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“You’re so tense,” Amy’s voice comes out hushed, even though it’s just them. Long nails kneading into tense shoulders, her thumbs rolling over warm skin, open palms so much colder than him.
Breath warm against exposed skin, pads of her fingers pressing into the skin, shoulder lower in response to her touch.
They’re both upright in bed, white sheets strewn across the bed, pillows stacked behind them, the mahogany headboard peaking out from between the pillows.
“Alex,” Amy says, she’s in a more sitting position, her legs on either side of Alex, her chest cool against warm skin, cooling it down. The steady beat of her heart thumping against his back and Alex relaxes into Amy’s touch.
“You know,” she muses, resting her chin on Alex’s shoulder, her fingers ghosting his back. “I wish you’d talk to me so I could help.”
Amy guides Alex’s arms around her waist as she moves where they’re face to face, warm arms encircle and close in on her waist, fingers pressing into skin, they stroke.
Amy tucks a strand of hair behind Alex’s ear, her hands find a particularly tense spot and a strangled sound escapes Alex’s lips. “There we go..” she soothes, she smiles.
A soft exhale follows, Alex’s face burying into the juncture between Amy’s neck and shoulder. She cards through Alex’s hair, it’s soft, beginning to grow out again. Her fingers travel through it where it meets his scalp, the pads of her fingers and tips of her nails lightly scratching, Alex’s head tilts, and he keens into her touch.
His shoulders go slack once more when Amy’s fingers dig into a pressure point between his shoulder blades, they don’t pop again and she’s satisfied.
“What’s bothering you?” Amy’s question hangs thick in the air.
Alex wishes he could come up with an answer that doesn’t vanish into thin air but he doesn’t.
Amy notices Alex tensing, she presses her hand to his chest. “Shh,” she soothes. “Can you breathe with me?”
She inhales through her mouth and then slowly exhales through her mouth, Alex does the same. It doesn’t help in the long term, but Amy asks it of him. He’d do anything Amy asked because she wanted what was best for him.
And he wasn’t his father, his father fought his mother in everything even when she simply wanted the best.
Alex wonders if he’d be a good father, he knew Amy wanted kids at some point and he can’t say it didn’t pique his interest a bit. He knows he’d be better than his father because he’s nothing like him, no doubts weasel their way into his brain that way.
But it wouldn’t be fair, to the child or Amy. He’d infected her, his very touch on her skin, letting the disease latch onto her. He wouldn’t wanna pass down his issues, chemical imbalance in the brain is what they’d called at some point because truly that’s what it was.
It wouldn’t be fair to the child to be born to a parent—to parents who are sick, it’s terminal and it’s certainly contagious.
Amy doesn’t press the topic, she understands. “Hey, can you look at me?” Her soft voice soothes her hands cup Alex’s face, her fingers tracing his cheek and jawline.
Alex’s hand moves from Amy’s waist, his hand cupping one of hers over his face. She smiles, leaning their foreheads together.
Amy brings Alex’s face closer to hers, their lips pressing together, as always her lips are soft, and they taste her strawberry chapstick. Her perfume filled his nose and the faint smell of dog shampoo from bathing Rocky.
Alex’s free hand tangles in Amy’s hair, pushing strands behind her ear, one hand resting on her side. Maybe he shouldn’t Touch her, he’s sick, sick as a dog.
It’s ichor in his veins, metallic in his mouth, seeping from his palms onto her. It’s infected his head now, it slows his heart, and his chest is full of smoke. There’s that dull ache that blooms in the back of his skull. His body tries to expel it but it does nothing. He has to do something. He’s gonna make her sick.
“Is that better?” They part, Amy’s voice is soft, gentle as always when it’s just them relaxing. The pad of her fingers brushed against Alex’s lips.
“Are you okay?” She murmurs, her features softening before concern is etched into them. Her fingers card through strands of sweat-soaked hair plastered to his forehead.
After a few beats of silence, Alex doesn’t recall how long has passed by the time a cold rag is being pressed to his forehead. “Lay back,” she directs, his head in Amy’s lap, his hair fanned out on her lap.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Alex’s head turns left, tilting into Amy’s hand. His hand raises to press the cool rag onto his forehead more.
