Page 58 of Thorns and Ashes
“You’re staring,” she says, not bothering to look in my direction.
“I’m surprised.” I shrug.
“Yeah, well, it’s better than the alternative.” She laughs bitterly, and something in my stomach twists, pushing me to need to learn more.
“The alternative?”
She leans back and draws her legs to her chest, making herself smaller as she rocks. “You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” she says, avoiding answering the question. “Did you have a fun birthday?” she asks, like she can’t help herself, and takes another long pull from the joint in her hand, this time blowing it out of my direction.
I study her for a minute and realize she’s avoiding eye contact. I knew she was upset earlier, but seeing this side of her further confirms it.
“I did,” I answer, pulling on the legs of my jeans. “Why didn’t you come by with the girls?”
“You’re just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?” She brushes her hand over Ellie’s fur, eyes distant but soft.
A band cinches around my ribs, tightening at her defensiveness. The silence settles between us, but instead of going inside and leaving her be, I sit in it with her.
“Do they still hurt?” she asks softly, her voice slow and barely above a whisper, like she’s afraid of the question even more than the answer. She looks down before meeting my eyes. Her gaze slowly trails from my shoulder, down my arm, where my scars are hidden beneath my shirt.
I swallow hard and clear my throat, looking away.
Why would she want to know that? Is it just curiosity or something else? She must have taken notice this morning when I forgot to put a shirt on, but if that’s the case, has she been wondering all day? I return my gaze to her, and the pained look on her face, like they somehow hurt her too, has me inhaling sharply.My hand reaches instinctively, rubbing a hand over where her eyes have burned a path as I exhale slowly.
“Sometimes,” I start, slowly, quietly, words that I haven’t told anyone before. “Sometimes I think that they do.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and dropping my head slightly. “I think I can still feel every flame that seared its way through my flesh,” I rasp, a slight tremor in my voice. “But, no. They don’t. Not actually, at least. They’re just there as a constant reminder of the worst day of my life.”
A heaviness settles in my chest and seems to seep into the air. My vision blurs and my heart aches, but still she doesn’t fill the silence with apologies or try to make me feel better. She gives me the room to feel what I need to without interruption. It’s something I’ve rarely experienced these last few months without going into a full-blown panic attack, but sitting here with her, I’m able to let the emotions fill me until they pass on their own. After I inhale a deep breath that fills my lungs with new breath, I muster the strength to look up at her.
Her eyes are focused now intently on me, but there’s no judgment on her face for my confession. Only validation as she nods her head with a silent understanding. She breathes in her own long breath and looks up at the now night sky filled with stars before her chest deflates and her shoulders drop.
“I have Insomnia,” she says quickly, putting out the finished joint into a bottle of water beside her.
Her confession, her vulnerability, takes me by surprise, but soon the tension is leaving my body. This is her way of meeting me in the middle, I realize, after my own confession. I put together the pieces of what she’s telling me as she continues.
“The alternative is taking medication the way my mother does. Pills to help ease anxiety and, consequently, insomnia. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure those medications are amazing for the rightpeople, and I have no doubt I’d take them correctly. However,” she drawls, a little giggle escaping her. “Even the slightest risk of becoming a ‘walking zombie’ like her is the last thing I want.” She points to the bottle with the joint inside. “So, medical marijuana it is.”
“I don’t sleep great either, but I didn’t realize insomnia was a real disorder. No offense,” I add quickly. “I thought it was just something people said they had after a late night,” I say with a genuine interest to understand, and she must realize it because she stops clutching her legs to her body and relaxes.
She drops one foot to the ground as she angles her body toward me and rests her head sideways against the chair. “Yeah, well, imagine my surprise when sleeping, staying asleep, became the biggest challenge in my life. Here I thought it would have been, I don’t know, learning to live on a budget?”
Her smile widens, eyes sparkling at the humor of her own joke, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her like this. Unguarded, relaxed. An effusion of warmth spreads throughout my chest, and my stomach tightens as I look at her and take in exactly how breathtaking she really is.
“You’re staring again.” The words come light, but her eyes are anything but.
I clear my throat and shake my head, leaning back slightly as I try to steady my pulse.
“Sorry,” I chuckle nervously. “So does smoking help ease the symptoms?” I ask, unsure if I’m even asking the right questions.
She stretches out and seems to relax even more into the chair. “Yeah, for the most part. It quiets the noise most nights. It makes you more interesting, too.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Hey! I’ve always beeninteresting.You just have to be willing to give me a chance.”
“Yeah,” she huffs sarcastically. “Like you gave me one.” As soon as the words leave her lips, her cheeks flush, her eyes widen, and she bites her lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. Just forget it.”
Seeing Tris under the influence is like getting a glimpse behind the curtain to what she’s really thinking. The truth behind what she’s really feeling.
“No,” I tell her.
“No?”
