14 || Broken & Bruised
a/n
Hope you enjoy chapter 14. Word count is almost 3400 so have fun reading. Don't forget to vote, comment, and fan!
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After giving myself a few pep talks outside of Flynn and Wes' apartment, I knocked on their door. Flynn opened it excitedly and directed me to Wes' room before he left. I'd rather he not leave, but I didn't really have a choice.
What are you going to say, Vienna? I asked myself as I walked down the hall to his bedroom.
I stopped and stood outside Wes' room. I wanted to open the door but Aidan and Flynn were making such a big deal of this, I was afraid to and all I really wanted to do was walk away and get back to my own life. But I hated the thought of Wes being alone and in pain.
I knocked on the door lightly and waited before I knocked a little harder but there was still no answer. So I turned the knob and found it was unlocked. I stepped into the room hesitantly, only to find Wes in bed. At the sight of him surrounded by beer bottles and a bottle of liquor on the floor, I stepped into the room fully to get a better look at his state. His room was dim, the thick curtains blocking out most of the light.
"Wes?" I asked timidly.
He didn't stir. I could see his head tucked into his arm and pillows, a comforter covering half his bare back.
"Wes."
"Fuck off, Flynn."
"Wes, are you drunk?" I groaned. I didn't want to deal with drunk or hungover Wes.
"I haven't had anything since yesterday."
I chuckled and I raised my voice, "Wes, look at me."
His head turned to the side, cheek smashed against his arm as he squinted at me. A look of shock, then anger took over his face. "Who let you in?" He grumbled. I frowned ashamedly.
You shouldn't be here and he clearly doesn't want you here.
I left him and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I saw his lips were chapped more than usual when he lifted his head, so when I came back, I set the glass on his nightstand. "I think the real question is why the hell are you moping around like this?" I retorted when I walked back in.
"Fuck you, Valley."
I sighed, walking over to the bed and I sat lightly on the edge by his legs. "Wes, they're worried about you."
He shifted, groaning. "What the hell do you want?"
"I'm not quite sure actually. They think I can help."
"You can leave. I'm fine "
"No, you're not. You look like shit."
"Stop looking."
"And you smell too. You need a shower, Artwood." He didn't, but a shower never hurt anyone and they always made me feel better.
Wes lifted his head, cheeks red, and his eyes puffy. "I'm not in the mood, Valley."
I widened my eyes, surprised to see he had been crying. "What can I do?" I soften my voice and placed my hand on the back of his knee. "What happened? Are you-"
"I can't ask questions, but you can?" He growled.
I flinched at the hostility in his voice.
Vienna, why would he trust you if you haven't trusted him enough to even tell him your real name. Or anything else for that matter.
I kicked off my flip flops and I climbed over his legs- because I didn't want to be rejected if I asked him to scoot over for me- watching his back muscles tighten. I sat against the headboard, between the wall and him. "You can ask all the questions you like, Wes, but that doesn't guarantee you'll get an answer."
He didn't respond.
"Drink some water. Your lips are chapped. It's on the nightstand." He lay there for a moment before I poked him. "You're dehydrated, Artwood. Please drink."
My lips tugged up in triumph as he reached for the water but not before I got a few choice words from him.
"I told the boys that it isn't my place."
"You're right," he said gruffly as he set the glass down.
"I figured some girl broke your heart or something. Figured you'd get over it but the boys-" I stopped talking when I saw his face turned towards me angrily.
"It wasn't some girl," he bit out.
"But it was a girl," I confirmed, my gut twisting at the thought of another girl.
"Get out. I don't want to talk," he said, turning his head away from me.
He didn't want to speak to me. I could understand that. That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.
I shifted towards him so his shoulder was grazing my thigh. I set my hand on his head tentatively. His muscles tensed again, but only for a moment. "Wes, talk to me," I said, quietly as I combed my fingers through his slightly tangled hair, but he stayed silent. "I shouldn't have snapped at you that night," I attempted to apologize. I wasn't very good at them anymore. "I've been going through some things and, well, I let them project onto you. I let it get to me."