Alex shudders, shoulders going slack against Amy. “It’s not good to hold all of that stress in your body, hon.”
“Alex?” Amy exhales through her nose, she places an open palm on Alex’s cheek, and he stirs. “Alex,” she repeated a little more stern.
“You’re spacing out again,” she says, a lump forming in her throat. “You’re staring off into space, Alex.”
Alex shakes his head, adjusting his glasses, and pressing them to the bridge of his nose, he finally looks at Amy, seeing the concern etched on her face.
“You’re just blinking and staring off, again,” Amy’s fingers tap warm skin.
“I’m not spacing out,” this earns him a frown in response.
“You were,” Amy says rather pointedly.
“I’m talking to you,” Alex shot back, offering a weak smile.
“Barely,” Amy says dryly, her brows furrowing. “You’re worrying me.”
“Where are we?” Amy questions, she lowers her hand to grasp Alex’s, it’s clammy, and his nails dig into her palms.
Alex’s eyes scan the area before landing back on Amy.
“See? You’re here but you’re not here.” Amy’s thumb rolls over his knuckles.
“We’re in our room,” Alex finally answers. He’s upright now.
“Yeah?” Amy coaxes, she squeezes Alex’s hand. “What else do you see?” She questions, Amy’s free hand is on Alex’s back.
Alex pauses, tamping the bubbling feeling in his throat. “…I see you, I see… Rocky, I see the curtains…”
“There we are,” Amy praises, she smiles weakly. Alex’s head knocks against Amy’s shoulder, his face burying in the crook of her neck.
“I need you to talk to me,” Amy says, Alex doesn’t lift his head and she frowns. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
What could Alex possibly say? How could he explain what's going on? Surely she wouldn’t believe him and she wouldn’t understand.
No one could ever understand.
“You can’t keep doing this…” Amy’s voice snaps Alex from his train of thought, he raises his head peering at Amy.
“Can you hear me?” There’s a squeeze back in response and Amy musters a weak smile.
“Come here,” Amy’s arms are open, and she watches Alex expectantly. There’s a pause before he scoots towards her, his back hitting her chest. Her head rests against the cold headboard, her fingers threading through his hair.
“Do you remember what we were talking about?” Amy’s voice is laced with concern, the steady rise and fall of her chest soothing Alex, the thumping of her heart beneath his ear.
“..No,” Alex answers, voice thick. There’s bile rising in his throat again.
“Oh, God, Alex,” Amy swallows, her chin resting on Alex’s shoulder. “If you’re losing chunks of time and not remembering things like that… don’t you think it’s time to see a doctor?”
“You’ve got to learn to relax,” Amy reiterates, her grip on his shoulders is firm and Alex thinks he’s thankful her nails are manicured so they don’t scratch or anything. Even so, she always tended to be gentle.
After a few beats of silence, there’s a pitter patter and Amy notices as their dog, Rocky, jumps onto the bed, curling at Alex’s side, his hand outstretches to pet the canine.
“Alex…” Amy exhales softly, she lays a hand on Alex’s thigh, thumb stroking it. Alex leans into her, putty in her hands. He does what she asks, he melts at her touch.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Alex stiffens, he blinks, once. Twice. There’s a squeeze delivered to his shoulder, Rocky’s fur brushes against his leg as the dog raises his head, ears flattening against his head. A low growl emits from Rocky’s throat before he’s upright, off the bed, nails clicking against the wood and barking.
The ache bloomed in Alex’s head. Strengthens, a few beats, once twice. Was he seeing it too? He knew animals especially dogs and cats were able to see things humans weren’t, did that mean he wasn’t crazy? Or was it just a coincidence?
There had to be a reasonable explanation for this.
Alex’s clammy hand massages his temples, his eyes straining to look out the parted windows, the sun was setting and it was later than he thought.
Rocky’s back arches, and he backs away, growling, tail flattening between his legs. “What’s gotten into you?” Amy’s voice cuts through Rocky’s insistent barking and she pats the bed and he trots back over hesitantly, eyes locked on the windowsill. Amy climbs off Alex for a moment, pulling the blinds closed and then the curtains as well.
