Shouldn't Come Back


There’s a spot on the bed, an outline in the dark sheets where the bed has caved ever so slightly into the outline of a small body. It hasn’t taken much time for this shape to form, but it somehow strongly symbolizes that this bed has been for two over time. Erik leans, craning his head to smell the sheets where she sleeps. The scent hits him forcefully. The smell reminds him of the laughing gas he used to receive at the dentist’s office; it makes his nose tingle in an indescribable way and he feels dizzy.

It’s well past three o’clock in the morning. It’s his first time in his own bed since last week, so he refuses to part with the sheets. He had snuck into bed while she was sound asleep, but now he’s a restless sleeper since he started sharing a bed again so he immediately awoke when he felt her move. She locked herself in the bathroom twenty minutes ago, but this is a common occurrence. When he focuses his ears, he hears her cries. This is supposed to evoke an emotion in him, but instead he lays in the silence. When he forgets, he can hear nothing but the beat of his heart as he stares up at the ceiling.

Sometime later, he hears the bathroom door click open. He immediately shuts his eyes, relying on his sense of hearing yet again as he hears her walk back to bed. The floor creaks beneath her feet, a sad sigh that nearly makes him jump. He feels the bed sink again, but he still pretends that he’s asleep. He can hear her shaky sigh, the tears evident in her breaths.

He’s supposed to reach over and wrap his arm around her waist. He’s supposed to bury his face into the crook of her neck and kiss her soundly. He’s supposed to ask her why she’s crying, and he’s supposed to care. Instead, he welcomes the silence. He doesn’t say anything, and he certainly doesn’t reach out to touch her. After he’s sure she’s fallen back asleep he rolls over to the side away from her, facing the wall. He blinks through the dark, his mind too awake for his body to find sleep again.

Eventually she shifts in her sleep, rolling onto her side to face him. Maybe she’s awake when this happens. Her hands reach for him, she wants to pull him close. He can feel her fingers intertwined in the thin fabric of his shirt. She is desperate because she needs him close. She always needs something, lately nothing that he can provide. He continues to lay as still as a rock, pretending to be oblivious to her silent cries for him in the middle of the night.

The memory of that night is burned into the back of Erik's mind. It's something he continued to ponder even days later, until he reached the conclusion that maybe he was broken. He did not feel an ounce of guilt or care.
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I probably shouldn't start another story, but I got this idea randomly on my drive home from work. This was decidedly supposed to be a Jeff Carter fic, but one thing led to another and it ended up being Erik Karlsson. So yeah. I can't make decisions to save my life.

I think it's safe to say everyone loves themselves a bit of the silky Swede, yeah? I mean, who can resist this?

Is it bad that I am really intrigued by the idea of him as a playboy bunny? Yeah? Just ignore me...