Jigsaw (NaNoWriMo13)

Eighteen

I feel like I am developing their relationship too quickly or that there's too much affection (hugging and kissing). What do you think? Please let me know honestly! I love to hear any kind of criticism! As usual, please vote, fan, comment share? Love you all!,

Miranda

 My head hurts.

I suppose when you spend most of the night crying over your dead parents does that. The thought of them, the revelations in that letter, cause a great spike of pain to rip through me. I want to vomit, but I can't even bring myself to cry anymore. Evan is watching me as he sips on his coffee but I ignore him, sipping on the piping hot beverage.

Dave is still snoring on the sofa. I don't know how to react towards him. Yes, he did seem to be apologetic yesterday, full of remorse. But there is too much stagnant water between us. He blamed us for my parents suicides, he drove me out of my own country and then came back and told the bane of my existence the most intimate parts of my life. But he has never given any indication that he hates me. Not that I ever thought that in the first place.

Even when he spat his venomous words at me, I never thought that he could possibly hate me. It was motivated by strong grief. The very same grief that I suffered myself. I sigh and run my hands through my hair. It is knotted and greasy and gets tangled in my fingers. Evan places a gentle hand on my back and rubs gently, his chair pulled up close to mine.

I lean into his touch, but I don't say anything. It feels as if I have exhausted all methods of communication with him. The energetic buzz that was left from our date weekend has been doused in icy water from Dave's revelation. I don't know what to say to him. My self made promise of never crying in front of Evan has been smashed to smithereens multiple times. But this time, it feels more exposing, more vulnerable, and I don't know how he will deal with me. Probably leave me, no doubt.

But he's still here. He's sitting with you and he's trying to comfort you. He held you so tightly last night and stayed with you through the night.

My subconscious is probably right of course. But I can't shake off the fear that Evan will leave me alone, to deal with my problems. I don't know if I can cope with things without him. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, hands never ceasing their movement on my back. It feels nice, caring. I slowly feel myself relaxing, though nothing can stop the feeling of acid creeping through my veins.

“I'm fine,” I say, not lifting my head.

Evans hand appears in my vision, and his fingers gently lift my chin towards him. Blue meets brown as our eyes meet. My heart does a kind of feeble flip flop. “No you're not,” he mutters. “I can see it in your eyes. No matter how many times you tell me you're okay, I won't believe you, because your eyes show the real you.”

“That sounded kind of poetic,” I say grimly, trying and failing to smile.

Evan sighs and grabs my hand, turning it over and pressing his lips gently over my knuckles. I shudder at the feeling. “Evan?” I mutter. His eyes meet mine over our hands.

“Kiss me?”

I don't know where this sudden uncertainty has come from. I know that Evan likes me. And a lot. He has been my rock from day one, my go to when I was in pain. He peppered me with kisses that left me incoherent. He sat up all night with me, he held my hand and generally made me feel better. He helped me to keep a grasp of my slowly slipping sanity and reel it back in. As dramatic as it sounds, Evan is my hero. My knight in shining armour. He does as he is told, kneeling in front of me, hands on my knees. Even kneeling on the floor, while I sit, his face is level with mine. Our faces hover inches apart.