He was quiet before he turned to me. "Why don't you talk to me? You're so private, Valley. And that'd be fine, but now you come and want to get all personal with me?"
He was angry and confused. I couldn't blame him.
He didn't want to talk to me but I could see he was hurting and I realized I saw a reflection of myself in the boy. I remembered stuffing all my emotions deep inside, not just because of a bad breakup, but I had done it all the same. Put up a wall to protect me from the outside- to keep people from coming in and breaking me any more than I already was. I chose flight over fight because I thought pain and sorrow could be prevented.
Looking into Wes' eyes, I was starting to think that this wasn't protecting me from the outside. It's only caging me in. Others were free of my emotions while I was waging war on myself every day- drowning myself in sorrow and spite.
Wes scooted so his shoulder was still next to my thigh, but his head was propped up on his pillow looking up at me. "Do you trust me?" His voice was soft and pained.
Scoffing, I took my hand out of his hair and held it in my lap with my other. "I don't know you well enough to trust you, Wesley."
"That's because you won't let me get close enough," his voice was rising.
"How am I supposed to let you get close if I don't know that I can trust you?" I argued stupidly.
"Thinking like that, Val, you'll be running yourself in circles. You won't always know what will happen, but sometimes it's better that way. Sometimes you just have to jump in head first."
I understood what he was saying- fight- but I didn't like it.
"Sounds masochistic to me. Self-destructive," I mumbled defensively
"Okay," He conceded. "If you can't know you can trust me, then tell me this: Do you want to trust me?" There was something in his voice. Apprehension? As if he was afraid of my answer. And maybe he was a little, I knew I was.
"I don't know, Wes," I laughed. "I met you at a party I shouldn't have been at, then I have a spontaneous dinner with you. I mean, sure I'll admit, it wasn't terrible." I look down at him with a small smile to see he was still looking up at me. "But that should have been the end of it. I liked my routine. I liked my boring life. You and your friends- you guys messed it all up."
"So..."
"So, what does it matter? No, I don't want to trust you because I've learned trust will only get me hurt? Yes, I do want to because I like you and I've liked hanging out with you?"
"You like me?" His mouth twitched and I'm pretty sure so did my eye.
I looked away from him. "I said I like hanging out with you," I grumbled, trying to lead him away from what I said before that.
"I'll take it," he nodded in acceptance.
He was doing it again. Reading me. He thought he had me figured out. Knew when to push me and when not to push, but he was wrong. His coddling was beyond patronizing and it pissed me off that he knew when I was uncomfortable.
I took a deep breath and turned to him. "We didn't know each other well enough for me to have yelled at you the way I did and we don't know each other well enough now for me to be here comforting you. But it still leaves the question: Why the hell are your friends so worried about you?"
"That was a wonderful way to redirect the conversation. And beautiful apology by the way." Wes sent me a glare and I would have walked away then and there- should have- but I didn't because I wanted to know. I wanted to help.
I matched his stare. "It was also a polite way of asking: Why were you crying like a baby?"
"Can you give me a straight answer? Do you want to trust me, Val?" Wes asked seriously, ignoring my question.
I shook my head, wondering what I was even doing sitting on that boy's bed, let alone why I wanted to stay. "Yeah," I breathed.
"Then trust me," he said nudging my thigh.
"It's not always that simple. Especially when you don't want to get hurt."
"You think I'll hurt you?"
"I think I'll hurt myself if I get close to you or anyone."
"Pain is inevitable. It's that nasty cherry cough syrup we all have to take so we can feel a little better."
I rolled my eyes. "What a cliche you are, Artwood." He did make me smile, though. "At least I know what to get you for Christmas."
"Cherry cough syrup? But as a gag gift, right?"
"More like Nyquil."
"Nyquil?"
"Yeah, to shut you the hell up."
"I don't talk that much."
"Too much for me," I shook my head. "You're like a freaking songbird."
"But songbirds are nice to listen to." He smirked in accomplishment.
