in your ears as an unwanted prompt to the previous night.

The silence hatched a ghostly calm over the room, heightening your concern of his whereabouts as whispers of a damp breeze continued flowing through the window. You stopped your search momentarily upon hearing a creak of antique wood, now spoiled from last night's weather that'd seeped through the cracks. "Jonah?" You called.

There was nothing but a small whimper from somewhere in the house, soft and weak. You gulped, now walking out of the room hesitantly, the tips of your toes tapping along the floorboards. The footsteps became heavier. Another creak, another shuffle. Just down the corridor. The sound of rustling, like wet clothes rubbing against each other, and squelching of soaked boots were the sounds you were so relieved to hear.

He stood across from you, staring, as if you owed him the first word. Droplets of red spotted his shirt, like messy polka dots, and a sharp edge had made it into his cheek, an almost perfect line carved into layers of his pale skin. His feet inched closer to yours, painting a maroon mix of dirt and blood on the panels of wood underneath his feet. That's when you noticed his limp, the slight hobble of his left leg with more of that alarming red darkening the edges of his denim.

"I-I'm sorry," Jonah breathed, taking a deep gulp. "- that I didn't come home last night." He continued, his eyes hiding from yours as he spoke. You hadn't heard from him in hours. After hours of waiting up last night, and with the expectation that you'd feel him beside you the next morning, you decided to go to bed. But that wasn't the case, and your anger seemed trivial now that he was dripping blood and soaking wet right in front of you.

"Oh, J" You breathed, tears instantly misting over your eyes. You rushed over to him. "Should I call an ambulance or something?" You creased your eyebrows in concern, but he shook his head, letting out a small 'no'. "Just give me a second, okay?" You left him with a gentle rub to his shoulder and a weak smile.

You worked quickly, bustling around your home to find the first aid kit you knew was somewhere in the expanse. The kitchen cabinets and drawers slammed and rolled shut abruptly, and Jonah lifted his head up, glancing over his shoulder as you were getting out the first aid kit. He smiled so briefly, the speed at which you fled to find supplies and rush back over once you found them was heart-warming. He was sat against the wall tiredly, the bare white canvas of the wall gleaming brightly behind his damaged features.

"Okay, okay." You repeated, sighing gently as you sat cross-legged next to him. "You're okay."

You looked at him as if you couldn't see the blueish purple bruises that'd only get worse overtime on his arms or hear his weak groans slipping jaggedly past his lips. You merely held a damp cloth over the cut, watching intently as the blood dribbled into the soft fibres as several minutes ticked by.

"Thanks for helping me, love." Jonah said sadly.

"Of course," You leaned in and cradled his head ever so lightly. His hair tumbled over his face messily and you swept it back, feeling the coldness of his skin, before gently kissing his head.

Once the bleeding to his head stopped, Jonah peeled off his flannel to move onto the rest of his body. His formerly handsome abdomen was a crimson mask, blood trickling into the creases of his stomach. A quiet gasp arose from his throat and lingered in the frosty air of your apartment, his arms flailing limply by his side as you brushed your fingers over the wound on his stomach, profuse apologies rushing out after seeing his pained reaction.

The pressure of the cloth clamped over his stomach rattled a broken moan from within his chest. Those few minutes you spent pleading with yourself or God or anyone, for him to look at you, to smile a little, feeling the very fluid of his life drain away over your cold hands, you didn't think anything at all. There was no time to be thinking about why or what had happened, and you didn't want the answers anyway. So, you kept your thoughts in, surrendering your mind to this very moment of tending to his battered body.

"Do you feel a little better?" You asked, worry still very much threaded through the wrinkles on your forehead. Jonah nodded and leaned in ever so slightly for a kiss, his red lips puckered readily. You smiled, a faint warm feeling creeping over your face. As you kissed, Jonah felt a little blood on the corner of his lips seep into his mouth, like he'd been rubbing a penny between his lips, but he still grinned as you both pulled away.

Light grew steadily outside. Sunlight roused more colours from its sleepy, grey monochrome, and the both of you stayed in the same spot until the yielding curtains glowed. You felt your concern slowly ebb away in his arms. He was safe with you.