Tremble
A completely unplanned follow-up to All he knows.
Can be read as a stand-alone.
Rated R.
It’s been 5 hours since I proposed to you, on bended knee, ring in between my fingers.
It’s been 5 hours and 10 minutes since you stormed out of the door with a bloody hand, the mirror in our room smashed into smithereens, leaving me speechless.
I keep calling, leaving you urgent messages on your phone, but you are out of reach.
My hands alternate movements - shake, tremble, shake.
Tremble, shiver, tremble.
A broken song.
I call Katie.
…
“Hey, sorry to bother you like this, but is…is Reid with you?”
Negative.
“Well, it’s nothing, really. It’s just that…well, he left hours ago and I haven’t been able to-”
A suggestion.
My lips purse into grim understanding.
“I didn’t think of him. Thanks, I’ll give Luke a call.”
…
I don’t call Luke. I just…I don’t.
…
I hear your key slip tentatively into the lock as you open the door.
Your first two tries missed completely; I don’t have to see it to know it. I hear the metal scratching against metal and I know it is you. I know your hand still hurts, or you wouldn’t have had problems with the lock.
I stare blankly at the floor. My hands still tremble.
You walk in, surprised maybe, to see me motionless. I bet you wonder why I didn’t just open the door for you. I let you speak first.
I have nothing coherent to say.
I feel the weight of the sofa sink next to me, the heat from your body doing nothing to warm the chill you left inside my heart.
I feel your hand tentatively slip into mine, lacing your lean fingers through my wavering ones. You kiss my shoulder as an apology.
One whole year with you, and I have never heard you say sorry. I had to learn to know your words from your actions. You don’t know how to speak.
Unless it is to break me apart.
You whisper a question; fear is noticeably not something I often recognize in your voice.
“Are you…okay?”
I want to fucking punch you in the face for even trying. Instead, I tighten my grip on your hand.
“What do you think, Reid? I propose to you and all you had in return to that is to accuse me of being crazy, and then you slam your fist into the mirror, and then you walk away. Do you honestly think I am okay?”
Your head hangs in shame. Or maybe in frustration. I realize that I don’t quite want to read you anymore.
“It’s just…I have commitment issues, and you know that. You know how I feel about gay marriages. I was just…caught off-guard.”
I sniff out a sarcastic laugh.
“Yes, commitment issues. That again. Sure, Reid. You know, a normal human being would have just rejected me with a simple ‘No’. But since you’re Reid motherfucking Oliver, drama queen extraordinaire, you just had to go about it the most unnecessary way possible.”
You let me rant at you. This isn’t the first time. Brokenly, I wonder if this is the last.
I feel your hand caress my cheek. I stupidly lean into your touch and pretend to feel a deep connection with you. I imagine my heart healing, my pain dissolving in that one touch. My vivid imagination had pulled me through this entire time together with you, what’s another minute or two?
I turn to look at you and I am surprised to see your eyes wet.
We kiss.
…
You are laid out in bed, completely naked and beautiful.
I study the angles, the curves, the hard and soft of your frame and I awe at the magnificence.
Out of reach.
I leave the room, immune to the chill of the night. I grab my pack of cigarettes and make my way to the kitchen.
I smoke by the window.
Pensive.
Blindly, I reach for your shirt - the one you wore earlier - from the laundry basket.
I bring it close to my face and inhale the familiar scent of someone who is not you.
Everything falls apart.
Can be read as a stand-alone.
Rated R.
It’s been 5 hours since I proposed to you, on bended knee, ring in between my fingers.
It’s been 5 hours and 10 minutes since you stormed out of the door with a bloody hand, the mirror in our room smashed into smithereens, leaving me speechless.
I keep calling, leaving you urgent messages on your phone, but you are out of reach.
My hands alternate movements - shake, tremble, shake.
Tremble, shiver, tremble.
A broken song.
I call Katie.
…
“Hey, sorry to bother you like this, but is…is Reid with you?”
Negative.
“Well, it’s nothing, really. It’s just that…well, he left hours ago and I haven’t been able to-”
A suggestion.
My lips purse into grim understanding.
“I didn’t think of him. Thanks, I’ll give Luke a call.”
…
I don’t call Luke. I just…I don’t.
…
I hear your key slip tentatively into the lock as you open the door.
Your first two tries missed completely; I don’t have to see it to know it. I hear the metal scratching against metal and I know it is you. I know your hand still hurts, or you wouldn’t have had problems with the lock.
I stare blankly at the floor. My hands still tremble.
You walk in, surprised maybe, to see me motionless. I bet you wonder why I didn’t just open the door for you. I let you speak first.
I have nothing coherent to say.
I feel the weight of the sofa sink next to me, the heat from your body doing nothing to warm the chill you left inside my heart.
I feel your hand tentatively slip into mine, lacing your lean fingers through my wavering ones. You kiss my shoulder as an apology.
One whole year with you, and I have never heard you say sorry. I had to learn to know your words from your actions. You don’t know how to speak.
Unless it is to break me apart.
You whisper a question; fear is noticeably not something I often recognize in your voice.
“Are you…okay?”
I want to fucking punch you in the face for even trying. Instead, I tighten my grip on your hand.
“What do you think, Reid? I propose to you and all you had in return to that is to accuse me of being crazy, and then you slam your fist into the mirror, and then you walk away. Do you honestly think I am okay?”
Your head hangs in shame. Or maybe in frustration. I realize that I don’t quite want to read you anymore.
“It’s just…I have commitment issues, and you know that. You know how I feel about gay marriages. I was just…caught off-guard.”
I sniff out a sarcastic laugh.
“Yes, commitment issues. That again. Sure, Reid. You know, a normal human being would have just rejected me with a simple ‘No’. But since you’re Reid motherfucking Oliver, drama queen extraordinaire, you just had to go about it the most unnecessary way possible.”
You let me rant at you. This isn’t the first time. Brokenly, I wonder if this is the last.
I feel your hand caress my cheek. I stupidly lean into your touch and pretend to feel a deep connection with you. I imagine my heart healing, my pain dissolving in that one touch. My vivid imagination had pulled me through this entire time together with you, what’s another minute or two?
I turn to look at you and I am surprised to see your eyes wet.
We kiss.
…
You are laid out in bed, completely naked and beautiful.
I study the angles, the curves, the hard and soft of your frame and I awe at the magnificence.
Out of reach.
I leave the room, immune to the chill of the night. I grab my pack of cigarettes and make my way to the kitchen.
I smoke by the window.
Pensive.
Blindly, I reach for your shirt - the one you wore earlier - from the laundry basket.
I bring it close to my face and inhale the familiar scent of someone who is not you.
Everything falls apart.