❝ 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 ❞ | mature
Too many arguments too much tears, they foreseed how it will end. Their break up was a mutual agreement and so was what came after.
Six months afte...
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He was staring at her, not responding to anything. His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, noticed everything about her and the beauty she possessed so stubbornly despite the hell they had gone through. It had captivated him completely; he was looking at her intensely, as if he hadn't already had her face transplanted into his subconscious the moment he saw her; as if her face wasn't permanently attached to his mind.
Aaron was no artist, but he was sure in that moment that he could draw her from memory alone, letting his mind guide his hands to create the most perfect piece of artwork ever made. In his mind, he was actually doing it— his fingers sketching her outlines, the shape of her face, her sharp eyebrows, bouncing curls, and big, haunting eyes that looked like stars, glistening with her clear tears. He had every detail burned into his soul, yet he still couldn't look away or at least close his eyes, though his body threatened to do just that.
The pain from his injuries was gone, like the sounds, the coldness, and the fear of Frederic— all gone and insignificant.
Aaron was aware that his silence freaked her out even more, but he just didn't have the power to respond. He could have closed his eyes and enjoyed imagining her until he was dead, but she kept pulling him back, forcing him to focus; and he did.
He focused on the smile she had a hard time maintaining in front of him, on the words she repeated reassuringly that Aaron could not hear but understood as he gazed at her lips. He was certain those soothing words were said for her own sake too: "You are fine, everything is fine, you are going to be okay, we are going to be okay" —like a song with a repetitive chorus.
They should have been in a different place. They should have been home, sleeping peacefully, enjoying each other's comfort, readjusting to their life together, slowly falling into their routine—healing, being happy for once. How could they end up here? Was it really the last time he was going to see her? Would he ever get to test that theory?— to see if he could draw her?
"You are so beautiful." There was wonder in his voice again, amazement that Emily found funny. "Maybe you are not alright after all" she said with a laugh, happy he finally said anything instead of blankly staring at her. Her hand was staunching his bleeding, which had slowed a bit, much to her relief.
"Honey, you need to go" he said weakly, but his smile was more powerful than ever, luminous; it made his expression stronger.
"No" she replied shortly.
"Please." He closed his eyes as he swallowed back a cough. "If you stay here, he's going to find you." He opened his eyes again. "I don't care" she whispered determinedly.
"You should care" he said, smiling. "You need to survive. Get back to Jack and the team..." He tried explaining, but it fell flat. Abandoning him was the last thing she was planning to do, and yes, she had no plan for getting them out of the woods. Even if she were able to help him stand or if he could carry himself, she knew it was only a matter of minutes before he would collapse again. She shook her head at him; leaving him to die was not an option.
