⌁ Thunder ⌁ Lana Del Rey Fanfiction

chapter thirty-two: mending

Where's Irene?

My bedding lays undone as the white light from the window glistens over it.

I taste that familiar, bitter feeling in my mouth; and with it, a worrying knot forms inside of me. Guilt. I close my eyes with that hopeless guilt that's followed me for hours, and has come in waves.

Whatever's happened between me and Irene, has become another mark on my list of mistakes I can't undo. I can't take back anything that i've said or done.

And even if I could, I know this can't be calculated like some strategy in a game.

This has to come from the heart, from my words, which I've lost the privilege to use. For good reason.

As I stand thinking, I hear a sickly cough coming from the bathroom.

what?

I snap my eyes back open as my head darts in the direction of my bathroom.

There, I note the door open a crack. Then, I hear a sniffle, and I realize I haven't imagined these noises for even a second.

I take quick steps to the bathroom without stopping to think to myself, and as I open the door some more to pop only my head inside, I curiously note Irene's figure bent over the toilet, head hovering over the bowl, as she expels the sickness caused by my very existence.

Irene hasn't noticed me yet, but regardless, I hurriedly rush in and bend down alongside her. She eyes me out of surprise and embarrassment, and I notice her pale complexion along with red, puffy, avoidant eyes.

I simply grin comfortingly and scoop her short hair back, placing a hand on her shoulder.

As if my touch activated a switch, she dives closer to the bowl one final time and hurls the last of the remnants like she's taking out the last of her hopes and dreams of me from her inner soul.

She sniffles again and swipes her hair out of my hands and throws it over her shoulder. She stands up, which also takes my hand off of her back. She weaves around me avoidably and starts out.

I quickly follow after like a needy, helpless child.

Irene chooses to stand across my bedroom window. I'm more than grateful she hasn't walked out. At least I have a shot to try to explain myself.

The light illuminates her brightly, which enhances her sickly appearance. She stands pensively, a hand covering her mouth and the other arm crossed at her abdomen.

I take a nervous gulp and go to my nightstand, where I pour a glass of water from my pitcher. I reach inside my drawer and take a few ibuprofen tablets out. "Take these," I say quietly, looping around the bed to finally meet her.

Her lips tighten as she finally turns to glance at me, like i've broken the stir of her thoughts. She glances at my hands and hesitates before taking the items away.

Her hand trembles as she pops the medicine into her mouth, along with her other which brings the rim of the glass up to her lips.

She clears her throat, still avoiding me, and turns to place the glass on the closest nightstand. She sits at the ledge of the bed, looking down. I approach cautiously as I choose to sit next to her.

"I-I'm sorry." I say, feeling the knot at my throat constrict so much my voice cracks. I assess with a slight wince, Irene's expressionless and ghost-like appearance.

I hear her light breaths as she stays motionless. I start to feel my chest beat rapidly, her silence slowly filling my mind with impatience and worry.

Her eyes finally break from the floor, and meet mine. I almost expect some type of bitter look in them, and I certainly feel like I deserve some outrage.