butterflyfactor | (no subject)

"I'm not guilt tripping you," Layla said. "That would require a skillset I don't have. I'm asking you a really basic question and you're refusing to answer it. I can't force you to do anything, Jamie. I never could."

She hated this 'putting herself out there' shit. It was extremely taxing, without knowing each step of the outcome for sure. But if she had to, she had to. She walked over to stop in front of him, less than a foot away.

"But this is an important part of who you are and where you're going, and you won't talk to me about it. So what should I think?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said. "Do you think I'm stupid? That I don't realize what you must be keeping from me? But wait, this isn't about you, right? It's about me. My problems and my issues and my death wish." He slapped a hand to his chest in punctuation, forever the drama queen. "So fine, you wanna know why I don't want to go in there? Because I've been there, done that, and don't see a need to revisit one more mistake. I'm treading enough metaphorical water as it is."

Her hand whipped up, covering his where it was digging so emphatically into his chest, and kept it there. Her eyes were locked onto the place around his collar bone, and her face had slipped into passivity that was a defense mechanism, now.

"...what do you want to know?"

This is not a game I ever, ever intended on playing. I can't even guarantee I'll answer him honestly. But he answered a question, so okay. He can ask one. Even if it kills me to risk it.

The question took him so by surprise that he all but deflated on the spot, his mind gone maddeningly blank when he needed it the most. There was no inner monologue, no quick retort, no anything. It felt enough like a burden simply remembering how to breathe.

"Can I--" he said after an indeterminate amount of time. He swallowed, thickly. "Can I get back to you on that or is there an expiration date?"

"I haven't decided yet," she murmured, looking very faintly troubled, not meeting his eyes. She stifled a sigh and looked up at him.

"Fine. No. No expiration date."

That concern taken care of for the time being, Jamie started the slow process of gathering his thoughts. He was very suddenly aware of Layla's hand over his own, and while some small part of him wanted to pull back, he found he couldn't move.

An object at rest staying at rest.

"You're really serious about this," he said, voice lilting upwards, though it wasn't much of a question.

Layla nodded a little, watching him to make sure there would be eye contact involved in the conversation. That was hit or miss, with them.

"Yep."

"And you'd... Be with me. Out there?" he asked, sounding increasingly uncertain. After about a second, though, he shook his head, immediately backtracking. "Assuming I agree to this, I mean. Which I haven't, by the way, because just the idea's enough to make me break out into a cold sweat, but hypothetically speaking... You'd be there?"

Hello, abandonment issues. That's what losing your parents and growing up totally alone does to a person. Or other people.

Clearly I am immune.

She squeezed his hand a little, nodding, and though the lines of her mouth didn't change, at least not into something anywhere near a smile, her eyes softened a little.

"Of course."

God, you sound pathetic. You said it yourself, Madrox -- it's not the water that scares you, so what are you waiting for? You're on an island surrounded by water, for Christ's sake. Whether you like it or not, this is something you need to do. So suck it up, princess -- you're making the rest of us look bad.

Oh, shut up.

Turning to look out at the water, though not dislodging Layla's hand, Jamie sighed, his teeth clenched together. The corners of his mouth tugged down in a frown, and he pushed his free hand back through his hair.

"Fine," he said, clearly on edge. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Let's do this."

"Okay," she said, one side of her mouth pulling back in a smile that managed to be understanding without being condescending as hell. She stepped back and turned for the canvas bag, then caught her t-shirt by the hem and peeled it up off her body and over her head, dropping it ceremoniously onto the sand.

Without staring -- one fleeting glance, but that was it -- he followed suit, tugging the collar of his t-shirt over his head, then tossed it to the ground, not paying any particular mind to where it landed. If he stopped to think about what he was doing, there was every chance he'd just back out, and Layla had been right, before, when she'd said this was something he needed to do.

She undid the five buttons of the fly of her jeans, and pushed them down her hips. She stepped out of them and took a few steps toward the water before she looked back over her shoulder at Jamie.

His belt undone, but not removed, he made quick work of his jeans, kicking them off. He noted for later that they landed somewhere near his shirt, though he was already striding towards the water, affording Layla another fleeting glance as he got closer.

"You're not dressed for this," he said, his tone almost painfully casual.

Layla blinked at him, then shrugged easily.

"I think this is actually traditional garb for a night swim."

Jamie snorted.

"Not if you planned it."

She smiled, almost a grin, and started out into the water, pushing a hand back through her hair to keep it off her face as she did.

It was black, reflecting the sky, and when it hit her knees her feet stopped being visible.

This is kind of cool. As long as Jamie doesn't freak out. But I think he's past that bit.

To his credit, Jamie didn't stop before Layla did, though his heart hammered in his chest, and he couldn't quite shake the vague sense of unease that seemed to prickle under his skin. He slowed down as the water hit his hips, hissing in a breath.

"S'cold."

"Yeah," she agreed, and then, because it was the fastest way to get past that part, took a few steps forward before fluidly ducking her head and slipping her body under a small wave as it rolled toward the sand. She came up seconds later, slicking her hair back and letting out a sharp breath.

"Kind of nice, though."

He didn't follow suit, staying frozen to the spot as he watched her, his arms crossed over his chest -- awkward, and not doing all that great a job of hiding it. The panic, he knew, would come soon.

"If you say so."

She swam out a little ways, enjoying the water sluicing against her neck, over her shoulders. From the beach it was pretty to look at, but to swim in it was more poetic an experience than she was typically given to enjoying. She turned back to him, taking the stance, the rigidity, his expression, and then swam over until she could touch the sand again with her toes. She walked slowly through the water to him.

"It was an empirical observation, but not an objective one." She twisted her hair into a rope and let it drape along her shoulder.

"How are you doing?"

Edited 2010-03-25 04:38 (UTC)

"Fine," he lied, looking away. His breaths were getting shallower by the second, though, and he quickly closed his eyes, trying to center himself and calm down. It was just water, and he had no intention of trying to commit suicide a third time.

"Where is the panic coming from?" she asked quietly, reaching up both hands to smooth her fingertips along his temples.

"This is a scene straight out of The Da Vinci Code," he muttered under his breath, though he didn't make to move away, instead simply letting his arms fall to his sides, his fingers skimming over the surface of the water. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes, searching her face.

"I don't..." he started haltingly, then trailed off, blowing air through his teeth. "It's remembering -- not what it was like to drown, because that was just a means to an end -- but why I wanted to drown. It's remembering that mindset, and the morbid certainty I had that that day would be my last. I don't want to die, Layla, but my God, what I'd do to have that sort of clarity again. And that's... That's what's terrifying. My epiphany didn't happen after I jumped. It happened before. How messed up is that?"

Edited 2010-03-25 06:27 (UTC)

"Pretty messed up," she agreed, "unless you divorce one thing from the other."

She didn't pull her hands away, but relaxed her wrists a little, which meant she was cupping his face instead of just touching two points.

"You don't want to die, you don't want to drown yourself, you're not afraid of water. You're certain about all that?"

Edited 2010-03-25 08:01 (UTC)