Hiding Sparrows

35. In no mind

By the time we drove into Ty's parking garage, I'd sobered up enough that my whole body ached.

I kept my eyes clenched my eyes shut and leant against the window for most of the drive, his ac blowing cold air in my face the only thing keeping me from feeling sick.

My mind was swimming with memories and words, going around and around, thinking of Ty, of Jack, Heath, and my mother. Her most of all.

I'm not sure if I slept. It's not a short drive across the city. But I feel like maybe I might have, because it went so quickly. And I only opened my eyes when I heard him put the car in park, and say to me, "We're here."

Dazed, I sat up, and rubbed my eyes as though I might be able to rub my way sober. Tough luck that it wasn't working.

"Can you walk?" Ty asked, his voice apprehensive. I frowned.

"I'm not going to make you carry me, if that's why you sound so concerned."

"I'm not concerned. I mean, not about that. I just mean..." he paused, then looked down at my legs. "Your ankle. You were limping when I picked you up. How sore is it?"

I looked down at my feet, suddenly aware of them again. And, of the throbbing pain that had only seemed to grow since getting in the car. I'd been so zoned out, I hadn't even noticed it.

"It's... not sore," I lied.

"Really?" He asked, and he was raising an eyebrow at me, as if to call bullshit. I huffed.

"Yes. It's fine." As a show of what I could only call drunk defiance, I twisted and climbed out of the car. "See!"

Only, I tried to step back to demonstrate and a stab of pain jolted up my leg at the movement. I held in a whimper.

"I'm not convinced," he said, climbing out as well, and coming around the car to meet me. "You're a terrible liar, Robin."

"No I'm not," I replied. I hated how whiny it sounded.

He offered me his hand, the shadow of a smile on his face. Tentatively, I let him take it, and loop my arm around his shoulders, his other arm coming around my side to help me walk.

"Come on," he whispered into my ear, "let's get you up to bed."

"God, you're like walking sex appeal."

He snorted. "Thank you. I thought you were supposed to be mad at me."

"I am," I said quickly, as we started walking toward the elevator. "But you whispered in my ear. It's sexy. I don't control the rules."

He nodded, and we both went quiet. When the elevator arrived he helped me to hobble in, scanning his keys and hitting the button for his floor. Then, the quiet settled again, and the memories trickled in, and I clenched my eyes shut once again and focused on keeping my breathing even.

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm so, so, so fucked."

His warm hair touched my shoulder, gently turning me towards him and brushing a hair out of my face. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me, concern etched across his features.

He didn't say anything. Giving me the space to speak when I needed to.

I blinked away tears, meeting his eyes and just watching him. I didn't want to speak. I couldn't. If I did, I'd cry. And I didn't want to keep crying in front of him.

So, we just stared at each other, his hand hovering on my cheek, his other on my hip. This close, in the dim light of the elevator, I could see the minute details of his face. His afternoon shadow. The intricate line work of black ink trailing down his neck. A small white scar curving toward his cheek from his temple. A trail of dots along his jaw, like tiny indents in the skin.