Sparrow

46

Take the mask off
When you speak to me

•

He looked too peaceful sleeping. His shallow breathing filling the silent room as the plane hovers silently in the night, Buzzing and bumping every so often.

With my small hand placed lightly on his chest, I draw small circles on his skin. I was pressed as close to him as possible, my hair fall down his arm and my lips rest softly in the crook of his neck.

His arm was stretched out under me, his hand gripping the small of my back and around my waist hold me to his body with a firm grip. His hands were so much bigger than mine, and I was so small compared to him, and in his hold I felt so safe. Safe like nothing and no one could hurt me again.

I had woke up a long time ago, my dreams haunted by darkness and things I wasn't ready to face again. I wasn't sure when I'd be ready.

Though the panic from my dreams didn't linger, as when I woke up with my body pressed up against his still, his arms encircling me In protection, those dark things didn't bother me anymore. Because he was here, and he came for me.

hours have passed now and I could have moved or shifted from his tight embrace, I was starting to get hot, and I could wake him up and we could talk more but he was exhausted so I let him sleep. Both his mind and his body needed rest, though he would never have had taken it if I had given it.

He was such a dangerous man, I knew that. He was feared and hated, respected and bowed to. He was worse then hell if he wanted to be. But it looks like he hasn't rested a single day since I've left, he looks thinner, darker, and more hollow than before.

His breathing was shallow, and I counted every rise his chest made. I counted until I lost track and kissed his neck instead with a soft press of my lips, and he let out a low groan as he turned his head into my hair, and he inhaled deeply as he settled further against my body.

I was selfish when I went over the edge.
I had been ready to die, and the pain had chilled me to the point where death didn't even seem that cold anymore. I was so numb and exhausted, tired of fighting in this world that was nothing but betrayals and sharp knives to the heart.

But when I heard him yell my name right before I closed my eyes as I laid in the dirt, I realized that I didn't want to die and I didn't want to be selfish. I heard him yell my name into the cars fire. And I fucking wanted to yell his name back, and then suddenly I wasn't okay with dying anymore.

His shirt rode up slightly as he laid on his back, and I let my hand creep up and under it. His skin was hot to the touch, and my hand rested on the ridges of his ribs, over the scar from the knife his dad had stabbed him with when he was a kid.

His body shifted, ever so slightly. His hand digging harder into the skin of my side, as his chest tightened like he was preparing for something, or like he had forgotten I was close to him.

I inhaled lowly, and jumped as he shot up from my arms and sat in a seated position, panic evident in his movement as flings the covers from himself. "Serina!?" He called out to me, looking at the darkness, his voice deep from sleep.

"I'm here." I say quietly as I reach my hand to his forearm and begin to tug him back to me. When my hands made contact his eyes shot to me and they were so wild and manic that I inhaled a steadying breath. "Baby, It's okay I promise, lay back down with me yeah?"