“He’s feeding off your stress, Alex,” Amy reminds.
Ah, there it is.
Alex swallows the lump in his throat, his eyes lingering on the now-closed curtains. He doesn’t know whether he’s grateful to not see what’s outside or if it sets his nerves on fire more.
“You don’t think there’s anything out there, do you?” Amy’s hand rests on Rocky’s head, stroking him, he brushes his head against the underside of her hand, and she smiles.
No, he doesn’t. He never believed in any of that crap.
It all seems so real, how can he keep denying it? How will he explain everything to Amy? Explain that he’s sick, that she’s sick. He’s dying and now so is she.
Can Rocky smell the rot?
“Alex?” Concern inches its way back into Amy’s flat tone. “Your mind’s playing tricks on you,”
“You need sleep,” Amy suggests, her hands stroking Alex’s back, the tension seemingly melting off of him, despite his gaze lingering on the window.
“Sleep,” Alex repeats, he blinks again, squeezing his eyes shut. He needs sleep, she’s right. He doesn’t know if he’ll get it. “You’re right.” He concludes as Amy eases his shoulders down. She pulls Alex’s glasses off his face gently, placing them on the nightstand.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Alex stares at the red staining the white porcelain, he cuts on the faucet, metal cold against his clammy hand, he holds onto it a little too long, cups water in his hands, he sips it, rinsing it out of his mouth but the metallic taste doesn’t leave.
Amy’s been coughing a lot too.
He thinks, he swears, the air he’s breathing is corrupted. He’s inhaling smoke into his lungs, he doesn’t think Amy can taste the poison on his lips when they kiss.
“Alex?” The bedroom light clicks on, and bare footsteps against the wooden, entering the bathroom the tile is cold against her feet. Amy’s voice is groggy, indicative that she’d been sleeping.
“Are you sick again?” Her knuckles brush against heavy eyelids.
Rocky barks, there’s a hard sigh and a hand placed on Alex’s back, she’s behind him now, chin resting on his shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
Alex shakes his head. “I need sleep,” his mouth is dry, and his throat hurts. Amy’s arms wrap around his waist, hands flattening against his stomach, her cheek against his shoulder.
“Come lay down,” Amy says, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t look so good.”
Alex drags himself back to the bed practically, she breathes, and he breathes.
There’s static filling his ears again.
Alex feels the soft sigh against his shirt, Amy’s face pressing into his back, arms draped over his waist, Rocky nestled between where their legs would be touching if he hadn’t weaseled his way between them.
Amy sticks her phone into her back pocket, balling her fist, she places one, two, three, knocks to the front door.
After a few moments, the door creaks open. “Amy? What’re you doing here?” She watches Jay’s confused expression.
“I was wondering if we could talk, it’s important,” Amy says, she sticks a hand in her pocket and watches Jay nod slowly.
“What’s wrong?” He questions, his hands wring against each other.
“It’s about Alex,” Amy clears her throat and Jay’s expression shifts, he understands. The door opens and they’re on the couch.
“He hasn’t told you anything, has he?” Amy studies Jay’s expression as he twirls a cap off a water bottle.
“No, he hasn’t been telling me anything lately,” he answers, licking his lips. “We haven’t spoken a while he won’t answer.”
“I’m guessing by the question you haven’t had any luck?” Jay fills in the blanks before Amy can speak.
Amy’s hands are folded in her lap, she nods unable to formulate a response fast enough. “I was hoping you knew something.”
“Sorry,” Jay frowns. “I’m just as worried, but it’s probably just a fluke.”
“Maybe you should try asking Sarah?” He offers, he picks at something underneath his nails.
“Good idea,” Amy agrees, she runs her fingers through her hair in frustration.
“I don’t know what pissed in his Cheerios,” Sarah says, her hands around a mug, the heat radiating off of it warming her hands and knocking the chill off her apartment.
“Have you tried asking Jay?” Fingers tap against her mug.
“He told me to talk to you,” Amy says, lifting the mug to her lips, the scent of tea filling her nose as the warm liquid washes over her tongue.
“He needs an attitude adjustment, no one’s out to get him.” A dry laugh escapes Sarah’s lips.
