Long Way To Happy {The Creatures AU}

Chapter XI: Weeping Willow

I laid on the couch in Seamus' room. My head rested on the arm of the chair, my feet propped up the same way on the other end, and one of my hands laid on my stomach while the other circled a bottle laying on the ground.

Seamus sat in the armchair with one of his legs pulled up to his chest, and the other on the ground. He kept fiddling with a coin, flipping it and such.

"Are you going to say anything?" He asked.

I didn't look over at him, because I knew what I'd see already. The light of the moon shined in through the blinds, just barely missing his face so the menacing scars laid in the darkness.

He's gotten used to me needing company without a voice. It's normal for me to walk in his room and just lay there for a while, but never have I stayed this long without pouring my thoughts out.

I took a hard swallow as I forced my voice from my chest. My throat was scratchy, producing a hope lacking tone. "I've ran out of fight." I said.

His coin hit the floor. He never drops it, as his mind is always on point and focused. Seamus snit, trying to act like my comment hadn't thrown him off. "Give it time. It'll come back."

"Not on it's own." I spoke, not even thinking about the words coming out.

I looked over to him, seeing him paused halfway through picking up his quarter. He glanced up at me, and from where he was leaned over, the moonlight highlighted his face flawlessly.

His eyes seemed to go on forever. They were deeper than any ocean I've ever seen, and so clear you could almost feel every tear he's shed to shine them so bright. The scars that ran across his pale face, the glimmer of his dirty blond hair; it all fell inferior to those soul eating eyes.

Seamus sat back up while recomposing himself. He sighed as he set his coin down on the small table beside him, and he picked up his glass of gin. With a long drink washing down his mix of emotions, emotions I'm sure he forgot he had, he finally mustered the right words.

"I know what you said to Jordan, and I could write a book on some of the things you've said to me. You're a complicated woman, Annabelle."

"Don't call me that." I sneered. "Annabelle is dead."

"No, she's not." He quickly snapped. "She's not, because you're scared, and Slayer doesn't get scared. Annabelle though, that innocent little girl that a year ago coward at my scars and clung to Sly like a toddler, she got scared. She knew fear. She didn't embrace it like Slayer, and I can tell you right now, you are not embracing your fears."

He was right... Annabelle isn't the one dying, Slayer is. My soul has become torn apart by Sly's death. That, I knew, but the extent? I could have never seen that on my own.

My hands grew weak at these new menacing thoughts. They were painted differently, but under the acrylic, they were still the same canvas. Fear can be the most familiar stranger you'll ever have the pleasure of being beaten by time and time again.

I sat up on the couch, leaning over my knees as I wrapped my arms around my stomach. As I brought one hand to my quavering mouth, I began rocking myself to try and act like I wasn't shaking.

My back hitched from my denial. I was not crying! But look in the mirror, Annabelle. The broken, shattered mirror that shows a girl just as broken and shattered. Her makeup was run, that crying child is you.

Seamus moved over to be next to me. He wrapped his arm behind my back, using the opposite hand to tilt my head into the crook of his neck.

"Just let it all out. I'm here, to enjoy the silence with you. I'm here."