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She looks at you with those big green tired eyes.
“I need to get out of here, taissa.”
Your eyes dart to Misty and Lottie and they look so far gone and it's all too real so you agree and it's not like you've ever said no to Van well except for that one time nearly two decades ago you regret so much. Then You find yourself back in her passenger seat. She looks small, almost young. You want to question where she's taking you, but it's late, and you've only ever been truly able to get good sleep when you're near her, so you roll over and resign yourself to sleeping eyeing those red locks you had your hand in not even 5 hours ago. When you wake up to shes rubbing your shoulder.
“tai, we're here.”
Her hand on you makes you want to slip into old habits, but you stop yourself, remembering the wife you left in the hospital and the son staying staying god knows where.
“Tai.”
You realize you're lost in thought.
You look at the sign to see you're in the parking lot of some motel.
As you're walking in, you let your eyes wander over her. You look at the rings she's taken to wearing, and it takes everything in you to tear your eyes away.
“How many beds?” Some 20-something says, she's glaring between you and van, vans blurting two before you even get the chance to interject. You start to say something, but she makes a face you've known for so long you could read it from a mile away. You let it go.
Van goes to pay, but you're sliding your card before she can even pull it out of her wallet.
She huffs but doesn't object.
When you get to your room, van drops your shared duffel in the doorway next to you (well, it's all her clothes, but you share it anyways), immediately flopping onto the bed, getting up only to take off her boots. You're watching her from the doorway, and she locks eyes with you, and you can't help but avert your gaze, her eyes feeling like they could rip you apart at the seams. You look at the duffle and pick out a Sleater Kinney t-shirt with the Dig Me Out album cover on it. You remember how mad she was when you got back after the woods and saw she'd missed a Sleater-Kinney album. You remember when you'd listen to it years later, thinking of her well past the breakup. You go to change before you get too consumed by those thoughts. You grab the closest thing van has to sleep shorts and head to the bathroom. You're too tired to shower, so you wash your face with the shitty hotel products and slide into the old shirt. When you go to put on the shorts, you realize you picked out a pair of Vans boxers, and it feels so naughty putting them on. Electric. You walk out to find van in a Dinosaur Jr. t-shirt and boxers. You want to have to lay next to her. To feel her. But she's made it so explicitly clear what can't be, so you resign yourself to the bed closest to the bathroom. You try to close your eyes, but there's an ache left in the bed where van should be. Wishing you could find it in yourself to get up and make your way to the woman you haven't let yourself indulge in for 15 years well until 3 days ago when you hitchhiked across the middle of nowhere America to find her. You hear her sniffling. You ache remembering Nat, how close she and Natalie were before high school, before Natalie got in with those weird kids, before what happened with her dad, before they drifted. You hear yourself say it before you realize it.
“Are you okay?” There's a silence. You think maybe you shouldn't have said anything, but then almost low enough to where you can't hear it, she says, “Can you hold me?”
“Of course,” you mutter.
You move quickly to her bed. She's facing away from you. It makes you feel a little pathetic how easily you come to her, but she needs you, and you're here like she's always been for you. That feeling is quickly squashed when you lift the sheet and slide in behind her, spooning her like you old times before the time between you grew longer than the time you had known each other, your front against her back, arms cradling arms. You remember you're wearing her boxers and flash hot, but then she's crying and shaking. You hold her tight, urging her to face you. When she does, you wipe away her tears and try not to think about the last time somebody held her like this. The selfish side of you wonders if it was you but the one that cares for van wonders if there was someone who she let have this side of her after you. Both outcomes make you sad, the idea of van being with someone else but also the idea that van had never been with someone else in that emotional way you have. She leans into you, making her face settle into the crook of your neck. You hold her tighter, unable to let go. She pulls away, and you feel how wet your neck is. “I'm sorry; I didn't mean to dump all this on,” van says in a quiet whisper.
It almost makes you mad. You should be the one apologizing.
“No, I'm the one that came down here, I'm the one that dragged you into this.”
At that, van kisses you. It takes you by surprise. When she pulls away, eyes all glassy, you wrap your arms around her, she sighs and says, “let's get some sleep.”