@jennymyers said : ▨ : rubbing their back to calm them down when they’re upset
the clock ticks endlessly, but time feels like it’s stopped. he’s not sure how long they’ve been here, seated upon instruction in the station’s waiting room. the sounds of police chatter and bustling cops has become little more than white noise to him, rimmed blue eyes hazy in their distanced stare, fixed on some unseen point on the far wall. only vaguely does he register jenny’s presence beside him ; he knows they’re both exhausted, nerves frayed within an inch of splitting after a night of desperation and bloodshed.
what he doesn’t notice is the way his leg bounces restlessly, the ceaseless fidgeting of his fingers, the way he picks at the skin around his nails until pinpricks of blood well from the exposure. he feels as though he’s aged a decade. the paramedics have already tended to his leg as best they could, tendons and muscles torn apart by the hungry jaws of a rusted bear trap. the rest are cuts and bruises that’ll heal with time. they’re the only things that will, he thinks.
tears brim at his eyes before he can even react, cascading down dirtied, bloodied cheeks, and a shaky breath hitches into a quiet whimper. the shock and emptiness gradually gives way to realization and fear, fear of what they’d lost and what they will be unable to gain again. the levees break and his lean frame shudders as he begins to cry softly, emitting little more than uncertain gasps.
after tonight, the feeling of an unexpected touch will plague him, send his mind spiraling into memories of being effortlessly lifted into the air by his neck, as though he weighed little more than a feather, thick fingers intent on crushing his windpipe. but jenny’s hand is gentle and soft, shifting between her palm and the tips of her fingers as it smooths the torn fabric of his dress shirt. he’d already given her his sweater and promised to burn whatever of hers that had touched the horrid one they’d found at the makeshift shack near the lake.
he tries to speak but finds that he simply can’t, any semblance of a voice or intelligible thought stuck deep in the confines of his throat. instead, he merely adopts the best smile he can muster, the muscles at the corners of his mouth screaming in protest, and wraps one weary arm around her shoulders to pull her closer.
the smell of pine and decay eventually fades just as easily as the sounds around them, and they sit in silence, thoughts and concerns unspoken. perhaps they don’t need to be said.