Falling Down On You
Any Day Now, It's All Right.
I heard the front door open and close behind you in the middle of the night.
You didn't take your jacket or shoes; only the MP3 player was gone from the kitchen counter where you'd carelessly placed it earlier that day. As my bare feet touched the carpet beside your couch, I sneaked to look out the living room window, down to the street below. There I saw your shadowed figure slowly moving, increasing pace until you were running as fast as you could, out of sight.
I went back to lie on the couch, closed my eyes and was still awake when you came back and carefully wrapped your cold arm around my waist.
"It'll be okay, Brendon."
+++
Two days after, I woke up to the sound of skin and bones colliding against a wall and something breaking. Then it was quiet. Only the running of the shower echoed in the dimly lit apartment. I cautiously sat up and waited, my eyes fixated on the ray of light coming from the crack under your bathroom door.
When you stepped out with only a towel around your waist, you were dripping water all over the floor and your right fist was bloody, drops of red now mixing with the water.
You stood there in the doorway and stared at me, your lips pursed tight together but you weren't crying. You'd always thought it was useless; that letting out tears wasn't going to do anyone any damn bit of good. You were a master at keeping them all tucked inside.
My mouth was dry and my eyes wet. "Shit, Ry."
You let your knees buckle underneath your weight and soon you were on the floor. Still keeping your eyes on me and showing no interest in your slowly bruising, still bleeding hand.
My feet led me to you and I knelt beside your slightly trembling body. Breaking our eye contact, I took your bloody fist in my hands, just holding it and noticing my pants under it becoming redder.
With my face pressed against your bare and still wet shoulder, I heard your voice crack as you whispered, "It'll be okay."
You didn't take your jacket or shoes; only the MP3 player was gone from the kitchen counter where you'd carelessly placed it earlier that day. As my bare feet touched the carpet beside your couch, I sneaked to look out the living room window, down to the street below. There I saw your shadowed figure slowly moving, increasing pace until you were running as fast as you could, out of sight.
I went back to lie on the couch, closed my eyes and was still awake when you came back and carefully wrapped your cold arm around my waist.
"It'll be okay, Brendon."
+++
Two days after, I woke up to the sound of skin and bones colliding against a wall and something breaking. Then it was quiet. Only the running of the shower echoed in the dimly lit apartment. I cautiously sat up and waited, my eyes fixated on the ray of light coming from the crack under your bathroom door.
When you stepped out with only a towel around your waist, you were dripping water all over the floor and your right fist was bloody, drops of red now mixing with the water.
You stood there in the doorway and stared at me, your lips pursed tight together but you weren't crying. You'd always thought it was useless; that letting out tears wasn't going to do anyone any damn bit of good. You were a master at keeping them all tucked inside.
My mouth was dry and my eyes wet. "Shit, Ry."
You let your knees buckle underneath your weight and soon you were on the floor. Still keeping your eyes on me and showing no interest in your slowly bruising, still bleeding hand.
My feet led me to you and I knelt beside your slightly trembling body. Breaking our eye contact, I took your bloody fist in my hands, just holding it and noticing my pants under it becoming redder.
With my face pressed against your bare and still wet shoulder, I heard your voice crack as you whispered, "It'll be okay."
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this back in -07, then lost it and now re-wrote from memory.The song in the player is Round Here by Counting Crows.