"Nice to listen to for a while but after a minute of it, all you want to do is shoot the thing." His grin dropped and turned into a glare, so I patted him on the shoulder with mock sympathy. "I'm kidding."
"Anyway, there are always going to be ups and downs no matter how much you care about a person, but you can't deprive yourself of people and relationships with them just because you're scared. It's not fair to you or the other person."
I wasn't sure what to say to him because I knew he was right.
But if he is going through a breakup, then how could he be so sure of this?
"You know I was trying to get close to you. I want to get to know you, but whenever I tried, you always got so angry and defensive. So I tried to keep the questions to a minimum and maybe stop Flynn's and Aidan's." He chuckled, "That night you blew up, though..."
I was about to argue that I'm not angry or defensive, but I stopped myself.
He's right.
"It was uncalled for."
"It proved my suspicions. Why, Val? What happened to make you so defensive?
"I didn't want people asking questions," I said, lamely avoiding his blunt prying.
"What's wrong with questions?"
"They make you think. They make you remember. Remembering means feeling. I don't want to feel like this anymore, Wes. When I walked in here and started asking questions, you weren't too thrilled to be pushed into talking to me either," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but you were being a bitch about it," he growled.
That was my defense mechanism. I wasn't sure what to expect or how to approach him so I put up the bitch front.
"Yeah well, I wasn't sure where we stood after that night. I wigged out on you and now I have to come and not only fix our relationship but also help with whatever happened to you. I don't really know why I freaked out I just felt I was getting too close to you and I didn't like that. It wasn't fair to you, I guess."
"You're great at apologies. But I get the whole not feeling thing you're going for."
"What?"
"That whole dealing with your problems and feeling sad thing is crappy."
"It really is," I agreed.
It still didn't look like he was ready to tell me what happened. I thought if I could tell him a little more about myself then maybe he would be willing to open up about what happened. Trust. it's what he was looking for from me. Some kind of effort.
Fight.
I pushed off the headboard, laying on my stomach, across Wes' back. I threw my head and shoulders over the side of the bed, searching for the bottle of vodka I saw a few minutes ago. I heard Wes grunt as I pushed myself back up, and I huffed as I rested against the headboard, next to him.
"No tequila?" I mumbled as I opened the bottle.
How can you say this, Vienna? I tried to think as I took a swig from the bottle.
"So I moved here after my dad died."
I saw Wes sit up a little but I didn't look at him.
"I didn't want the reminder of my dad back in California and I couldn't stand living there any longer- so close to my mom and... people." I paused, swigging from the bottle again as I felt tears burning my eyes and my throat tightening. "So I just packed up. My dad and his girlfriend had been in a car accident five months before I left. His girlfriend had bruised ribs, a broken arm, and a minor concussion; she's fine now. But my dad- my dad took most of the impact. He died before I got to the hospital."
I accepted my dad's death. He had a full life. I knew he loved me and I hoped he knew I loved him, but that didn't mean his death didn't hurt like a bitch.
I peeked out of the curtain, watching the clouds float by quickly. I tried not to look at Wes. Seeing him would only make me cry. When I did, though, I was shocked to see his head hanging, tears staining his pillow. He raised his eyes to meet mine.
I felt tears slip out, but they were involuntary. They had been held in for so long that they were just pooling over, hardly complete. They didn't capture the sorrow I felt for not saying goodbye. They didn't capture the feeling of abandonment from dad, my mother, and even Trevor. Wes couldn't see the disdain for my mother and her hateful indifference, the betrayal and backstabbing I felt from the people I thought cared for me but turned out to only be using me, anger for not being able to feel when I should have. They didn't capture how lost I felt.
All Wes saw was a girl crying for her dead dad.
He reached up, cupping my cheek in his hand. I leaned into him as he stroked his thumb, spreading the tears across my cheek. In a weak voice, he said, "She's dead."
