Before I Forget

Bullshit Drama

Hawk stood in the doorway. He was wearing a black T-shirt over a white long-sleeved one, his mohawk was up, immaculately done, sharp, red, violent. He looked at Sky and his throat bobbed, but otherwise, Sky couldn't read the look on his face at all.

"Hi," he said silently. "Can I come in?"

All the hurt, the anger, and the pain in Sky's heart melted away at the sound of his familiar, low, raspy voice. In front of him now, she only felt empty, hollow, and tired.

"Okay," She breathed.

Dad stood up from the chair by Sky's bed, giving a final, encouraging squeeze on her hand. "I'll give you two some time to talk," he said. "I'll be outside - just call me if you need something."

Sky gave a nod as an answer, even if she wasn't even remotely ready to have this conversation. A part of her desperately wanted to ask Dad to stay and fight this battle for her. He would if she asked, Sky knew. He would do anything for her.

But maybe he had been right, telling Sky that she should talk with Hawk for her own sake. Maybe this was a battle she needed to fight for herself.

"Be nice," Dad said to Hawk when he passed him in the doorway. "Sky doesn't need any bullshit drama now."

Hawk barely seemed to notice Dad's words. He looked at Sky, his big blue eyes wide and deep as if he was seeing her for the first time. But Sky remembered every detail of him with perfect clarity - remembered the taste of his lips, the scent of his neck, the warmth of his palms against her skin when he held her close - and every single memory was a stab wound right through her heart.

She had to look down and break eye contact. Even breathing was a struggle, every breath strained and shallow.

"You coming in or not?" she asked, the silence beginning to drive her mad.

He cleared his throat and walked inside, carefully closed the door after him, and sat in the chair dad had left vacant. A silence fell in the room between them, but it wasn't like the silences they had shared before. It wasn't soft and comfortable. It was like a living thing in the room, sucking the air out, making Sky's heart beat fast, restless, uneven.

"How are you feeling?" Hawk asked after some time.

Sky rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Might have something to do with the fact that you're in the hospital?"

Sky shrugged. She didn't look up from her hands. She sensed Hawk near her like there was an electric current running between their bodies, like he was a magnet and she was iron, this irresistible force pulling her towards him as always. She knew that if he touched her, she wouldn't have the strength to resist. If he laid a hand on her she would crumble and fall, she would succumb to this need to be closer to him, she would give in. She would forgive and forget everything to just feel his lips on hers again, his arms around her holding her steady when the world was collapsing.

"I'm okayish," She said silently, her voice trembling a bit. "I guess."

"You scared me fucking shitless," Hawk breathed. "Jesus, Sky, I thought you died—"

Her heart wrenched, her stomach clenched into a tight knot. "You shouldn't have called dad. You should've let me die."

He let out a strangled sound. "And would you have done that? If it was me?"

"That's different."

"How come it's different?"

Because I really loved you. But you never loved me.