Dangerously Close (Aris x Reader)

69) Want You Back

Aris's P.O.V

I’m still lost. I think I’m even more lost than before. What the hell was last night? She was terrified. Not just a little shaken up. I’ve never seen a more clear example of fight or flight, and it seems like she chose flight.

It also doesn't matter that there haven't been any new injuries. They were important, whether they were accidents, from someone else, or from her. It all started with them before she started spiraling. Her nightmares were practically keeping her up all night, she talked to Nameless more than anyone, and she went from being sarcastic to snappy.

I don't think someone here would hurt her. There'd be nothing to gain. More importantly, who would ever want to? She’s so kind, and empathic, and observant, and everything good. All that after coming from a place that wanted the opposite of that too.

It could be that though. I can't assume that just because everything around her looks fine on the surface, physically at least, that there isn't something I’m oblivious to going on. I know she’s always worn long clothes, but I can't help but think that maybe the outfits aren't just a coincidence.

She isn't eating again. Her lunch was as good as untouched, and she stays in the Clinic for breakfast so I don't know if she even has food in front of her there.

“Ya’ can go back to eatin’ with Abby, ya’ know? Thomas has been with Brenda lately.”

“I know. I just want to be with you.”

“You're with me every night.”

And somehow it doesn't feel like it. Being with her doesn't feel the way it should. She’s the best thing I have in this world. So seeing her light start to dim hits me in places I didn't know I had.

“It’s not bad, you know?”I said hesitantly, nudging her food a little closer.

“It never is,”She said simply.

“So why don't you eat it?”

“I’m never hungry.”

Or happy. I love her more than anyone understands, but I’m watching her become someone I don't recognize. It's still her. She has the same voice, the same accent, the same hair, the same face, the same job.

She doesn't use her voice though. She doesn't whisper her poetry. She doesn't use her sweet contagious laugh. She doesn't tease me in both the most flirty and most blank tone I’ve ever heard.

Everything’s quiet now. There's an inescapable echoing silence.

I want my poet back.

“A few bites never hurt,”I pushed.

“Does when you ain't hungry.”

“Just a little? Please just eat a few bites?”I begged.

“I’m not eatin’ it for you.”

“No. You're eating it for yourself. Because you deserve to eat. So please?”

She looked at me, then back at her plate. Letting out a small sigh, she grabbed her food, holding it on her lap as if it were the first meal she had ever seen. Picking up the sandwich, she turned it over in her hands as if waiting for it to turn into something else. When it didn't, she took a small bite, avoiding my gaze as she did.

Her frown grew when she took another bite. It was odd to watch something as simple and necessary as eating make her miserable.

If I don't find out why, I don't trust that she’ll ever do something necessary at all.

× ~ × ~ × ~ ×

I expected her to still be in the shower by the time I got on. They seem to be getting longer and longer lately.

Instead, she was completely dry, sitting in her clothes from today on the floor, holding Nameless close.

“Hi,”I greeted. She simply gave a nod of acknowledgement at my presence.

Her hair looks the same as today too. That same loose strand was tucked behind her ear. Her ponytail had that small bump in the same place, hiding her weapon.

“You planning on becoming a morning shower person now?”I asked in the most joking tone I could manage. She just shrugged, her demeanor almost . . . empty.

I grabbed her brush that was sticking out of her bag as I walked over, sitting beside her and leaning against the bed. Starting to bite her nails that were practically skin at this point, she tensed up. Realizing she wasn't being pet, Nameless jumped out of her lap, sitting between us.

“Can I brush your hair?”

Still not saying a word, she turned her back to me. Moving a little closer, I put the cat on my lap before taking her ponytail out, sliding the knife with the rubber band. Putting it around my wrist, I handed her her weapon. Clasping her fingers around it, she took it, holding it tightly.

Pulling her hair back, I brushed out the bottom of it. It wasn't bad at all seeing as she's been taking care of it, but with her having not eaten a full meal for a while and now not showering tonight, it's just better to try and get ahead of it. She's beautiful, but she can be beautiful without knotted hair.

“Something's wrong. I know that, and I know you know that I know. I also know it would probably take something unthinkable happening for you to tell me,”I whispered. She didn't deny or confirm it, which was an answer in itself. She just stayed silent, letting me brush her hair out a little higher. “So, with that in mind, can you tell me what you need? Is there anything I can do to make whatever it is a little easier?”

“I don't know,”She mumbled.

“Well, if you do think of something, anything at all, just let me know. Okay?”

“What if it's impossible?”She asked, her voice having a hint of a smile.

“Then, I guess we’ll have to make it possible,”I shrugged, reaching over her shoulder. When she gave me her knife, I put her rubber band in her hair before slipping it through the ponytail with a bit of a struggle. When you could still see the red handle, I tucked it under some of the hair on the head, successfully hiding it.

“Thank you,”She whispered.

“Of course, my poet. I’m here for whatever you need. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”