chronometer

repair

A/N: ya girl needed a break but she's back now and better than ever (maybe)
this is a relatively shorter chapter just bc its been a while and
my update cycle is still gonna be shitty too sorry

& i also apologize if any of this is bad quality, like i said it's been a while :'))
anyways have fun enjoy i love yall

A few days gave way into a full week, which quickly turned into a second. With each passing minute, I became more and more numb to the thumps on my wrist. I no longer checked the time on my arm, I even became reluctant to eat. Avi checks on me every few hours to make sure I'm still moving and to change my ace wrap. As if the entire universe wasn't already laughing in my face, I've ironically broken my own wrist. The smoldering embers of the world still sear fresh against my bare skin. Because of my idiocy, I have allowed a dangerous group of people to take what's left to ground me. It is a terribly selfish thought. My life is no more important than his, in fact I would have gladly gone in his place if I were conscious to make that decision.

The pain in my heart ebbs and flows. I wonder how they are treating him. If he would've preferred to have been caught by his father. Is he cold? Hungry? Scared? Is he being brave and resilient like the Mitch I've come to know? My lips quiver in the midst of a weak sob, and the tendons in my back pull from being so stiff as I lean over to place my face in my hands. I don't know if he's at my fingertips here in Arlington or at a warehouse, miles away in a different timezone. I will read zeroes on my skin before I am able to find him, and it's not out of the question that his arm may already. I do not want to consider meeting the same dull lifelessness in his eyes that I was met with when I found mom dead. Mitch's eyes, I have noticed, are mind-striking amber. This is especially when the light catches them at the right angle. I cannot imagine them without any illumination at all.

Avi comes into the room, edging away my loneliness. He sets his palm on my shoulder tentatively and I feel him move to the left of me. "Have you eaten since this morning?"

No. "Yes." I never look up to reach his gaze, instead keeping my eyes trained on the empty glass resting atop the old wooden table.

My ears catch his low, breathy sigh. "I'll go make dinner, Scott."

Our conversations have not had any more length than that since losing Mitch. A few nights I've awoken with a cold sweat from nightmares, only those times have our words reached longer length. I don't put effort into recalling the thoughts that haunt my subconscious when I do get the little sleep I'm rewarded with. Avi just sits there and asks me questions, making sure I don't panic. I am grateful for it.

Sometimes the dreams range from watching Mitch get timed out, sometimes much more graphic. It is a terrible reminder of my amazing ability to make many mistakes. I wonder if existing is one of them. I remember shortly after realizing that I had broken Mitch's wrist in my blind fit of anger, I had wanted to give him every drop of time I had left so I would no longer have to live with my own stupidity.

I ponder about it again more seriously in my fit of depression, but instead of giving my time away to someone-- I just want to get rid of it. I don't want to exist if I continue to make mistakes at this degree. If Mitch turns up dead, I won't have to worry about making a single mistake again. I will be the first to join him. He's been alone for so long-- he certainly doesn't deserve to be alone after life.

Rosemary and lemon-scented fumes turn my attention away from my self-deprecating thoughts, and shortly after Avi walks in with pan-seared fish. It turns up my appetite just enough that I'm able to accept the fork when he offers it to me, and I pick at my food with an absent mind. The first few minutes are spent in a splitting silence. I take a considerable bite every so often, but only half of my meal is complete by the time Avi is finished.