. deadwater

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Lazy limbs still intertwined from the night before sprawled beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets as the morning sun shined dully through the curtains. Freshly manicured fingertips go from resting on Lachlan’s bare chest to tracing circles, his name, her name, ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. The strawberry blonde watches each and every little movement he’s making in his sleep, and nooks herself into each shift in position, her head comfortable at the crook of his neck. His breaths are light and airy, the opposite of her own, the anxiety making it hard to let anything in or out. For a second she’s positive she’s going to die, that there’s no way a sliver of oxygen has made it to her lungs. The corners of his lips curl up ever so lightly, and she wonders what he’s dreaming about, or if she should even ruin this one seemingly peaceful sleep for him. As slowly and quietly as she can, she’s reaching for her phone from the nightstand. Fingertips glide over the screen, and she clicks his name, scrolling through the messages for the one that hasn’t stopped playing in her mind. Seeing it again makes her feel sick, she wants to toss and turn, throw the phone right through the window. But she stays still, her big brown eyes well with tears. Tired eyelids feel heavy before she squeezes them shut as if to stop the tears from falling, but the hot salty taste at her puffy lips proves that to be unsuccessful. For a split second she’s tempted to go downstairs, to take it out on her friends who by the sound of it still hadn’t stopped with the holiday celebrations. Maybe she really wasn’t making this any better. The concept is hard to grasp, her chest tightens as her mind races back to the night of the accident. All she can see is Cormac’s guilty eyes peering back at her through the rearview mirror before hearing the rubber of the tires burn the concrete beneath them. If the memory of that wasn’t bad enough, the thought of making a horrible situation even worse forces her up in panic. There’s no longer that same careful stillness as she’s maneuvered her way upright, a flood of tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Shaky hands rummage at the bedside for his shirt, and she pulls it over her head before she can comprehend what she’s doing. The weight of her body rests on her knees as she hovers over him, shaking his freshly tanned arm to wake him with the hand that’s not doing its best to wipe the tears away. You were right. His sleepy brown eyes slowly opening. It’s as if she’s choking on her own words. I did.. we did, is all she can let out before all out hyperventilating. Without giving him a second to respond or comprehend, her bare feet hit the wood floors and she slams the bathroom door shut behind her, locking it before hovering over the porcelain toilet. .................... --- notes: holly's code. i also forgot how to write, actually. --- music: you're the best, wet.

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Lochlan couldn't remember the last time he had woken up like this. For as far back as he could easily remember - and god, that felt like forever - he'd woken up in an empty bed, head pounding, mouth drier than any desert, nausea creeping through his stomach as he flinched at the light. So waking up with a clear head and high spirits was in itself something of a miracle, but to do so with Louisa nestled against his chest... well, it gave him a brief sense of calm that he had thought he'd never feel again. Pulling the lithe little blonde in closer against him (as if that were humanly possible), the sleepy brunette wrapped himself around her, breathing in the ever familiar scent of her shampoo before letting himself drift back to sleep. It had been so long since he'd slept so soundly that he never wanted it to end. So dead to the world was he that he didn't rouse as she pulled away, instead burying his face into the pillow and bedding in once more. The pillow turns out to be more useful than expected. Before long she's tugging on his arm, pulling him out of his deliciously deep slumber. Reluctant to rouse, Lachlan groaned, chucking the pillow at her in the hopes of deterring her from waking him. No such like. Lazily he rubbed his eyes, dragging himself upright. "Lou, you have no ide--" he starts, but her tone of voice immediately cuts him off. Before he can process what she's actually said, the way she's said it makes his blood run cold, a stiffness seizing his shoulders. Though he couldn't quote her, he knows what she's said, and for a second he feels nothing at all. It's not until she's on her feet and running away from him that the feelings all come rushing at once - anger and shock, pain and indignation, a blind, all-consuming sense of gratification at being right, but a crushing sense of disappointment and even devastation too. It was all too much all at once, and so Lachlan sat exactly where he was, frozen, unspeaking. As much as he yearned to chase after her, the fact that she'd fled made him all the angrier. No, to chase would be to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, after some time sitting in stillness, Lachlan got up, slowly pulling on his jeans, and then his socks, and then his... ah. Numb, he walked over to the bathroom door, giving it a curt knock. "I need my shirt, Louisa." .................... --- notes: i stole the code. i legit couldn't even proof read this i'm so embarrassed by how terrible it is, please believe me when I promise the next one will be better!! --- music: schubert.

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The uneasy feeling Louisa felt every day following an hour with Cormac was amplified beyond belief now. Naive she was, but not naive enough to think there was any which way this could ever end well. White lies were one thing, but this deep, consistent set of lies that she’d become so accustomed to telling were eating her alive. It wasn’t at all surprising that an immediate sense of relief came over her the second she told the truth, but that relief meant little as she considered each and every repercussion that was bound to come her way. Trembling hands pull the hair at her temples back as she finds herself back over the toilet. The knot in the pit of her stomach is easily confused for vomit which feels like its bound to come up, but despite coughing until the back of her throat felt raw, nothing was coming out. ..That is until she hears the light knock at the door, and Lachlan asking for his shirt. Knowing Lachlan better than she knew herself was both a gift and a curse, and right now she wished she had no idea what that voice on the opposite side of the door was. The tone alone forcing her heart to shatter into a million pieces. Slightly skeletal fingertips turn the crystal knob, and she slides past him without making eye contact. How could she? She couldn’t bare facing him - and selfishly, him facing her after she’d done this to him. With knowing him, came knowing better than to try. Not this time, this is different. This wasn’t their usual game of cat and mouse, this was a long coming, inevitable downfall, that absolutely nothing could make ok. The thought alone leaves her speechless, completely at a loss for words in a moment where she felt like she should be saying something, anything. For a girl who so badly wanted to make it right, all she could do was stand there in pitiful silence. After a moment, heavy feet tread toward the closet, and she pulls his shirt off over her head - putting on the closest one she could find before turning around to face him. Brown eyes still avoiding anywhere but his, she hands him the shirt, pearly whites clamping her bottom lip. I’m sorry.. I know it doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not enough, but I am, it’s genuine as can be, and she drops her head back ever so slightly, wiping away the stray tears. .................... --- notes: you should hate me after this shit. --- music: candidly nicole.

