Ebony and Irony

I didn't sleep on the couch that night, not really; I stayed in the stairwell, crying in a silent manner that took me years to perfect. I'd been smart enough to grab my iPod before I left his room -- the thought of that moment just a few hours ago shook me more resolutely, and my sobs became quietly hysterical before I calmed down any-- and I listened to my playlist created for such occasions. At least I wasn't hiding in the bathroom this time; I liked bathroom as sanctuaries when I cried.

Sadly, however, I was just punishing myself more; Shabutie poured into my ears, and I rocked back and forth, keeping time with the voices in the music and in my head. Here's a dose of my insanity, for your viewing pleasure:

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!

I deserve love... don't I?

I CAN'T GET CLAUDIO OUT OF MY HEAD!

Who am I trying to kid??? I love the boy.

I pressed my wet face into my sleeve to try and stifle the craziness now leaking out; I felt torn at all seams: Sanity, Vanity, and Stability. They all flew out the window now. I rose from my step; a door closed below me, which meant someone wanting to go to bed upstairs. With music and pillow in hand, I stumbled down the stairs-- were they this steep before?-- and pushed my way into the downstairs bathroom, hiccuping and choking back more torrents of saltwater.

The lock clicked shut, and I slid down the wall. The light stayed off, providing me a layer of small safety, momentarily.

I jumped when someone knocked at the door.

"Dear, may I use the restroom?" Mrs. Sanchez asked me; Mr. Sanchez must have come in from work and rushed into their upstairs bathroom right away.

"Mhm," I choked out, not trusting my voice enough, while I stood, gasped deep breaths of air, and wiped my face clear of the last few stray tears. The lock slid open almost as loud as before, and I kept my face blank as I walked past my mother in so many ways. She looked me over quickly, then rushed into the restroom as I sought refuge elsewhere. And when I say elsewhere, I mean outside.

It was kind of chilly for a summer night, but I liked it; I stood on our small balcony, and looked out over the city streets. A breeze swept through me and the trees, and I shuddered slightly, mourning the forgetfulness to snatch a hoodie from Claude's room, or at least the laundry room. My hands looked paler than normal as they rubbed my arms, praying for a warmer friction.

"Hey."

I turned-- you would too, out on that balcony in the wee hours of the morning, being interrupted in brooding-- and grimaced. Yeah, I thought she'd tell him, but I didn't think she actually would. I scoffed lightly, the sound carried away by wind, and turned back to my sprawling city front, sky dipped in ink and streaks of light flying through the streets. Even at two in the morning, people had somewhere to be.

He stood beside me, looking over the city and soaking it in, and looking at my face. I let my tears fall freely now, they were nothing compared to my earlier flooding.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

I shook my head, sending my saltwater spray to fly over the banister, and hit the awning from the first floor. I think a few droplets hit his face as well, but I couldn't be sure without looking at him directly, something I didn't want to do. I didn't want to share my newest epiphany with him. He'd laugh in my face, and that was the last thing I needed.

"Babe."

I caught myself from looking up, up into those big gorgeous cow eyes, and up into the sky. I stuck to my feet and the pavement of the sidewalk, who knows how many feet below me. My eyes were much safer calculating how far down that sidewalk was than looking into his shining orbs. He reached towards me, to catch my cheek or tilt my head to his perhaps, but I shoved his hand away, turning my face the opposite direction like a child.

Coward.

Through and through, I thought wryly, stifling more tears from forming at my own weaknesses.

"Lydia," he whispered, turning me to face him, the ridiculously strong bastard, and cliche-ly lifting my chin with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes were burning in the quiet night, and his smile was careful. "I'm sorry for ruining your date and for upsetting you. Please come inside? I don't want you to freeze to death." He chuckled at the end, face lighting up as he did so, and I shook my head, part of me wondering why I did so, part of me sad to see him frown when I did so, and still another part of me wondering just exactly how far down that sidewalk was.

Oh, the fascinations death presents to me.

I find it a good distraction from this fickle thing called love, to be quite honest.

"I'm not cold." The words slid from my shaking lips like a brush of air; I was quite certain he didn't hear me.

"If you're not cold, then why are you shivering so badly?" His eyes began to melt, still burning, as he whispered back to me, taking a baby step closer.

I shook my head, edging away from him. My back hit the side banister, and I looked over it, still mentally calculating if I'd survive ajump fall from such great heights. Surely, I thought, I'd die. Right?

"Please come inside with me, Lydia? You need to warm up."

Was I imagining the double meaning of his words? I couldn't tell anymore.

My hair flew more violently about my face as the wind picked up, and I shook my head again, fiercer.

I would not surrender tonight.

"Why do you care?" I found myself whispering back to him, eyes bleeding tears again.

"Please don't cry," he murmured, moving closer to me, and as I looked over the edge, seriously contemplating jumping again, he wrapped his arms around my torso, holding me firmly. Was it a hug, or restraints? I couldn't tell, to be honest, in my state of near-delirium. It was only when his phone rang, Dream Theater sounding from his pocket that he ignored to hold me, that I realized why I was so disoriented. And considering suicide.

I was having a panic attack.

I shut my eyes tightly, and wound my arms around his waist as he helped me back inside.

He carried me in his arms, shutting the glass door behind us and setting me on the dryer in the laundry room, still subtly in his sights, to lock the door. His eyes met mine, and he embraced me softly this time, his scent overpowering me in my fragile state of mind.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," he mumbled into my wind-twisted hair, leaving a soft kiss on top of my head before pulling away to get a good look at me. I must've looked a damn sight; I still couldn't get it together enough to stop shaking or form words.

"I'm so sorry," I finally whispered, voice shaking even in that one whisper, and he embraced me again as tears leaked again from my eyes. "I didn't... I couldn't..." My voice trailed off into sobs that finally gave way to sound, because here, in his warm, strong arms, I felt utterly safe.

"Shh. Every thing's okay, I promise." His voice was so calm, so soft. It felt more like home than his house had when I first came here from my parent's deaths.

I pulled away from him, willing myself to do so with every cell in my body, and laid my hand against his cheek; his stubble tickled me slightly, and I gave a soft smile.

"Bedtime?" I asked him quietly, and he nodded, sweeping me off my feet again-- when hadn't he done that from the moment I'd met him, honestly?-- and carrying me upstairs to his room, where he'd hold me that night, ignoring another few calls from an "Olivia" to make me feel safe and sane; I fell asleep to Dream Theater.