Golden Tongue (Bias x Reader) Pt.16
The next few weeks are a blur with a dose of recurring nightmares. Not only for you, but more so for B/N.
You don’t go home. You’ve been staying with him since the incident, afraid to leave him by himself. He barely eats, his body imprint on the bed signals that he hardly leaves it.
And right now he’s standing in the kitchen, eyes glazed over as his mind wanders. He doesn’t notice you standing there, he’s hardly noticed you since Jesse was buried.
Guilt, grief, and rage is all he’s suffering from and it’s eating him alive. He’s lost so much of himself.
You stand beside him, looking at his face. It’s been days since he’s said more than five words to you.
Placing your hand on his cheek, you softly say, “Come back to me,”
He turns his head to you, blinks twice as he returns to the present. A look of pity crosses his features.
“I’m gonna shower. My parents will be here soon,” he says, walking around you.
You stand there, forcing your emotions down. A habit you’ve started doing while you tried caring for B/N. You both weren’t official yet, recent events preventing you both from talking about it. You sort of just…stayed with him.
In truth, you liked him a lot. But you felt incredibly overwhelmed. He was so caught up in his own pain that he seemed to have forgotten you both were in the same battle that day.
You wipe your tear-stained face. When did your life take such a turn? Sitting in the stool Jesse once sat in to eat your breakfast. Can’t have two distraught people trying to make it through the day, right?
You don’t have much of an appetite but you know you need to eat. Tracing your fork through your food, you realize you’ve been spaced out for over twenty minutes, doing the same thing B/N was doing.
You drop your fork, feeling uneasy. Heading to the bathroom, you realize B/N is still in there. He didn’t lock the door, but you knock.
“B/N, you okay?” you can still hear the shower running but he doesn’t answer you. You let yourself in. Your heart is pounding at what you’re unprepared to see once you pull the shower curtains aside.
He’s sitting in the corner, his knees to his chest and staring at nothing.
The sight of him like this is the tipping point of your emotions and you sink to the floor. You sit on the ground outside of the tub, holding your face in your hands.
“I wish I could go back,” he says and you look at him. This is the most he’s admitted to feeling since the incident took place. His eyes and nose are red, “I wish for nothing more than to go back,”
He pushes his hair back, sniffing. His eyes focus on you, “I need you to do something for me,”
You nod, “What?”
He takes a moment to reply, his voice breaking, “I need you to take this pain away,” you know where he’s going with this, and you shake your head, “I need you to make me forget,”
“No…” you say in the middle of his request.
His face switches from pleading to anger very quickly. He gets out of the shower and you follow him.
“It’s one request, Y/N!” he snaps as he pulls his boxers on. He’s taking his anger and depression out on you now.
“I won’t do that,” you tell him.
“You cannot forget Jesse!” he doesn’t want to hear what you’re saying, “No matter how bad you feel, forgetting him would make his entire life meaningless.”
He roughly pushes his wet hair from his face, flinging the nearest thing, that happens to be his laptop, across the room.
“I want to die, Y/N! Do you understand that? You almost died saving me. My best friend is dead because I’m so fucking stupid. He didn’t want to do this. All he wanted to do was run a stupid realtor company,” as he says the final part, he presses his palms against his eyes, his voice breaking.
Your voice is soft, hoping it will lessen the blow, “That’s why you can’t forget him,” saying that makes him even more upset because you won’t give him what he wants.
“You’re practically Wonder Woman. You don’t understand what this feels like,” he scoffs. His words shock you, the look in his eyes spiteful, “Have you lost someone close to you?” he asks cynically.
You slap him in the face hard, purposefully.
Wet strands of hair spread across the side of his face, cheek slowly reddening. He doesn’t look surprised, almost like he wanted you to retaliate.
“I don’t understand?” Your body is shaking in anger, tears springing into your eyes, “Jesse was my friend too. Not as close as you guys, but he was a friend,” he rolls his eyes and you shove him hard in the chest. He wants to fight.
“You know what? Fuck you,” You’re pained that he thinks so little of what you could actually feel, after all you’ve done. You turn from him, grabbing your stuff. You can’t take this anymore.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving. Obviously,”
Walking to the living room, he follows you, “I’ve been babysitting you because you’re so damn sad that you can’t help yourself. I’ve been neglecting myself and for what? Are we even friends? We’re not even officially together,”
“And how dare you? You think just because you feel pain, you have a right to say those things to me?” his expression lets you know he realizes his mistake, “Not once have you asked how I felt. Do you just assume I feel nothing? Wonder Woman felt pain too.” he presses his lips together, remembering what he said, “Honestly, did you not think of me once?”
“I did… I just didn’t think-”
“No, you didn’t think,” you push your hair from your face, “I killed people, B/N. Did you forget that?”
He pauses, watching you carefully now, as if the pain in your own voice made him snap out of his own, “That shit keeps me up at night. A man is braindead because of me. I accidentally killed a girl who ran into my force field. I put a bullet through a woman’s brain without a second thought. And I’m not entirely sorry, and that scares me. And you wanna forget? I want to forget.”
His image is blurring before you, but you see him coming near you.
You back away from him, “I tried to save Jesse, but I didn’t see her gun. I wasn’t fast enough. I hate myself for that and sometimes I think that you hate me because I didn’t do any better,” you finally admit all of this to him.
You cover your face because you’re crying harder than you have before, your own guilt overflowing. He’s so quiet you’re not even sure he’s listening or even there. But you feel his arms come around you quickly and you’re pushing him off because you haven’t forgiven him. You don’t want your tears to seem like a weakness that you need him.
But he’s persistent and you can hardly stand up on your own.
He’s never held you this tight, as if he’s trying to keep you from crumbling to pieces, “I can’t forgive myself,” you whisper.
