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toyybox · 1 year ago

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Spiderwebs #35: Valentine

Masterlist

content: intimate whumper, carewhumper, some suggestive themes (No explicit content)

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Another day, another hotel. They left in the morning. Heather shook him awake at five o’clock sharp. He packed his things, despite his complaints and fatigue, and he made himself comfortable in the car. The roads blurred together. He tried to look out for signs, the name of a city or even a new state, but found none.

The new hotel was somewhat nicer. They didn’t have a free breakfast, or a minifridge, but they did have a television and a larger fridge, plus a small chandelier in the room—for whatever reason—as well as free soap samples in the bathroom. Rosehip scented. Jackie kept a few in his pocket, then collapsed onto the bed. It was much more comfortable-looking. The fabric was hazel-coloured and smelled like laundry detergent.

Heather’s mood was slightly better, or she had learned to hide her emotions more thoroughly. She did not say anything, only sat on the swivel chair and stared at the painting on the wall. It was a river scene. Probably Venice. Gondolas and lanterns glowing yellow over flat waters, with a stilted house or two in the background. The painting was real, not printed out, and Jackie could even make out the thick, textured strokes of acrylic on its surface.

Jackie sat up. “Do you like this one?”

“Which one?”

“The hotel.”

“It’s fine.” She shifted her gaze to look out the window instead. It wasn’t floor-length, like the last window, but it was long. The sky had darkened somewhat. According to the clock on the wall, it was half-past six.

“Where are we?”

“Bellevue.”

“Oh, I’ve gone to Bellevue before.” This was a lie—Jackie never had the money to travel—but he really needed something to talk about. He didn’t want to look uncultured. Anyway, he knew enough about the city. “They have a botanical garden.”

“I’m not a botanist.”

“Yeah, but we could still go there. Just visit.”

“We could.” But she said nothing else on the matter.

Jackie sighed. “What are we going to do, then?”

“Nothing. Stay here.” She finally turned her head to look at him. “Are you bored?”

“A little.”

“Read a book. Or go to sleep.”

There were two beds. That was an option, but not an appealing one. He didn’t want to sleep. He wasn’t fatigued anymore, just restless.

So he took out his book instead. He stared at the pages. He turned a few pages. He rolled over onto his back, so he could hold up the book and read that way. He rolled back onto his stomach. He sat up. He got off the bed, and read while walking in languid circles. He sat on the sofa. He sat on the floor—also carpet, also dark brown, but thicker. He stood up and leaned against the wall. He sat back down on the bed.

And then he glanced at the clock. Two minutes had passed.

“You get bored very easily,” Heather said.

He put the book down. “I’m not a gentle soul like you.”

“Well, then.” She laced her hands together. “I’m bored too.”

“Can we go to the garden, then?”

“No. It’s too risky.” She unlaced her hands. “What did you do all day, back in the basement? Other than reading and drawing.”

“I went to sleep.”

“Nothing else?”

“Sometimes I would bang my head against the wall?”

“Thanks for the suggestion.” She paused. “I could take up smoking.”

Jackie let out a mock gasp. “Heather!”

“What?” She smiled a little. “I have good lungs.”

“Yeah, but I don’t. I’ll be coughing all the time.”

“Didn’t you buy cigarettes?”

“And look where that got me. What about the T.V.?”

The television stared silently at them both, startled out of its easy background role. It wasn’t a flatscreen, but boxy ones had a wry charm of their own. How odd, that such a sleek hotel should contain such an anachronism. It was big enough to watch from the bed, at least. The remote lay beside it, blocky and black, beside a flyer with all the hotel service numbers.

“That’s a fair point.” She stood up and took the remote. The television flickered on with the push of a button. There were a few channel numbers inlaid yellow-on-blue, plus an option for movies.

“Interesting,” Heather said in a rather flat tone.

“There’s nothing else to do. We might as well, yeah?”

“What? Watch the news?”

Jackie scoffed. “No, silly. Watch a movie. Don’t tell me that biochemists don’t watch movies.”

“I watch movies.” She walked over and shoved the remote into his hands. “Of course I watch movies. I’m not some kind of recluse.”

“Oh, do you? Name one movie.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She turned off the lights, then curled up on the bed beside him. “Just hurry up and pick something.”

He clicked through the options. Nothing very interesting. Jackie only liked depressing French films in black-and-white, but hotels didn’t usually offer those. There were a few slasher flicks, though. Perhaps the blood would appeal to Heather.

