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They're leaned up against each other on the bathroom floor. The bandage on Alex's foot is a little wonky, but that makes sense; Jonas had been working with one hand. Bandaging her, comforting her - maybe healing the physical wound, but not her pride. That feels lost for the foreseeable future. It’s a stabbing cramp between her ribs, a consistently frantic whisper of a whine in the back of her mind. Mortifying. Unwanted. Not as bad as the rest of her life, maybe —
But that's not a thought for right now. She can't spiral down again. Instead, her eyes close and she's trying so hard to focus on just the sensation of Jonas's fingers on her skin. Every little ridge of his fingerprints rubbing soothing little motions onto her wrist, the calluses on his palm. She needs to focus on that, because if she doesn't she'll keep thinking.
Her breath steadies, even if it's too shallow. Words trip through her head, images, the mix of all her fucked up thought processes putting things where they don't belong. Comfort. Intimacy. Sex. They're all mixed up, all crossed wires and inappropriate thoughts. She still wants him. But that's her problem. Always wanting, always needing, greedy for more than she has. Especially when she has nothing.
But Alex can't call it nothing, can she? He may have pushed her away, rejected her advances, but he's still within arm’s reach. He's still here. She was a blank-eyed trembling pit of spiraling thoughts and he's still beside her.
“I…” The thought of telling Jonas everything crosses her mind. But what would that even be? That she's a mess of a human being? A failure at life? That seeing her best friend happy was somehow enough to send her into a tailspin of anxiety and fear and-
Her heart is speeding and she once more focuses on grounding herself with his touch. Holding onto his arm, feeling the comforting solidity of his presence, the calming circles his thumb makes on her skin. She breathes him in, and she’s not even sure how she could attempt to explain it. There are too many facets, too many emotions, and all of them don’t make sense. Just a sudden existential crisis, maybe.
There are things she wants to ask, too. Do you hate me? and Can we forget this? and Have I ruined it all?
Can you stay?
They all feel like desperate pleas for attention, for validation. Alex tries so hard not to be that person. Tries to be independent and outspoken and the hedonistic heathen she always jokes about being. Not to be this. This weak and worrying mess.
Back to Jonas. Feel, hear, smell, taste. Focus on something else. The sleeve of his shirt against her cheek. The tiny current of air as he breathes beside her. Patient. He's a saint for this.
Or an angel.
The thought is comforting. It's just who he is, isn't it? Her guardian angel. She lets out a resigned breath. When she does finally speak, her words come out a mumble. “You were right. I should sleep.”