Runaway ✔

084 • Dana

Dana reduced the heat when two arms snaked around her. With his chin Juice leaned on her shoulder. "Smells good."

"Hope it tastes good too," she chuckled. She'd never been a kitchen princess and the spaghetti that was on the menu tonight, wasn't particularly a culinary triumph. 

"I can get used to a woman in the kitchen."

"Bet ya do." She smirked and pecked his cheek. "You really think you can get used to someone else livin' in your house that easily?"

She'd seen how absurdly organized his house was. In the fridge all the labels were turned forward, jars and glasses stood right next to each other and the spices were even alphabetized. She leaned forward to stir the meatloaf and vegetables and noticed Juice hoisted himself on top of the dishwasher. 

He looked pensively at her, as if he didn't know whether he could be honest or not. She took a little step toward him and laid her hand on his thigh. "This ain't a covert means to move in with you," she said with a little smile. She didn't know how to translate her thoughts to words. She hadn't considered Juice as a person with some form of autism and she found it weird to just ask about it. Maybe this was just the way he was raised, or something. "It's just... this place is so organized. Does it make you uneasy when things aren't in the right place? Is that why you need meds? Some sort of autism?" she asked carefully nevertheless. 

His eyes probed her face. Then he shook his head, twisted the ring around his thumb and looked the other way. "No, it's not autism. A canine compulsive order... OCD..."

"Okay." She leaned over to him and kissed his lips. She didn't know whether he felt ashamed of it or that it just never came up, but she wasn't looking differently at him now. Some of his traits actually fell into place now. "Does it bother you much?"

He shrugged his shoulders and peeked at the pan. The spaghetti was about to boil over, contrary to the frying pan she hadn't lowered the heat of it. She turned down the button, emptied the contents of the pot tomato sauce in the frying pan and turned her head back to Juice. 

"I don't suffer from a very serious form. It's just that my mind won't stop spinning in stressful periods. More than normal people, I mean. I just keep thinking and thinking and nothing can pull me out of it..." He took a deep breath and looked at her. "Sometimes I can't sleep for nights. All I can think of, are the things I could have done differently and my mind keeps playing thousands of scenarios. Usually the antidepressants are helpful..."

"But you ain't taking them anymore," Dana understood.

He bowed his head, clearly ashamed. "That fear, that I will be poisoned, that forces itself on me in an abnormal way. It... it's also an anxiety disorder. I usually go clean things up, sort them, straight them out... trying to keep myself busy. But it only works for a while."

Dana caressed his face. An anxiety disorder was intense in itself, let alone when you were living in an environment where fear was considered as a weakness and you always had to behave tough... That made it even more difficult. 

"You're often anxious?" she asked, monitoring his eyes, hoping they would reveal if he was telling the truth or not. "During... the things you need to do for the club?"

Juice shook his head. "No, not at all. The adrenaline keeps feelings like that away. I never have panic attacks at moments like that. It's just... that shit with Maddox... that constant threat, and all those moments I can worry about it..." He heaved a sigh.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly. "Sure, I knew you wouldn't remain indifferent, but if I'd known..."

"Then what?" His voice sounded embittered and the glance in his eyes became hard. "Then you'd have thought twice about gettin' into a relationship with me? I can handle this, Dana."

Dana sighed. She didn't know what she would have done. Maybe he was right. Maybe she'd used it indeed as an excuse to keep her distance from him, and dealing with all the shit that had happened would have been ten times harder without him.

"Of course you can handle it," she said eventually, and she took his hands. "I've never noticed anything."

His lips curled into a smile. "You are my medicine. I mean it, however cheesy it might sound. When I hold you in my arms at night... that's the only way to be sure you're safe and in the end that's what I'm worrying about all the time."

His honest words caused a lump in her throat. She wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned with her head against his chest. She closed her eyes when his fingertips glided through her hair. Every touch, anywhere, softened her to the core. It was unimaginable she'd stayed so long with a man who'd never accomplished that. 

"I wish I met you five years ago," she muttered. 

"As do I." He laid a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. "But no one is ever going to take you away from me. I promise."

A tear slipped out of her eye and she caught his lips in a gentle kiss. All this time she'd told herself that this would end one day, that this couldn't last forever. But now she rose up against that thought. His fears could never become reality. 

Never. 

She couldn't bear the thought that his spontaneous laugh would be smothered and the twinkles in his eyes would die forever because Maddox didn't only bring her nightmares to life, but his as well.