Chapter Text
SUNLIGHT, BURNING HER EYES. The smell of blood stinging the hairs in her nose. The sick feeling of his blood sticking to her, leeching onto her, absorbing into her skin like a birthmark. Her lungs would cave in as she tried to scream, clawing at the residue on her skin furiously, fear trapping her in a fog so thick that she had no idea where she was. Though it always ended up with her awakening in a sweat, a hand pressed to her mouth, and fearful sets of eyes locked on her. This was one of those times. She woke to Lip's hand against her mouth once more, her eyes stinging with tears, arms angry and red from her incessant scratching. "It's okay," he whispered tiredly, eyes half lidded, a yawn breaking apart his assurance. "It was just a dream."
No, she thought. She grabbed his wrist in her trembling grip, eyes pleading with him. No, she thought once more. It wasn't a dream. He sighed, warm breath hitting her face. The bed behind them creaked and small footsteps could be heard exiting the room. The light in the hall flashed inside of the room for a moment before the door creaked shut once more. "Carl's awake," the duo heard Ian say from his own bed, voice groggy. She tried to blink away her tears, only to realize that it was useless. The faucet had been turned on and she was unsure of how to switch it off. "Shit," Lip cursed. It has been this way for a week now. She would wake them all up with her petrified screams, only to be told that it was nothing, that they understood why it was happening.
However, this night was different. The door pulled open once more and the top of Fiona's wild hair became visible to the two on the top bunk. "Lip," her stern voice whispered. The door opened further and the familiar footfalls made it known that Carl had reentered and his body fell back onto his mattress. "I'm sorry," Phoebe whispered, her voice muffled by his palm. He shook his head at her. It's not your fault, he thought. Slowly, he retracted his hand from her face and stretched his arm over his head. "Now, please." The urgency in Fiona's voice made Phoebe shudder.
He slid off of the bed with ease. Phoebe sat up a bit, wild eyes staring back at the boy. "Wait," she whispered after him, reaching across the bed to grab his wrist. His head snapped back toward her in surprise. "I'll be right back," he told her. With his free hand, he made an X shape over his heart. "You have my word. Okay?" Her grip faltered slightly. She knew that she was probably overreacting. What was going to happen? It wasn't like Fiona was going to stab him in the face, or shoot him. She gulped, teary eyes unfocused in front of her. "Pheebs," he called out softly, taking her chin between his fingers. The action was enough to have her shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she repeated, pulling her hand back. She opted on tugging his pillow into her chest to put pressure on the gaping wound in her chest cavity.
Lip hesitated. There was a thick tension that hovered over them ever since that night. It was thick, suffocating. It followed them everywhere they went. It pounced at inopportune times. Deciding that stalling was probably the worst thing he could do, Lip approached Fiona tiredly and joined her out into the hall. The door was left cracked so a sliver of light was still illuminating the room. Phoebe held the pillow tighter to her chest as she tried to eavesdrop on their conversation. "I'm sorry," Fiona sighed, her voice hushed. "She has to go. She's scaring the kids. No one can sleep." Lip was silent, blue eyes staring intently at his older sister. "And go where?" he asked, voice tight. "Back to the house? Back to the place where it happened?"
"No," Fiona argued. "Then where? We're all she has, Fiona." She shushed him, her fingers curling into tight fists. "Maybe she can stay with her mom. But she needs help, Lip. Actual help." He scoffed. He ran a hand through his messy curls, tired eyes avoiding Fiona's. He knew that she was broken, but he also knew that he could fix her. In some way, he could bring back the girl he once knew. He could make her forget the fear, the heartbreak she must have felt at that moment. He'd help her create new memories. "She has to go," Fiona repeated sadly. It wasn't like she wanted to force Phoebe out. She had a family to worry about. The house was sleepless, restless, and always on edge around her. It was an uncomfortable atmosphere for all of them, Phoebe included.
"She can't stay another night." Lip didn't answer. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tense. "I'm sorry," Fiona reiterated. She hated feeling like the bad guy. Lip released a soft sigh through his nose and turned back to the room. He slipped back onto the bed with a slight groan, coming face to face with a wide eyed Phoebe. She had finally stopped crying. The chill from her dream was no longer suffocating her. He offered her a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm so sorry," she sighed, voice trembling. He slipped his palm over her cheek, fingers tucking behind her neck. She relaxed into his gentle touch. "You gotta stop saying that," he told her. Her eyes widened a bit at his words. "It isn't your fault. You have to know that. You couldn't have done anything different." She shook her head. "I could have," she argued.
