Broken Submission

It's Not Okay

Hey guys, we just reached 100 votes! Which may not be a huge deal for most, but I'm so excited! Thank you all so much!

Derek paused. What was that noise? He closed the door silently behind him. The sun had set, and the apartment was dark. He kicked off his shoes and moved forward. It was coming from the guest bedroom.

Her voice drifted through the closed door, the soft sounds of strumming with it. He couldn't make out the words, just a gentle melody and a surprisingly deep voice. Listening to her, the tension that he'd been holding drained out of his body. He slid to the ground as quietly as he could, resting his head on the wall beside the door.

She transitioned to another song, this one something he thought he recognized as I Will Follow You into the Dark, by Death Cab for Cutie. His eyes grew heavy as he listened to her, and with her music in his ears, he fell asleep.

The next morning, Amelia slipped out of the guest bedroom. She hadn't meant to sleep there. The music had lulled her into a doze, and when she woke to the guitar slipping out of her hand, she'd just crept into the nearest bed.

When she shut the door, Amelia jumped, barely restraining her yelp when she saw Derek sprawled on the ground, half-supported by the wall. She scanned him for injuries. Not finding any, she stared at his sleeping form. When had he come in last night? Did he really sit outside the door listening to her play?

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. She was self-taught and not very proficient with the guitar. And her voice... it wasn't the light, airy voice that people expected to hear coming from her. It was deep and could even be a bit gravelly. More suited to male alternative rock than love songs.

Derek sniffed, and she focused on him again. A smile quirked the edges of her lips. He was too adorable. Muscley, but also soft and cuddly. His hair went everywhere, and his lower lip pouted in his sleep. A little drool gathered at the corner of his mouth.

Her smile faded as she recalled the past couple days. He had been so upset, and she had no idea how to fix it. She wasn't good with people or emotions. Though her weakness disgusted her, Amelia couldn't help but revert to old patterns—silence, eyes downcast. Cleaning and cooking and making everything perfect as if she could make him happy that way.

Amelia crept away, trying not to wake him. She slipped through the French doors to the little patio that linked to the living room. The morning was early yet, and she sat on the floor beside the railing, watching the sun rise. Her backside had long since gone numb when the door slid open, and he stepped out.

"Why are you on the ground?"

She glanced at the chairs. She hadn't even noticed. Her old friend, nausea, fluttered through her stomach at the thought of touching his things. It's just—even though she knew it was ridiculous—it didn't feel like she was allowed.

"I'm okay here," she murmured. His feet stepped into her view.

"Come on," he extended a hand toward her.

Her breath hitched, but she took it, allowing him to pull her upward. He didn't let go.

"What is this?" he asked, anger in his voice.

She started hyperventilating. What had she already done wrong?

"Amelia." He pinched her chin between his fingers. "What's this bruise from?"