Hurricane Boy // h.s au

7.

"Once she kissed me, my heart slowed, and every muscle in my body relaxed. How much I needed her terrified me."

– Jamie McGuire, "Walking Disaster"

Tick, tock, tick.

The sound of the clock echoed in the quaint, still room.

He examined his surroundings, letting the afternoon unfold before him.

The dust flying within the spaces of spilled sunlight. The slow, slow creak of the aged oak chair he sat upon. The birds quietly chirping outside, one after the other, their melodies rising up and overlapping, tangling and untangling in song. Trees that swayed in harmony, rising up and down as the song did, branches slightly bouncing as the birds hopped to and fro.

Tick, tock, tick.

He smiled.

They reminded him of her, of his light. Reminded him of her gentle features, her blush pink pillow soft lips that quirked up at the sight of him ever so slightly, white teeth that poked out every so often. Her soft, warm hands, that always, always found his. The dips and swirls of her waist, molding into his touch. The way her skin felt against his under spilled moonlight, the taste of her, sweet and addictive. Her features came as flashing memories, sensations, so vivid and real and there. He felt the way his heart swelled upon each detail he recalled. He made himself recall them again. Again, his chest tightened, lungs retracting, eyes glazing over.

"A girl?"  the voice said.

Yes, a girl.

"Juniper," he dazedly explained, "That's her name."

Chills ran up his spine. He swear he'd felt her there, a silent governance in the still room. Faint, barely recognizable, but still there. He'd let her in, let her curl around the spaces between his ribs, let her fill him up, swell up in his chest and weave in the hairs on his head. He welcomed her in, let her overtake him once more, just as she always did.

Tick, tock, tick.

"Does this girl know your, um--"

"No." he quickly responded, "She doesn't."

"I see."

Once again, his eyes rested on the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick. The session was almost up. He absentmindedly tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the clock.

Again, the birds chirped outside, growing louder, louder, melting in with the sounds of the ticking clock, almost as though they were calling and answering each other. Tick, tock. Chirp chirp. Tick, tock. Tick.

This was the part of him he'd kept from her. The drawling afternoons that fell away in complete loneliness, the weekly 5pm therapy sessions, the big, white pills he kept in the back corner of his medicine cabinet. His mind that buzzed with thoughts of her and only her.

"Are you sure a girlfriend is the best thing for you right now? Do you think you're capable?" his therapist asked.

No, he thought.

"Yes," he said.

Another long silence.

Tick, tock, tick.

Time was up.

He stood up, eyes still ablaze with thoughts of her. He slightly smiled.

"Oh, and I won't be coming next week," he said, smile growing bigger, "I'm going on vacation."

His therapist blinked.