Every Storm That Comes Also Comes to an End

Just Imagine...

*In a small town in southwest Illinois*

It's a weird one of those days. There's electricity in the air, most undoubtedly from the oncoming storm. You aren't fond of the feeling, and your boyfriend Christofer Drew was supposed to be here an hour ago. You'll admit to yourself that you're a bit scared of even the threat of a storm, but never to him.

You've been outside for the majority of the day, moving stuff into the garage in preparation of the storm that's supposed to hit tonight. Chris was supposed to help with it, but he's obviously not here. Just as you slide the swing into shelter, the first rumble of thunder breaks through. You cringe and look up at the sky; it's a threatening shade of blue-green, and the wind is really picking up. Your heart stops and plummets to your stomach. You have an urgent pull in your gut, screaming at you to get in the house now, and you don't hesitate to do as it suggests.

You quickly slam the garage door shut and make a note to yourself to make sure your next house has an automatic one before scrambling to the door of the house. After sprinting through it, you shut it loudly. You make your way to the living room as it starts to rain. Shit, where the hell is Chris?

You had tried calling him a couple times before, but he hadn't picked up, so you gave up, but you figure you'd might as well give it another shot. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. You hit the end button and start to pace. The wind starts to whistle, and it's getting darker by the mere second, despite it being only 6:37 pm.

Just then, the power decides to go out on you. Shit. This is why you hate living cheap in the middle of freakin' nowhere. Everything falls apart at the slightest touch, and everything is just a load of crap. But of course, Chris likes to live green, and you'd decided a long time ago to go along with it. You're beginning to reconsider your choices at the moment.

The rain begins, just a light pitter-patter at first, but soon everything outside is drenched as though it's been raining for years. You sprint into the kitchen and open a cupboard, grabbing what food you can. You find some Nutella, bread, molasses cookies, granola bars, and green beans and put them on the counter before ripping open the refrigerator and grabbing the gallon jug of Arnold Palmer and a few water bottles. You take a brown paper bag from beneath the sink and slide everything into it.

You dash to the door of the basement and tear it open before taking the steps down, two at a time. You shuffle over to the pathetic living area you put together for times like this and plop down on the couch. A few minutes go by and you check the shelves to make sure there are flashlights, and thankfully there are three with plenty of extra batteries.

Resisting the urge to check your phone every minute is hard, but you know that you should probably save the battery life.

You grab the blanket that's laying over the back of the couch and curl up, trying to relax, but it's merely impossible. So you just sit there, paralyzed with fear and cringing with every flash of lightning and every punch of thunder.

After a few minutes of silence, you close your eyes in hopes of a miracle that you'll fall asleep. You're on the verge of slumber, when there's an extra deafening crack of thunder, and your eyes snap open. As it dies out, you hear the screen door smack shut and you know that Chris is finally home.

"Y/N?" He calls.

"I-In the basement," you yell back.

He thuds down the stairs and rushes over when he sees you. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. I'm fine," you tell him.

Just then you both look towards the stairs at the sound of the screen door rattling from the howling wind. Its dark, and all you can really make out of anything is shadows. It scares you, and you squint your eyes and grimace as lightning blasts once again.

Chris looks back to you at the movement. "Y/N, something's obviously wrong."

You simultaneously jump up with a crack of thunder, and your pent up anger tumbles out as the noise dies down.

"You wanna know what's wrong, Chris?! This goddamn house! Everything we touch here breaks! The couch is tearing at the seams, the blankets are frayed, the bed springs are sticking out and I cannot, under any circumstances, sleep straight through the entire night without being woken up by them poking me. And don't even get me started on how you just leave me. Some days you say goodbye and give me one of those longing kisses, telling me you really don't want to leave, and other days you don't even look at me. How do you think that makes me feel? What the hell do YOU think is wrong?"

You're seething with anger, but you feel a bit guilty for blowing up at him like that. But the next thing he says makes you not want to take it back at all.

"Y/N, I try my fuckin' best." His tone is calm, but it's dark. "I'm the one bringing in the money for this house, I'm the one who pays the bills."

You bark out a laugh. "Don't give me any of that bullshit, Christofer. You know I've been trying for over a year to get a job, and that I try my best too. We both work for this piece of shit house." You're shouting over the rain and thunder at this point. "You might pay for it, but if I wasn't here all day, you wouldn't be coming home to a nice, hot cooked dinner every day." Just as you practically scream the last few words, the escape window shatters, and you jump into Chris's arms.

He seems a bit shocked by the action, but he's soon rubbing your back and holding you close as you sob from fear of the storm and that he'll leave after you blowing up like that. "Y/N," he says quietly after a few moments, "why is this all coming out now?"

"I'm scared," you whimper.

"Of what?"

You bury your face in his shoulder, embarrassed by the childlike fear. You figure not telling him will just make things worse though, so you mumble, "The storm."

"What?"

"The storm, Chris. It scares the hell out of me," you whisper.

"Aww. Shh-shh. I won't let it hurt you," he says soothingly as he guides you to the couch and lays down, pulling you with him and cuddling you. You nuzzle into his neck and wrap your arms around him.

You just lay there for the longest time as the storm makes its rounds. Chris just holds you, sheltering you from your fears. It's well after two in the morning until either of you says anything.

"Y/N, I want you to promise me that from now on you'll tell me when you're upset," he says sleepily, breaking the silence. "We can buy new stuff, we can get out of here. All you have to do is ask."

You let out an uncontrollable sigh of relief. "Really?"

"Of course. I'm sorry if I said anything that upset you," he apologizes quietly and presses his lips to your forehead.

"And I'm sorry for yelling at you," you say, snuggling into him.

You realize that it's finally quiet outside, and you relax, unaware that you had been tense to such extremes. You're almost within sleep's welcoming embrace when Chris pulls you away.

"Y/N?"

"Hmmm?" You respond lazily.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Always and forever."

"Always and forever."

Within seconds you're asleep and dreaming of sweet nothings.