literature

The Hardest Thing - XI

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Eleven

When I entered the room, Hanna wasn't looking at me; instead, he chose the opposite wall.  His right wrist was wrapped tightly in bandages, sitting out on top of the blankets that covered the rest of him.

I resisted the urge to rush over and pull him into me, whispering apologies and "I love you"s.  I took a seat next to the bed, and – as instructed – said nothing.

He didn't move for a long time.  I could see his chest rise and fall, and his eyes blink, but it was at least ten minutes before he turned to face me.  His face was stony.

I reached out hesitantly to touch his hand.  He didn't pull away.  I grasped his hand in mine, moving my other hand up to cover his.  He watched me, but no emotion registered on his face.

The past week had been pretty hellish, all things considered.  I was constantly worried about Hanna, hoping he was okay, and was he eating enough?  But sitting here with him now, content in silence, holding his hand… everything seemed a little better.

I looked back into his face.  He was biting his bottom lip, staring at our hands.  In another moment, his face screwed up in what I thought was pain, but to my great surprise, he burst into tears.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, gripping my hand tightly.  "I'm so sorry!  I didn't want you to know, but things were just so bad and our fighting was so bad and I didn't want to live in a world where all we did was fight and then you left and things just got worse and---"

"Sh, sh, Hanna," I murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding him to me.  He clutched my shirt, bawling into my chest.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," he continued to mutter through his tears.

"Hanna, it's okay," I whispered into his hair.  "It's going to be okay."
WHAAAAAAT.
Hanna's a crybaby. |:

No, but really.
Definitely one of my favorites. Haven't I already said that? >_>

Just as a little note about "no talking", because I figured someone might want to know:
A couple years ago, things were tough for me. I hated being alone because I knew I'd end up with that razor again, but I hated the stupid little interactions with people, mostly them asking me if I was okay.
So I would keep people around me on the one condition that they didn't speak. I liked the company, but I didn't like the talking.
So I figured maybe Hanna feels similar: maybe he figured that if Zombie went in being able to talk, he'd immediately launch into a tirade about how life is totally worth living and "are you okay?" would probably pop up, and who really enjoys being asked that question anyway?

But!
Enough rambling.

I <3 you guys. It's been a long ride, and there's only one part left to post! o':

So enjoy this one in all of its not-as-angsty-as-expected glory.

---
copypasta coming later. >_<''
© 2010 - 2024 coshie
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Puck-Sexton's avatar
Nnn. I wish these were longer.

I expected so much more angst... and if there's only one more, I guess it probably won't be an angst-fest either. I don't know what to expect anymore!

Poor Hanna. Poor {...}. Hope they get fixed.