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Unbelievably, Lochlan was now thinking fondly of waking up hungover and alone in his ratty New York apartment. A migraine, even, would be better than this. The numbness had started to subside, and replacing it came a severe sense of nausea, fresh waves of it flooding through him every time he recalled her words. It wasn't a surprise, but shock had still set in, and it was shock that gave him enough distance from the full weight of his emotions to keep himself together in front of her. Superficially he was angry, and not just at them for doing it, but at her for lying about it the whole time.... and yet, that gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction. If fifty per cent of him wanted to drink himself to the point of obliteration, the other fifty wanted to high five his friends and shout "knew it!" over and over at the top of his lungs. At least he wasn't crazy. And Jesus, at least he hadn't falsely accused his brother in his final moments. It was strange to think that it was better for Cormac to have died being justly accused of fucking his girlfriend, but it was. A sense of relief was intermingled with his disgust and anger, the whole medley of emotions leaving him confused as to how to continue. The doorknob turned slowly, giving him a warning that he was going to have to decide how to react when he did see her. He decided on the easiest to convey: anger. At least, that had been the plan... she stood in front of him, still and tiny and obviously overcome with remorse. Try as he might, he couldn't fail to feel sorry for her in that moment. He suppressed the urge to pull her close, to kiss the top of her head and tell her that he was over it. Part of him wished he was, but as always, there was a bigger part of him that wanted to punish her for this forever.  "Thanks," he said, glancing away as she changed. He pulled the shirt on over his head as soon as she gave it to him, ignoring the waft of her perfume that lingered on the cotton. "Thanks," he repeated at her apology, not really knowing what else to say. He wanted to leave but his feet weren't co-operating, so instead he slumped onto the bed, running a hand through already dishevelled hair and avoiding eye contact at all costs. "I mean, I knew it. I thought that would make me feel ok about it when you eventually confessed, but really, I think it's made it worse." A sigh. He's got a decision to make about what to say next, about whether to go down the abusive route or to try and take advantage of her newfound honesty. "What happened?" he asked, finally looking up at her. .................... --- notes: TERRIBLE. but i wanted to get another in! --- music: great british bake off.

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The overwrought girl offered a nod in return to his ‘thanks’. Almost two decades worth of history, and its the first time she hasn't the vaguest idea what to say to him. It was as if out of a million words in the dictionary, none could properly legitimize her feelings of regret and make him understand how truly sorry she was. Absentmindedly she twirls a lock of strawberry blonde between her fingers, a nervous habit she’d tried to kick since she was sixteen. For a moment you could cut the air between them with a knife, as Louisa remains still and quiet — waiting on Lachlan to say anything, knowing better than to press him. Instead, she respects his wishes and space, another new for their relationship. Mentally, she prepares for him to walk right out the door with little to no chance of return, fighting the urge to gear toward the doorway in attempt to make him stay. But if there’s a moment to be pleasantly surprised, its the moment he sits down and seemingly gives her a chance. The sound of his voice pulls her attention back to him, doe eyes fixing on the boy in front of her. I never meant to make it worse.. I really thought that keeping it to myself would be best for everyone, her tone of voice soft and careful, as she paces within the four walls. She had a feeling that a common theme here would be doubting her words and explanations - rightfully so - but keeping it to herself felt like enough punishment in itself. It was her who had been left to live with the overwhelming wave of emotions that came with betraying the guy she considered the love of her life, and her sickeningly innocent sister. Miserable as that secret may have been to keep, she’d rather her deal with that than them question every relationship and intention involved indefinitely. He asks what happened, and she lowers herself to the floor in front of him. Situating herself on the hardwood, pulling her bare legs up to her chest. There’s an obvious and expected shift in dynamic here, from the moment he’d landed at LAX - the foolish girl didn’t want to be any further than arms reach from him, and even then that felt too far. But now, even this exaggerated space feels invasive. It was almost two years ago.. she begins, her stomach turning when she realizes how long this lie has been going on. I’d been out with friends, and the girl who was supposed to be DD wound up hammered.. a scoff at herself follows this one, and she regrets not risking that one drunk ride if only to prevent all of this. Too late. I didn’t want to get in the car with her, so I asked him if he would pick me up. He did, he took me home, and then he walked me to the door to make sure I made it in ok, it wasn’t too hard to let out until now, so she takes a deep breath as if to regain her composure. We gave each other a very standard Louisa and Cormac hug goodbye! Laced with a sliver of defense. .. but then all of the sudden we were kissing, I don’t know how it happened, I really don’t. As much as she doesn’t want to give him every last detail there was, there was no lying about it now - but she needs to be sure he wants to know what happened from start to finish, before it's too late to take back. Do you want to know everything, or did you just want to know it happened? .................... --- notes: this post was rly good #shitnobodysays --- music: n/a