Page 37 of Forever We Fall

It’s all we have.

A pile of minutes pass. My legs have long since fallen asleep. I don’t care. I’ll let him be my tourniquet. If I need to have my legs amputated, so be it.

I realize this is not a healthy mentality. Again, I don’t care.

All I care about in the whole fucking world is in my arms right now.

“What triggered you, Arlo?” My throat burns and my words are reedy.

They touch something raw and throbbing with pain. He jerks in my arms. His head shakes from side to side.

“Okay,” I breathe. “You don’t have to talk about it. Not now.” I rub my thumb over the curve of his shoulder and tighten my grip across his back. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His shaking head slows and turns into a nod. He nestles impossibly deeper, hollowing out his place in my soul, making it bigger and deeper, more comfortable.

More time passes.

He starts shivering against me. He’s lost blood. The cuts are not actively bleeding, but his lower half is covered in deep red. My legs are smudged with the stuff that should only be inside him, not out.

“Are you hungry?”

His head shakes.

“Cold?”

A nod is all I get.

“As much as I’d love to stay here forever, I have to get you off this floor.”

He makes no move, not in response and not in an effort to stand. I give him several more minutes, but his shivers only get worse.

“This is what we’re going to do.” I smooth my hand over his hair because this might be my only chance, and I can’t fuckinghelp myself. “I’m going to get us up. I’m going to turn on the shower as warm as it’ll go and let you clean up. Then we’ll tuck in and get some sleep. Nothing may change by morning, but you’ll feel a little better after a shower and sleep.”

He nods against the crook of my neck.

“Okay.” I give him one last squeeze and then ease myself out from under him.

My legs are like Yokan, a traditional jelly candy my father’s mother used to make for me when I was little. I have to use the wall to maneuver myself to the shower and crank the lever to hot. My toes tingle, and my arms are nearly numb, but I manage to shuffle to the razor blade and toss it into the trash. I use tissues and clean the blood off the floor. It’s not as much as I initially thought. Though, any out of Arlo is too much.

He’s still staring into space when I crouch down in front of him. The blood on his legs is dried and crusty. His cuts are shallow. Still, the sight of them makes me want to punch the tile.

His other scars…

Fuck.

I want to soothe every one with my lips. I want to breathe old Japanese words of healing over them, over his heart, and then I want to carve his uncle’s heart out with my grandfather’s wakizashi. It’s shorter than a katana, but no less deadly. It will let me see the fear in his eyes more closely as I cut the life from his body.

“I’m going to grab you under your arms and around your back. Okay?” He gives the slightest shift of his head. “When I do, I need you to wrap your arms around me and hold on tight.”

No truer words have I ever said. I want him to hold on tight.

Forever.

I’d like to tack on the sentiment. I don’t. He’s going through enough right now.

“Here we go.”

He’s shivering. His skin is cool against mine. When his arms clutch my back, I have to catch the sigh that threatens to breach my lips. I hold tight and heave. Arlo helps. It’s good because he’s big as hell now, and it lets me know that none of this has happened without his consent.

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