Save Me [A Norman Reedus fanfiction - Part 1 - COMPLETED]

Chapter Ten - Home

Home.

I still remember of the first time I had arrived to his place years ago. The nice apartment was on the sixth floor of the building, quite high to see the sun or the moon. I was senseless on the day I'd stepped into the flat after coming out of the hospital, barely had gotten any emotion by realizing that from that day, I should live with a stranger, whether he had told me stories of his life or not. But I didn't bother myself as far as we stayed in New York City, the place I had ever been living. I was never out of the city, before the idea to leave and spend some time at Kieran's friend's new place in Atlanta. I didn't want to go. I protested. But Kieran was adamant.

'You come 'cuz this shit comes with me...' He hissed, nearly threatening me, motioning toward the bag of heroin. There was no more question to me. Where the drug goes, that's my way either.

---

Sitting in the car on the way home from Eos, my nerves were on their highest level. Everything on the street had caught my eyes, it was either slow and so fast to me to see. The falling leaves in the far as they came closer, they slowed down as well until they disappeared from my sight. The people outside were either blurry and too sharp to my eyes. The whole world was terrifying, yet so beautiful.

Suddenly, I felt a warm and raspy hand on top of my own. I shot my eyes to Norman, sitting next to me in the driver's seat, rotating his focus on me and the road in front of us.

'Ya alright?' He asked and I nodded but it was only reflex. I wasn't sure if I was right or not. 'Then can you please stop scratching the leather seat?'

I looked down at my hand, which hand a strong hold on the edge of the leather seat, yet there was several scratch marks by my nails. The pieces of the leather painted my nails to black.

'I-I-I'm sorry...' I stuttered, lifting my hands and putting them onto my lap, holding them together.

'That's fine, Reira. Just a seat...' Norman tried to reassure me, even put his free hand on top of my hands, once again. It was something he only did when he knew I needed comfort. It didn't happen that much. And usually I didn't care, but shrugged his hands down and hissed him something very rude. But this time, there was nothing what would held me back let him be nice to me. There was no wall, no malignity. I needed, I wanted to feel his care. So I did something what almost made him release the steering wheel and crash into the car in front of us: I took his warm, strong and yeah, a bit rough but yet still so smooth hand into my two tiny, dry and ice-cold ones. His facial expression was priceless. My simple, everyday movement found him dumbfounded, but that half-smile was dancing in the left corner of his mouth, telling me that he was over the moon in joy. His perfectly shaped lips... I found myself staring at his pillow lips and I only realized what I was doing when I felt his hand squeezing my hand on my lap. Everyone has heard about butterflies in the stomach, right? I had a shit load of them in there in that moment. I immediately released his hand and let him take it back in between us, to nowhereland.

'Sorry.' He said simply. 'It was too much, I guess.'

'No.' Yes, it was. 'It was okay.' It was the most amazing feeling in my life, when I was sober.

To break the awkward silence, Norman turned on the bluetooth so he could played the songs of his phone. Mentioning phone...

'When can I get back my phone?' I asked, like it wasn't a big deal. He glanced at me, with a meaningful look.

'Not today.' He answered with a smirk, searching in his playlist. He went into the album folders and I knew already that he had found a new band again he loved with all of his heart (for about a week) and he was listening their albums, only. In a minute, interesting rock music hit me in the ear. I looked at the artist. Uncle Acid and The Deadbeats? Hmm, even their name was weird. 'Ya know the rules, Reira.' Norman continued. 'You should prove me that ya had changed... And then we'll see. I don't want ya to run back to those... mutherfuckers.' His harsh tone (which this time wasn't for me) caught my full attention. I knew who he was meaning. My friends. My druggie friends. I was sure I wanted to change into a better person. But I wasn't sure about what price I was willing to pay for it. Norman had never known my friends like I did. Just because they used drugs, they weren't bad people. They were abandoned, just like I was. Hearing him judging my friends and consider them as mutherfuckers... I felt like he was judging me as well, whether I took drugs in the moment or not. 'Anyway, anyone who ya'd talk to will be around ya all the time. So ya don't really need the phone.'