Complications

23|tears

Tyla Bradley

"My shoulder hurts."

His chest rumbles underneath me as he chuckles and I smile. I like this much better than what had only ended moments ago. He's not crying anymore, that's good.

I push myself up and bite my lip to keep in the wince of pain following my moving of my shoulder. I wasn't lying when I said it hurt, even if I'd initially said it clear the air. Walker had cried for a good five minutes. I didn't say anything, mostly because I had no idea what to say—I'd never seen a guy cry. Ever. And he hadn't just cried, he'd bawled. So I laid against him and griped his leg while he cried, squeezing every so often so he knew I was there whenever he was ready.

He was afraid about hurting me—hurting anyone. My soul broke for him. I can't imagine the thoughts going through his head past what he's shared with me. I can understand the idea of losing control of oneself. That seems to the basis of his problems. He's strong and he can't control that, and the asthma attacks—he can't control those either.

Don't we all want control though?

I want to help him so bad. My minds spinning to fast to try and come up with some kind of solution. But this is out of my league, anyone's league except fiction. No one just has super strength, not in reality. So if I want to help I'm just going to have to abandon reality, but isn't that why I've been doing since crossing paths with Walker?

The car fiasco, the coincidental run ins, the wild fall down the stairs, the feelings, math class, hospital girlfriends. We really have been living in a different reality and I guess we'll just have to keep doing that.

Because right now he needs my help and I want to help him. Not because of anything except that I care about him.

I care about Walker Prince.

I like Walker Prince.

My mind halted.

Wait what?

I shoved that thought deep down and tried to refocus. He'd been silent and unmoving for a good minute so I decided it was safe enough to say something.

Now I was acting on pure instinct, hopefully it doesn't screw me over. I turned so I can see him and give him a small smile. The final glow of the day is our only source of light but it's enough to see the wet streaks on his face.

"Hey," I murmur.

His eyes trace my face but he doesn't react to my hey. I lean forward and cup his face with my hands, rubbing under his eyes with my thumb lightly cleaning off the tears. What am I doing? This is way crossing the line. I search his face for any trace that he's uncomfortable, freaked out, or embarrassed. So when he talks it takes me completely off guard.

"Isn't it supposed to be the guys job to wipe away the tears?"

My thumbs freeze and I think fast, "would you really want a guy doing this right now?"

He laughs, "fair point," his voice is hoarse, broken but he smiles lightly.

"Besides the fact that you just said that proves how messed up this world is. You can cry Walker and still be a man." I pat his cheek and grin.

He scoffs, "thanks for the pep talk."

His pulse drums loudly under my fingers and for a moment I'm completely distracted by it. It's moving so fast and now that I think about it his face, his whole body for that matter is hot to the touch. Is he... am i... as I pay attention to it my pulse is just as fast as his and my body is warm. It's not hot outside. I focus back on his face and watch his eyes trace my face again and can clearly point out the moment they hit my lips, and hesitate. Hesitate?!