Fragile Little Things ?

23 fall

I curse under my breath and start driving.

The snow doesn’t stop, falling the whole way through, seeping into the fabric of my shirt and numbing my skin. Luckily, the drive is short. I wouldn’t have risked not bringing helmets if it wasn’t. I couldn’t find Mason’s helmets. The fucker’s always hiding shit around the garage because he thinks we’ll ruin or break his stuff if we find it.

Pulling into my place, I kill the engine. I get off, offering a hand to Indie. She takes it, strangely quiet. I figure it’s what people must feel when I don’t speak. Her hair’s covered with pieces of snow, and I want to dust it off, but I clench my fist to stop myself.

I can’t.

I want to, but I can’t.

I’d like to say that seeing her is enough, but it would be a lie. Seeing her means a lot—but it’s not enough. I want to touch her, hold her. Hell, I want so much. I want everything.

It’s too soon.

Way too soon.

She’s barely had time to lick her wounds. Nothing might ever happen between us. I make peace with this fact and set clear boundaries in my mind as I open up my apartment.

When I turn, I notice her shivering, so I crank up the heat on the thermostat. “You can take a shower,” I say to her, “I’ll make something to eat.”

She cautiously takes off my jacket. “Uh, it’s okay.”

It’s less defiance than her trying to be overly polite. I stare at her blankly and she blinks. “I don’t have anything to change into.”

“I’ll find something.”

Indie’s reluctant, but when she figures I’m not about to back down and watch her shiver for an hour, she nods. “Okay.”

A few minutes after she disappears into the bathroom, I hear the shower running. She listened. Good. Shoving a frozen pepperoni pizza in the oven, I head to my room. I pick out my smallest shirt, a white AC/DC band shirt, but I can’t find small sweatpants or socks. If she rolls them up, it should do.

I realize that it’s been a while since the shower stopped running. Frowning, I walk over to the bathroom door, knocking once. “Indie? Everything okay?”

“Yes!” she pipes, too quickly, and I’m about to turn when she says, “Wait, no. I – uh, I need a towel.”

It slipped my mind that she’d need a new towel. I cough. “Right. Yeah.”

Getting out a fresh towel, I knock at the bathroom door again.

“Come in,” she mumbles.

I catch a flash of her silhouette behind the shower curtain before I set the towel down and leave. My nerves are on end and frayed as fuck. I head back to the kitchen and take out the pizza as I try to shake the image, but it’s futile. It’s burned into my brain, and it’s torture. The clear-cut boundaries I set in my mind hiss and whine.

The bathroom door opens and it’s a while before I hear soft padding down the hallway. I set down a plate on our small dinner table as I lift my head. Indigo fidgets with her fingers as she glances at me from across the room, still nervous.

My clothes hang on her, but she still somehow manages to pull it off. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, so I can see her face clearly. I swallow as she walks over tentatively, taking a seat at the small round table.

She looks up at me, face fresh and clean of any smudged makeup or tears. Her eyes are still puffy, but her freckles are clearer now, and somehow her lashes seem longer and darker without the makeup.