Her eyes were wild. Her lips pressed firmly into a thin line. He didn't want to argue. Arguing wouldn't have helped anything, anyway. "Do you want to go back to sleep?" he asked. She shook her head once more. "No," she croaked out. Knowingly, he didn't push the subject further. Instead, he let his hand run from her cheek and down her arm. "Movies?" She nodded her head and soon they were slipping away. They came to rest on the living room couch, Phoebe curled into a hoodie she had stolen from the house right before they told her to leave. It still smelled like him, like their detergent. She buried her face into the hoodie, her tired eyes focusing on the television in front of her. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.
—
Lip looked around her old bedroom in interest. It was still the same as it had been when she left. Her things were ripped from the wall. Her drawers were still open, hanging from the dressers. She sighed, closing them one by one. Bad memory after bad memory seemed to plague her life. "You don't have to stay," she told him, tucking her hair behind her ears. She hugged the hoodie tighter around her, trying to force his scent to sit on her skin permanently. The edges of Lip's mouth curled upward at her statement. "I know," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I want to." She rolled her eyes at the gut wrenching feeling sparking in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes narrowed toward the boy. "I don't need a babysitter," she warned him. "You don't have to stay out of pity or whatever it is. Okay? I can take care of myself."
"Mhm," he replied with a grin. Her mouth opened in surprise. "What does that mean?" she asked, arms crossing tight over her chest. Finally, he looked over his shoulder and at the girl. Her bangs stuck to her forehead. The hoodie was disgusting. After a full week of wearing it, it was starting to stink. "You need a shower," he told her truthfully. She reeled back in surprise. "You smell." Amusement dazzled in his eyes as she flushed from embarrassment. "You— Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked, her voice raising an octave. "I thought you could take care of yourself?" She sent a sharp glare in his direction, turning on her heels and marching out of her room. She paused at the threshold, her fingers catching the doorframe.
He was still watching her, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Curiously, he waited for her to speak. Her eyes met his over her shoulder, soft and hesitant. "Will you sit in there with me?" His brows rose in surprise. Without hesitation, he nodded his head and began to follow her. It had become routine at that point. He never left her side. When she used the bathroom, he was right there. When she laid in bed past the point of morning, he laid beside her. Everything she did, he was right there. They entered the bathroom in silence, the bright lights flickering to life above the bathroom mirror. He took a seat on the toilet while she turned on the water. "...What if his scent is gone after we wash it?" she suddenly asked, burying her nose into the cotton fabric.
He scratched behind his ear, falling silent. He didn't know what to say to her anymore. "You can get his cologne from the house... Or buy a new bottle." She frowned, screwing her eyes closed. "It's not just his cologne. It's him. His pheromones." Lip sighed heavily. Without another word, she stripped herself of the hoodie and let it fall into the hamper. Her eyes flickered toward Lip, silently instructing him to look away. He did without hesitation, letting his head fall between his knees, hands hovering around his face. She took that moment to strip down and slip into the warm shower. The steam filled her senses, blurred her vision. She sighed aloud at the warm sensation flowering across her skin.
He cleared his throat hesitantly. "You do realize that I'm not here out of pity, right?" His question lingered in the air. Her heart thrummed against her chest, her eyes starting to burn. She ran her fingers through her hair to occupy herself. "I'm here because I love you and I'm worried about you." He glanced over toward the peach colored shower curtain. He noticed how stiff she appeared to be. "I'm worried that this is going to kill you. And I don't know what I'll do without you, you know? It's selfish, but I can't help it."
The feeling blossoming in her chest felt familiar. That want — that need — of being wanted. She swallowed harshly, unable to stop the flush of her cheeks. Hesitantly, she looked over toward the curtain, her sight of him obscured. "Lip," she called out, clearing her throat of its shakiness. His head tilted at the simple call of his name, heart rate speeding up. "Yeah?" Was she going to yell at him? Was she going to kick him out, declare she never wants to speak to someone so thoughtless and selfish ever again? His hands shook against his thighs. Her tongue darted out across her lips to wet them, fingers reaching toward the edge of the curtain. Slowly, she pulled back the curtain, warm eyes meeting his intensely. He stood, unable to stop himself from approaching her.
"I don't know if I can love you," she whispered, her voice strained. Her wet hand came to cradle his face, droplets of water staining the collar of his shirt. "I know," he replied breathlessly. There was hesitance in his eyes as she leaned forward, her lips brushing his. He knew that he shouldn't. She wasn't thinking straight. Her mind was clouded with grief. And the possibility of it all being for nothing wore on his brain. But being so close, feeling the way she touched him so carefully, he threw all sense out of the window. He pressed his mouth firmly to hers, stumbling under the warm spray of water. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. "It's okay," he breathed out, his mouth tingling. "I'll take care of you."