For a second, Killian tried to look anywhere but directly at the girl in front of him. When she spoke for him to join her, he moved over to her and sat down almost automatically, without him ever reaching a conscious decision on the matter. âSomeoneâŠâ The words were almost a whisper. His tone, questioning, as though he werenât sure that was the appropriate answer.
âIf I was avoiding someone⊠I sure failed miserably.â His usually quick speaking cadence was slow now, and there was something missing in his voice. Much like his movements to sit next to her, his words were automatic. There was no thought, no emotion, to them. Hell, Killian wasnât sure what he even felt right now. Beyond that, he wasnât sure what he should feel in this sort of strange, unimaginable, situation.
âYou ever love someone⊠Not like a hot passionate summer that fizzles out, but, you know, love someone. Love them so much it hurts when you have to look away from their face. Love them so much that every second away from them feels like youâre drowning, and when youâre finally with them again, like youâve finally been rescued and you can take in a huge gulp of air. Love them so much that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that youâd jump in front of a bullet to save them⊠I did. Do? I guess when they die, that love just getâs bigger and harder to bear. Like, youâre drowning again, but you know that youâll never get that breath again. Like youâre drowning and you know that itâs just a slow sink to the bottom and thatâs all you have left in your life.
âFriends, family, they breath into your mouth, but it just stops you from dying⊠and secretly you hate them for it. You spend so long drowning⊠you forget what it feels like to breath.â
Killianâs heart was zooming in his chest. His face seemed a mask, void of emotions, save for the muscleâs in his jaw tightening and loosening as he clenched them on and off, trying to spend his nervous energy while also avoiding destruction to his teeth. He felt like a rabbit, with a fox watching him. She must be a ghost after all, and soon she would turn into those bloody images from his memory.
âCould you imagine what it would feel like to see them die? To dream about their bloody, dead, body every night? To never be able to forget it, because you keep getting your nightly reminder? And thenâŠâ
Killian turned and looked directly at her. His mouth, still agape, quivered.
After but a moment, he turned away
âSo, guess Iâm less running from a person⊠and more running from a memoryâŠâ
Something about his initial answer seemed dead serious - almost uncomfortably so. âSomeoneâ.... the ominous way he said that spoke volumes, though it didnât wasnât specific enough to help Sarah understand what the fuck he meant. He headed towards where she prompted him to sit, stating while doing so that his âattempt to avoid someoneâ was âfailing miserablyâ - as if it was Sarah herself whom he was avoiding. Mustâve been a joke... not one she got, but instead of prodding him about what it was he meant, she chuckled out of courtesy, despite whatever the fuck that was going over her head. Chuckling was also a good disarming mechanism that could often effectively stave off awkward vibes.
Though his inquiry towards Sarah mightâve been rhetorical, apparently alluding to some significant other, or significant part of his own life story, his pause allowed her time to answer. Â
âYeh- yeah...â There was an airiness about her voice signifying that she was deep in thought, but Sarah managed to conceal the lingering, crippling guilt for having fucked it all up that came and went seemingly at random, and was very heavily weighing on her at the moment. Â
With a slight furrow in her brow, Sarahâs gaze grazed the flat, marble grave sitting before them that marked itâs respective departed soul and the overgrown brush surrounding it causing her to reflect on own, very recent experiences... and her brow to furrow a little more intensely.
But she caught it; âI guess when they dieâ... when the guy said that, Sarahâs head swung towards him, fixing her eyes, now widened with surprise, on his face instead of downward. Fortunately he continued speaking, because for a few moments, words eluded her entirely. Â
By the time he asked a direct question, Sarahâs mouth was already slightly agape, as if she was trying to silently mouth an answer; it was a terrible question that again was likely rhetorical and suggested some specifics about whatever awful experience heâd just had involving the death of his lover.
âI - â Sarahâs initial attempt at an answer produced half of a one letter word that cut itself off with a staccato. â... yes. Iâve been, um... Iâve been imagining that for, like... itâs just... itâs just, my brother was in a car crash a few years ago, and he pulled this lady out the other truck and she died in his arms. We didnât know her, or anything, but... it stuck with him, you know? Really shook him up. I have a very vivid imagination and, um... â As she pictured what was describing, Sarah pulled in a very deep and slightly shaky breath.  â... sooo, I started having reoccurring dreams about it.â Â
The point of the paint on her nails was to dissuade her from chewing or picking at them, and it worked, but the urge to do it still persisted, and she looked down again, this time at her hands as she ran the tips of her fingers over the neatly manicured nails on her other hand. âItâs been... I mean, I havenât had that dream for awhile now.â Unfortunately, her nightmares as of late were now reflecting an experience of her own.Â
âSo, you think maybe a graveyard might not be the best place to run to when your tryna escape the memory of... â Figuring they could finish both finish her morbid sentence without her having to vocalize it, Sarah cut herself off before saying âa dead girlâ and shot a quick look back up at the guy, smirking a bit playfully
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