Cold Water

THIRTY FIVE

                      ♥︎ATHALIA♥︎

   Brandon gently took my hand and led me down the hallway. The weight of what had just happened was still heavy in the air.

  His grip was firm, but there was a tenderness to it, like he was trying to protect me from the weight of everything.

  "We should get your lip looked at." he said softly, his voice steady but full of concern.

  I didn't argue. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off, and now the sting of the cut on my lip was starting to settle in.

  We walked together in silence toward the nurse's office. When we arrived, the nurse, Mrs. Denoire raised an eyebrow at us as we entered.

  "What happened here?" she asked, immediately noticing the cut on my lip and the bruises on my hands.

  "I got into a fight." I said quietly, sitting down on one of the chairs as she came over with her first aid kit.

  Brandon stood nearby, watching as Mrs. Denoire dabbed antiseptic on my lip. "This might sting a little." she warned before applying it.

  I winced but didn't say anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brandon clench his fists slightly, as if he was the one feeling the sting.

  He stayed quiet, his eyes focused on me with a mixture of concern and guilt.

  "That should heal in a few days," Mrs. Denoire said after she finished. "And I'd put some ice on those knuckles, too."

"Thanks." I muttered, getting up slowly. I could feel Brandon's gaze on me the entire time, a quiet intensity that made my heart ache.

  As we left the nurse's office, the silence between us felt different–heavy, unspoken words hanging between us.

  He glanced over at me as we walked, his face conflicted, and I knew he was holding something back.

  "I don't want you to get hurt because of me." he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I stopped walking and looked at him. "Brandon, I don't care if I get hurt. I care about you."

  He stared at me for a long moment before his expression softened, and for the first time since the fight, he seemed to let down his guard just a little. "I don't deserve that, Athalia."

  I shook my head. "You deserve so much more than you think."

  He didn't respond, but the way he looked at me at that moment said everything he couldn't put into words.

  Brandon sighed, his dark eyes softening as he glanced away for a moment, as if trying to find the right words.

  The hallways were mostly empty now, just the hum of distant conversations from other classrooms.

  "I don't know how to deal with it sometimes," he admitted, his voice low. "The way people look at me, the things they say... It's like they expect or want me to just break."

  "They don't know you, Brandon," I said firmly. "They don't know what you've been through, what you're still going through. They don't get to say anything about you."

  He looked at me then, his gaze locking with mine, as if searching for something. For the first time in a while, I saw a flicker of vulnerability, another crack in the strong, guarded exterior he always tried to keep up.

  "I'm tired, Athalia," he confessed. "Tired of feeling like I'm always one wrong move away from falling apart, from drowning."

  I reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "Then let me help hold you together."

  Brandon stayed quiet after that, his gaze lingering on me with a mix of gratitude and sadness.

  We walked down the hallway together, side by side but in our own thoughts, until we reached the doors leading outside.

  I knew he was still processing everything that had happened, and a part of me wanted to press him, to make him talk about what those people had said.

  But I didn't. I knew Brandon needed time to let it sink in, and pushing him wouldn't help. Instead, I just slipped my hand into his, squeezing it gently.

  "Do you want to head home?" I asked softly, looking up at him.

  Brandon hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. Let's go."

  As we made our way out of the school building and toward his car, the tension between us eased just a little. Once we were inside, he glanced over at me, his expression serious.

  "I don't care what they said about me," he finally spoke as he started the car. "But the thought of them talking bad about you... I don't want you to be dragged into my mess, Athalia."

  His words stung, but not in the way he probably expected. "You're not a mess," I said firmly, staring at him. "And if people can't see the person you are... that's their problem."

  Brandon shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "You make it sound so simple."

  "Because it is," I said, squeezing his hand again. "I don't care what they say. I'm not going anywhere."

  The car ride back to his house was quiet but comfortable, like we'd reached an unspoken understanding.

  When we arrived, we went straight to the living room and collapsed on the couch. For a while, we just sat there, the afternoon light casting soft shadows across the room.

  Eventually, Brandon turned to me, his face softening. "Thank you for standing up for me." he said, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

  I smiled gently. "You don't have to thank me."

  He reached out, brushing a thumb lightly over the now-clean cut on my lip. "I hate that you got hurt because of me."

  "Stop saying that," I whispered, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. "I'd do it again if I had to."

  Brandon's gaze met mine, and for a long moment, it felt like the world around us had fallen away.

  There was a rawness in his eyes, like he was finally letting me see all the pain and uncertainty he'd been holding back.

  And then, without a word, he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me as if he was afraid I might slip away.

  I didn't say anything. I just held him, resting my head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

  In that moment, it felt like we'd both found a small bit of peace, even if just for now.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