Poison Hemlocks

Ch. 11 - Listen

The car ride to wherever Paper is taking him had been quiet for the most part. It's not awkward, String thought, and intriguing isn't the right word for it, but it's what it felt like; the suspense of where they may end up, what and why. The unpredictability is killing him. String doesn't like not knowing, but he fears changing that may only be worse.

"Are you still drunk?" Paper suddenly asks, breaking the silence.

"What? No, I..." String tries to form a sentence. "Wait, how did you..."

"I can smell the whiskey on you," He momentarily glances from the road to him, softening his eyes in a way String isn't sure to intimidate him or comfort him, though he's always doubted the latter.

String scratches the back of his head. Now that he thinks about it, this odd spike of anxiety he's feeling, running thoughts and increasing heart rate, is probably a side effect of alcohol, and here he thought it was going to make him forget.

"It seems you've been drinking much this past week," Paper then states. "Is there something bothering you?"

For a moment, this apprehension is replaced with irritation. It makes String thin his lips, suppressing his gritted teeth, hands balled into light fists, because he can't tell Paper that what's been bothering him is none other than Paper himself.

He can't tell him he is torn between surrendering his life for him and running away, that he is torn between love he knows is blind and hate he believes is irrational.

He can't ask him whether that high-bound kiss was real or a hallucination. He can't ask him because it's stupid, and he knows it.

What's worse is that he knows this is planned. String is planned to feel this way, to be confused and torn. This is what Paper intended. String knows this and he cannot even say anything about it.

"String."

Paper calls on him, a shiver runs down his spine. String hadn't realized he fazed out.

"You're shaking," He points out.

String looks down at his hands. They are shaking, almost uncontrollably. It must've only been made more obvious by the alcohol. He can't stop it, he can't.

"Let me," Paper reaches his hand over to him, palm facing upward, hovering over his lap.

His hand is bandaged, but that isn't what String questions.

Is he... asking String to give him something? He isn't saying anything. String's brain scrambled. He glances around in search of the nonexistent object Paper is potentially asking for.

"Idiot," Paper hums. "Give me your hand."

"H-huh?" String is dumbstruck.

"You heard me," Paper glances at him. His eyes only remained on him for a few seconds, then he had to turn his attention back to the road, though his hand stays hovered over to String, waiting, welcoming.

What if this is a trap? String thought to himself. What if Paper pulls him in and slices his throat right then? What if he throws him out of the moving car?