I flinched away from his hand and my head hit the wall with a loud thud. I rubbed the back of my head with my hand but looked at him wide eyed as his hand dropped from my face. He wore a faint smile on his face- probably laughing at me- but it was grief-stricken. "I got the call on Halloween. She had a heart attack or something." He dropped his head again and began to cry quietly, tears flooding down his cheeks.
It made my heart clench and I reached out to touch him, but he moved first. His arms wrapped around my waist and a leg moved between mine, his stomach on my leg, his chest over my hip and groin, and was his face buried on my stomach. My knee must have been digging into his stomach but he made no move other than holding me tightly as his shoulders shook.
I was stunned at first but I wrapped my arm across the exposed skin of his shoulder blades because I didn't know what else to do. I pushed my hand through his hair and out of his face only to have it fall again. His gasps for air between trembling sobs became more violent the tighter I held him, making my heart tug for him. I comforted him best I could. I didn't know how well I was doing considering I'd never really been comforted myself, but I tried.
I continued running my hand through his hair even after his crying died down and I could no longer feel his sobs ripple through my bones. We sat there like that holding each other together.
"Shh, Wes. Who?" It wasn't until after I spoke that I realized I had been bawling along with him. My voice was hoarse and throat raw.
"My mom."
My grip around his back tightened. "When are you going home?"
He sniffled, "I was supposed to drive home yesterday morning."
"Oh, sweetie," I smoothed my thumb over his jaw and I felt the prick of Wes not shaving in a couple days. He looked up at me through his lashes without moving his head from me and gave me a small, guilty smile.
"She was only in her 50's. I don't understand"
"I know, I know."
I'm here.
"My dad was 59."
"Is that why you don't like people asking questions? You don't like talking about your dad?"
And because I don't want to talk about my mother. Or Trevor.
Flight.
"Part of it."
He didn't ask any further questions and we just sat there quietly for a while longer. Wes never lost grip on my waist as I attempted to comfort him. But it didn't take long for my legs to lose feeling under the weight of Wes. I also realized the awkward position we were in. He was half-naked, practically laying on top of me with my boobs just above his head.
"I should get going. You need to take a shower, and head out, Artwood. You need to be with family and cry, and mourn and all of that. Not alone in your room."
"I'm not alone," he said still holding me.
"This won't make it better," I shook my head.
He sat up. "You're probably the most affectionate person I've met," he joked. I gave him a weak smile as I climbed across him and slipped into my flip flops.
"I am once you get past my many walls of shyness, distrust, loneliness, and vague antipathy."
"I didn't realize you were any of those," he chuckled, bringing his right bicep up to wipe his face on.
"I do my best to mask it. It's why I'm so apologetic and affectionate," I gave him another small smile.
As I turned around, Wes grabbed my wrist. "I don't want to go alone, Valley."
I looked at him, his eyes hopeful and pleading, yet I still wanted to tell him to call Flynn or Aidan. I knew it would be cruel but I was in no way fit to go to another funeral. "Wes, sweetie," I said uncertainly. "This is time to be with family. They're-"
"My family will smother me. You know that cliche of a fridge stuffed of casseroles? Yeah, they'll be shoving them down my throat. I want some space."
So his family is affectionate.
He'll be fine.
"You want space, but you want me to come with you?" I asked sarcastically.
He stayed quiet but his eyes were pleading.
You will feel so guilty if you don't go with him, Vienna.
You will feel worse if you do.
I took a deep breath. "Take a shower, call Flynn and Aidan, then your family to let them know you're on your way. They're all worried about you."
With that, I turned and left. In the back of my head, I knew I shouldn't have left Wes, that it would cause more problems.
This is basically the same thing your mom did to you Vienna,
But sometimes I didn't take into account the consequences and issues that could arise down the road. All I cared about is preventing any damage to myself in the here and now. Imminent doom- though dramatic- is much scarier than that of the distance.
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a/n
And here we go agaaaaain. -_-
Hope you sorta liked it and if you haven't voted yet.... why? It's so simple. Just one tap, man, just one tap.
I'll update next Saturday so until then <3 :)
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