“I never blamed you,” he says, “Not once,”
You pull away to wipe your face, holding your bag tighter on your shoulder.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him for you,”
She was leaving him and he didn’t even blame her.
B/N didn’t mean to snap as he did but he’s almost glad he did, because he wouldn’t have known how much Y/N was keeping in.
Yes, he was being spiteful, an action he regretted as soon as he did it to her, but she was releasing so much. He didn’t know how hard she took Jesse’s death. Didn’t know she actually blamed herself. He even forgot about the people that died or were injured by Y/N’s hands. Her guilt greatly outdid his, yet she was being so strong for him.
Feeling like shit didn’t even cover it.
“I think it’s time we part ways,” she says and his throat is tight. He caused all of this.
He didn’t want her to leave, but he knew it would be the best if she did. She lost pieces of herself caring for him, her clothes fit her body looser than before. Her skin was dull and her eyes didn’t have that spark like before. On top of her own turmoil, did he drain her that much?
“I’m sorry,” is all he can say. He’s sorry he did this to her; neglected the only person he had left. He’s sorry he threw everything she did for him back in her face. He felt such shame looking at her, additional to the fact that he only had his boxers on.
“Keep in touch with your parents. Share your grief with them, because they loved Jesse too,” her final words. As she’s about to turn for the door, she pauses, looking at him.
He can’t let her leave this way. He meets her where she is, embracing her. He holds her tightly, his hand resting on the back of her head. Her tears cascade down his chest, his own disappearing in her hair.
She steps back, patting her cheeks. When she looks at him, he almost can’t hold her gaze.
“I can’t make you forget, but I can do something else for you,” she says softly.
She holds his face, looking into his eyes, “You will heal. You will get past this. You will be happy again. And you will forgive yourself,”
His body relaxes, his thoughts flashing gray as her words reconstruct his mind.
When he comes to, he realizes he is alone. His cat sits at the door, waiting for her to come back, not realizing she won’t.
He wasn’t sure how he’d face his parents when they arrived at his house. He couldn’t even look them in the eyes at the funeral.
He opens the door once they arrive, his stomach tight.
He feels better after what Y/N did to him. But her absence created another void that he would have to live with.
“Hi Mom,” is all he is able to say before she pulls him in for a hug.
“My baby. You’re so thin,” she sniffs, squeezing his arms and face for emphasis. She takes the food she brought from his father’s hands. She rushes to the kitchen.
“Dad,” B/N finally says.
His father sighs at the sight of his son, his stiff aura softening. He pats his neck, pulling him in for a hug, “Make sure you eat, or she’ll nag until you do,”
He gives a small smile, nodding.
Within minutes, his mother notices something isn’t right.
“Where’s Y/N?” she asks.
He’s not sure how to answer but says the truth, “She’s gone,”
His parents are quiet, glancing at each other before looking at their son again.
“Sharing burdens is only effective if it’s shared equally,” his mother says, seeming to know what he didn’t have to explain.
“I liked her for you,” is all his father says.
They eat together, his mother speaking the most and he’s grateful because he has no words to contribute to the conversation. She even manages to make him laugh despite the fact that there’s two chairs empty at the table. He felt happy for that split second and the rush of guilt that overtook him was insufferable.
He places his fork down, excusing himself from the table.
He clutches the counter in his bathroom, taking deep breaths.
“Pull yourself together,” he tells himself. Once he steps into his room, he pauses seeing his mother sitting on his bed, the book she had given him in her hands.
“Did you finish it?” she asks.
He shakes his head, “No. Haven’t gotten around to it,”
She nods, flipping through the pages, “You should,”
“Why? Some message on life lessons or something?”
“Something like that,”
“I don’t want to read it,”
“Read it,” she says firmly, holding the open book towards him. Even at his age, he knew when to pay attention to his mothers tone of voice.
With an exasperated sigh, he takes the book from her hand, standing as he reads the written words.
“The gifts that we’ve been given has brought us more pain than we anticipated. To forget is a gift. A gift I cannot give myself,”
“Not much encouragement from her here,” he says, closing the book.
“You accept what’s happened and move on. That’s the way it goes,”
He knows why his mother had him read this but he’s too stubborn to accept it. He’s feeling a mix of emotions. He already poured his soul out to Y/N, must he do it again?
But then he remembers what she said, to grieve with parents.
“He’s gone, B/N,” his mother says as gently as she can, “Jesse is gone,”
He pauses, biting the inner flesh of his cheek, “I know that,”
He feels her hand on his back, “Stop blaming yourself. You must live again,”
Her words cause tears to spring into his eyes and he fights them. He clenches his teeth so tightly to prevent himself from cracking.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says.
“I know,” she wipes his tears even though hers are glistening on her cheeks as well, “But I can’t lose another son. You might think you don’t deserve to enjoy life right now, but Jesse would’ve cursed you for leaving your plate full just now,”
The truth in her words cause him to laugh despite his tears, “He really loved food,”
A hard pang to his chest at using past-tense. His mother notices, taking his hand.
“I love you and I always will,” she says to him. Loving him despite what he did, a form of healing he didn’t expect.
His father steps in the doorway, looking his son in the eyes. An action he’s been doing lately, no longer fearing what his son could do.
He does a double take, noticing the broken laptop in the corner that he through, during his fight with Y/N.
“You and your temper,” he father chastises him as he picks up the broken pieces.
“I’ve been curious about something,” his father says, “You mentioned Y/N saved you? How?”
“She’s kind of like me,”
“How so? What can she do?” his mother asks.
He gives a knowing smile, remembering how ethereal and badass she looked as she fought. How before she knew of her gift, she pulled him towards her by simply being who she was, “Everything I can’t.”