Chenford + 18 please!
chenford + things you said when you were scared
"So I'm right," she won't meet his gaze even though he's trying to catch hers. She busies herself with folding and re-folding the blanket thrown over the bottom corner of her bed, the one he'd put on her side for the nights when she gets cold and needs an extra layer (which is all of them, really). Her fingers fumble the corner once, twice, again. "You seriously don't think I can do it."
She hates herself a little for it.
She hates herself a little for everything lately, if she's being honest. There's this feeling in the back of her throat she can't get rid of, a tickle that's causing her to say things she doesn't want to, that's goading her on to be the worst version of herself because she can't not. If she's going down, she's dragging everyone with her. Is that dramatic? Sure, but she's never claimed to be anything less.
She sees the twinge in Tim's eye and something in her stomach soars, surges, squeezes. She's got him.
This is stupid, her rational brain tells her. You're self-sabotaging. Tim loves you. He believes in you. Stop picking fights with him because you're–
Shut up, she tells her rational brain, which apparently is the only part that doesn't have an issue listening to direct orders.
"Lucy, we're not doing this." His teeth are grit and his neck is tense. She can tell he's actively trying to soften his face, not to look stern and defeated in the way she knows he would if he wasn't aware of what she was doing. She would hate herself for doing this to him, but she decides to hate him a little bit for not calling her out on it instead.
"Doing what?" Her tone is snappier than she intends it to be, but it works in her favor.
He sighs deliciously. "This. This. We're not having this fight that has no point – either you believe me or you don't."
Lucy rolls her eyes, chewing on the inside of her cheek as the silence floods between them.
Usually, the silence is comfortable. The silence is nice, even, while she folds her laundry and he reads through a file, pretending he's not struggling to see the text without the dollar store pair of cheaters she'd tucked away in his desk a few months back when she'd noticed how far away from his face he was holding his phone.
They don't talk and they don't have to, because she knows every tiny movement Tim's jaw will make while he reads gory details, because he knows every ClipTalk trick she'll use in order to fold a fitted sheet without asking for help. They don't need words to know what the other is thinking, what they'll do next, when they need each other.
Today, the silence is overwhelming. She ignores the piece of her that aches for him and swallows it down – partly because it doesn't matter, partly because she doesn't want it to.
She leaves the blanket in a lopsided lump on the edge of the bed and crosses her arms. "I'd believe you if you were believable," she offers, shrugging. "If you don't think I can do better a second time, you can just tell me. I'd rather know the truth than have you pretend to support me again."
Tim rolls his eyes. "You know what," he starts, but shuts his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm not giving you what you want here."
"Oh, I know," she huffs, a dry laugh escaping her throat. "Trust me."
Tim squints at her, then stands up, rolling his sleeves up slowly. She watches, tipping her head to the side. At least he looks nice. "Enjoying the show?"
"Immensely," she deadpans, then purses her lips and lets herself meet his eye. He's staring her down and she swallows hard. "What?"
"What are you getting from this," his voice is lower, softer. She rips her gaze away and shakes her head. "Lucy, come on – you don't get to use me as a punching bag because you're scared you're going to fuck up ag-," he stops himself, but the damage is done.
She shuts her eyes, turning on her heel and heading towards the bathroom. She's not upset, honestly – she's kind of relieved, revitalized, ready to rub it in his face. At least he's being honest, this time. At least he's not pretending he's not disappointed in her. "See?"
"That's not what I-," she shuts the bathroom door behind her, muffling the sound of him. He knocks on it softly. "Baby, come on."
"Do not," she nearly growls.
She hears the light thunk of his head leaning against the door and she takes a step away from it, bristling at the sound of him sighing out a slow breath. "You don't think you can do it. You don't, and you know that." She doesn't answer and he sighs again, this one louder. "Talk to me, would you?"
"Go home," her voice is on the tip of her tongue, surprising her when it comes out firm, strong, certain. She hadn't known she wanted him to go home. She's not actually sure she does.
"What?" He sounds genuinely confused. Lucy ignores the fact that part of her mind is racing around, searching for ways to keep him here and get him to convince the rest of her mind to leave her the fuck alone. "You want me to go?"
She doesn't give herself the chance to think about it. "Go," she says again, firm, "home, Tim."
He waits. She knows this game – he'll count to ten, then twenty, then thirty. If she doesn't tell him to stay by the time he reaches sixty, he'll leave her be. It's fucked up that she knows, she realizes. It's fucked up that there's a pattern to this at all.
She swallows, then glances over at her shower and taps her fingers against the door lightly. He taps back. He's got to be somewhere around 35, by now.
"Please go home," she repeats, and it sounds different. A little raw, a little real. "I just want to be by myself, okay?"
He's quiet. She huffs. "Are you going to answer if I call later?"
She surveys her thumb nail, then bites the loose skin on her cuticle gently. "Maybe," she mumbles.
"Are you going to snap at me again?"
"Probably."
"Wow," he sounds a little annoyed, but mostly bemused. "Honesty for once."
She groans, but he doesn't laugh. She hears the floor creak beneath his feet as he makes his way back into her bedroom, then through the kitchen, then out the front door. The lock turns and the hum of alone silence falls over her as she leans back against the door and shuts her eyes.
He didn't say goodbye. She files it away, another thing she can pick a fight over later if she needs to.
She ignores her rational brain, screaming for her to figure this out before she ruins the most important relationship in her life. She'll ruin it if she damn well wants to, thank you very much.
The alone silence, the silence she wanted, doesn't feel as good as she'd hoped.