Page 118 of Misted

Mist

I was empty for so long, it scares me to be filled up.

I wakeup with a void and a splitting headache.

The sheets rustle as I sit up and cradle my head, but the warm body who cradled me to sleep after so much crying at the beach isn’t here.

Dammit!

I spring to my feet, trip, and almost fall to my face. How could I have fallen asleep when Hawk is in such a volatile state? He must be on his way to Hades for a suicide mission.

Even Scar who could’ve stopped him went to stay with Crow.

My throat constricts and it becomes hard to draw in breaths. Walls close in on me like a tailored prison.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The same sound from that day when I lost our baby and him jams into my skull.

No. Not this time. I can’t lose him after I finally reached him.

My bare feet slap on the wooden floor as I sprint towards the exit. I come to a screeching halt at the threshold. The bathroom’s door is ajar and the smell of nicotine comes through.

I tiptoe as if the sound of my own steps is scary.

A long breath leaves my lungs when I see him.

Alive.

Here.

Unable to remain standing, I sag against the doorframe for balance.

The bathroom is dark, but there’s enough light coming from the moon through the high window to outline Hawk’s closed off features.

He’s sitting in the empty clawfoot bathtub, both arms hanging out on either side of him. The antique tub is too small for his tall, broad physique, so his legs are crossed at the edge. He’s still wearing the shorts from earlier, his naked torso slick with sweat.

A half full bottle of whiskey dangles from his hand and a cigarette from the other, its ashes falling to the wooden floor.

He’s not smoking or drinking.

I stand rooted at the entrance, rubbing my arms, and not knowing what to do.

Hawk has always been silent and brooding. Even when hurt, when shot, when brought to his knees, he shows absolutely nothing.

But I know, I just know what I told him is eating him from the inside, and it tears me apart that I have no idea how to take all the pain away and make him feel better.

How can I help him deal with the loss when I couldn’t deal with my own?

How can I tell him it’s okay when I’m not sure if it’ll ever be?

His sharp eyes fall on me, and oh my great God, they soften into the clearest azure colour. They soften as if he were drowning and found his shore in me.

He kills the cigarette on the neck of the bottle and places them both on the side of the tub.