“Something has him rattled and he won’t talk to me…” Amy’s fingers trace circles into the mug.
Sarah reaches out across the table, her palm pressing over Amy’s hand. “He’ll come around,” she assures with a more than convincing smile.
“Before I make him get his shit together, Might I add?”
Amy laughs, and she smiles. “Thanks, Sarah.”
A sudden thump makes Amy crane her neck, there a pile of folded clothes were now on the floor.
“Ruby!” Sarah chastises.
“I don’t know,” Seth says, wrapping Bailey’s leash around his hand, he stands upright and looks at Amy who’s leaning against the car.
“He’s probably just stressed,” Seth’s shoulders roll, he scratches the back of his neck. “He apologized saying he didn’t mean to snap at me, he’s just stressed.” He comes to the same conclusion.
“I could understand that if he wasn’t acting so out of character, he’s not himself.” Amy’s voice trails off, she feels Bailey nudging her leg, and she pets him.
“I think you’d just have to talk to him,” Seth says apologetically. “I couldn’t tell you anything different than what Jay or Sarah have, he hasn’t told me anything.”
Amy sighs, she smiles. “You’re probably right.”
She’ll ask Jess next. Then Brian, then Tim.
Amy clears her throat, gaining Jessica’s attention. “Jess, can I ask you something?”
Jessica nods, pulling her legs up, across the couch, inviting Amy closer, her head rests on her shoulder, golden locks spilling over Jessica’s purple shirt.
“Alex has been acting weird, hasn’t he?” There’s a pause between Amy’s words, and a sniffle follows. “It’s not just me, is it?”
“No, we’ve all … kinda noticed.” Jessica weighs her words carefully, she squeezes Amy’s shoulder. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, he’s been acting strange, always looking over his shoulders, the camera has been on nonstop, usually I would think nothing of that but it’s just always on, watching…” Amy clears her throat again, she twists a bracelet on her wrist around.
“He’s been so agitated and stressed lately, it’s been going on for a while and I feel like an awful girlfriend for not noticing sooner—“ Amy trails off, her shoulders rising. “He’s talking about stopping filming now all of a sudden, he’s been working on that thing for ages, he loves it, and he just wants to throw it all away now?”
Amy’s fingers entangle with each other, and she frowns. “He seems scared, there’s this frightened look that’s been following him and he’s so intent on dropping the film.”
“I don’t what to do, I wanna help, Jess, I do,” Amy sighs. “I’m just mad he won’t tell me anything, he’s scaring me.” Something pools in her stomach, she’s leaving some details out.
“I’d been helping with makeup and behind the scenes and now he isn’t letting me know about anything either,” Amy says, the rigidness to her voice beginning to wane.
Amy’s shoulders slump and the concern on Jessica’s face is evident.
“You can’t make him tell you anything he doesn’t want to, it’s probably for the best you don’t worry yourself about it,” Jessica watches Amy’s frown cross her face.
“Too stressed people aren’t gonna make anything better.” She adds, and Amy agrees.
“I guess you’re right.” Amy reaches out for Jessica’s hands, and she allows this, squeezing Amy’s hands back.
“I don’t know how you smoke that,” Amy says, she observes as Tim lights a cigarette, pressing it between his lips.
Brian’s between the both of them, and Amy lets her head lean against the wall.
“Neither can I,” Brian makes a face and Tim huffs, rolling his eyes.
Amy pulls out her phone, no calls or messages, so she stuffs it back into her pocket. “Have either of you heard anything from Alex?”
“A week or so ago,” Brian answers, “we spoke in person.”
“How was he acting?” Amy questions.
Brian bites the inside of his cheek, Alex had asked him to not say anything, so he doesn’t. “He was a bit off, but he’s been acting like that for a while.”
Tim removes his cigarette from his lips, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Sarah’s had it with that attitude.”
“I heard,” Amy’s voice is low.
“And I haven’t seen him since last filming,” Tim adds, he takes another puff.
Amy straightens herself out, pushing herself off the brick wall. “When was that?” She prompts.
“Week or so ago,” Tim estimates, he watches Amy frown.
“He didn’t tell me.” She says, slowly.
Amy and Tim share a glance.
She’s going to talk to Alex.