Work Text:
“I ain’t doin’ this with you right now.” He gruffs, his teeth clenched so tightly together you’re surprised one hasn’t snapped out of his mouth.
His tone matched his hands—cold, calloused.
“So when are we gonna to do it then, Joel? Tomorrow? The day after?” Your voice got louder with each syllable you spoke.
“Or is it gonna be when I’ve been bit and I’m waitin’ to rot away into one of them fuckers, like you did to Tess?”
One of your hands wildly gestured outward toward the window. You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips but there was no going back. As much as they stung—you meant them.
This hurt had been building for years. Between moments of tangled limbs and sunshine threatening to burst out of your goddamn mouth—there was this. It’s a damn miracle this fight didn’t happen ages ago.
Joel’s head snapped toward you, nostrils flaring with each ragged breath he took. Over the years you’ve seen your fair share of pain—of suffering. But you’ve never seen anything quite like that look on Joel’s face.
“Don’t speak,” He started, his voice dangerously low and chilling to the core, “on something you ain’t got the slightest clue about.”
“I get it, Joel.” The hand that had been outstretched toward the window now at your side—the heaviness in your body becoming almost too much to bear.
“You’re broken. You’re fucked up. That doesn’t make you special around here, in case you haven’t noticed. And it sure as hell doesn’t give you the right to continue to hurt people because you can’t patch up that wound in your chest.”
Unmoving—Joel stood before you, chest rising and falling in time with the beat of your erratic heart. Joel never really was a man of many words—but then again, he didn’t need to be. His face always said it all.
The lines decorating his skin make him look older than he is—more worse for wear than you’ve seen him in a long time. The beard that decorates his jaw ragged—patchy in some places, the ones you always loved to kiss. On a rare occasion, you see those lines tell a different story—one of love, of laughter—but it feels like you haven’t seen them for some time now.
“You’re never gonna let me in—and you know what? I can live with that.”
For a fleeting moment you think that maybe—just maybe—you see his face fall. As though the idea of letting you walk through that door hurts more than abandoning his pride.
“But what I won’t do, Joel, what I can’t do? Is continue to let you use me when I can’t get a single fuckin’ ounce of you in return.”
There’s a small waver in your voice, a moment when it cracks and your entire body feels as though it’s on the precipice of break down.
“God.” A noise leaves your chest that you don’t quite recognize before turning on your heels and crossing the room away from him.
Your hand cupped your mouth as your eyes squeezed so tightly together that flashes of color spread across the darkness of your vision. The voice in the back of your head screams, “do not do this, do not let him see you cry.”
The silence inside the room is deafening—the drip of the leaky faucet and the squeak of the loose floorboard magnified tenfold in the quiet of the moment.
“I can’t be…who you need me to be.” The voice was low—causing a small jolt within your body as the words crept inside your mind like vines and wrapped themselves around every single part of you.
“You can’t?” You turned toward him—eyes red rimmed and wet as you met his gaze.
“Or you won’t?”
There it was—the pang of guilt and pain that he’d been holding back this whole time, the emotions you’d been trying so damn hard to pull from him for so long.
However—before Joel could speak, there was a loud pounding at your door.
Glancing toward the door, you sniffled before walking into the kitchen—rubbing your face and clearing your throat in order to pull yourself together. The last thing you needed was for somebody around here to occupy themselves in your business.
You weren’t able to see anything from where you leaned against the countertops, but you could hear that it was Tommy.
“Where the hell you been, man? You ready to go yet? I’ve been waitin’ out here in the damn cold for you for hours.”
Your eyes closed tightly once again—praying deep down inside yourself that he hadn’t heard any of your fight. Tommy was sweet, but he didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut to save his life.
Joel sighed.
“Sorry, Tommy. I-I just…” His voice trailed off.
Your heart squeezed forcefully inside your chest as you knew he was looking back toward the kitchen—looking for you.
“Uh—is everythin’ okay?” Tommy’s voice changed quickly, probably sensing the palpable tension as soon as the door opened.
The beat of silence before Joel’s answer didn’t feel nearly long enough.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s go.”
Next thing you know, the front door closes and the footsteps retreat until you can’t hear the crunching of the snow beneath the boots anymore.
It should feel good—right? Stickin’ up for yourself. Finally bringing light to this issue you’ve been dancing around with for years.
So…why doesn’t it?
Why, instead, do you feel like you’re in a room full of clickers—holdin’ your breath and prayin’ to whoever the hell that’ll listen that nobody hears you move.
You swallow harshly, all the moisture seemingly disappearing from your mouth by the passing second. Rummaging through the cabinet for a moment produces an old bottle of bourbon—you always hated the taste, but you kept it around because you knew Joel liked it.
Making your way to the bedroom, you kicked off your shoes as you went. A thud, followed by the groan of the springs inside of the mattress welcomed you in like a warm hug.
Whatever you were feeling—you decided—would be dealt with tomorrow. Hell, maybe even the day after that. You were good at putting up with shit for way too long—right?
Tonight it was just gonna be you, this bed, and a whiskey lullaby.