“How about Saw?” he asked.

“No, it’s unrealistic. You’d die of sepsis before any of the stupid traps.”

“Okay, how about Halloween Three?”

“It’s not even October.”

“Alright, alright, Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

She made a face at him.

“What? You love chainsaw massacres.”

“Too soon, Jackie.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. What if we watch Psycho?”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

He didn’t care much for horror movies either, but it was better in comparison to everything else. Psycho was a classic, at least. Or so he had heard. As the introduction played, Jackie was still bored, but he was glad the room wasn’t dead quiet anymore.

His gaze wandered away from the movie, towards Heather beside him. In the light of the television, neon and always awake, she looked so different. He followed the motion of her eyelids, the way her eyelashes dipped as she blinked, the light reflecting against them in a waxy line then scattering apart.

He did not deserve anybody’s affection, least of all Heather’s. He was unable to even let go of what was hurting him, unable to rip the arrow from his chest—still, he would do anything for her. He had gouged his own heart out, and he would do it again. That had to mean something. He wasn’t completely useless, was he?

Heather wasn’t actually watching the movie, and neither was he. She stared at the floor, bit at the edge of her lip, and he stared at her. He was happy, but something caught in his chest and welled up in his throat. He got the strange urge to lean against her. Press up against her shoulder. Put his head there, breathe in and out, let everything else fade away…

Well, this was all foreign to him. He didn't know what to say, how to act. He knew how to behave and talk politely, but there was no skill in that. Nobody had ever wanted him like this before.

Heather was different. She kept him around. She wanted him to stay.

That’s because she kidnapped you, idiot.

Yes. Maybe it was delusion. Maybe it was pareidolia, to see patterns where there were none. But he could pretend. They could smooth that uneven detail over. They could forgive and forget and let live, just leave it be and let it go. And to be wanted was to be wanted; the legality of it was irrelevant.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. He couldn’t ask her outright. No, he had lost enough dignity already. He moved a little closer to her on the bed. Not enough to touch her, but close enough that they could touch if she wanted, hypothetically, possibly, maybe, to touch.

She turned her head towards him. Her hair shifted around her shoulders, spilling over them like woven silk, or like they were carved from marble, in perfect sheafs and sections. That familiar gaze seared into him, still distant and piercing, but not so cold anymore.

Someone was screaming on the television. The sound was distorted, cut through by static. It was some kind of brutal death, he was sure, judging from the sounds. The flash of a blade, the splash of water against linoleum, what could have been a fresh splatter of flesh.

Jackie leaned a little closer—still not close enough to touch, no, of course not. He’d understand if Heather shoved him away and started gagging. He’d be a little offended if she gagged, obviously…

“Stop.”

He flinched back at once. “Sorry, I—”

“I didn’t tell you to move. Stop moving. Stay there.”

Heather was not as shy as he was. She closed the gap between them with fluid ease, wrapped her arms around him and settled in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He wondered if she had more experience than him, to put it that way. She made this look easy.

He tried not to be so tense, tried to follow her lead. Jackie hadn’t been held in so long. It was supposed to be relaxing, but he was too occupied with making sure he didn’t screw it up. It was imperative that he did everything right. Heather already had enough reason to hate him.

“Hm?” She shifted her head. Her hair grazed the back of his neck. “Something wrong?”

“No.”

Someone was monologuing on the television. He couldn’t make out any of the words. Something serious, maybe a confession or a heated confrontation.

“Do you want me to let go?” she murmured. “You can ask me to stop, you know.”

“No, this is okay.” He shut his eyes. “I’m okay.”

“Why is your heart beating so fast?”

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed, a low and weary sound. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry—“ He cut himself off. “I won’t.”

“That’s not what I meant. Say what you want. I don’t care. Apologize, if you want. But I wish you would…”

She didn’t finish her request. Instead, she placed a hand on his chest, where his heart buzzed so incessantly, betraying him, under the thick, solid black sweater he had borrowed from her.

He didn’t know what she wished for, but he knew he would give it to her. He wasn’t stupid; he was aware she could change her mind. He needed whatever brief protection her love offered, if it meant receiving her affection, her kindness. Such blunt terms would not bother him. All relationships were just company for company, tooth for tooth, an eye for an eye. The price was heavier here, perhaps, but it was still a simple one.

Heather pushed him down onto the bed. Slow, steady, the steady pace she had with the scalpel and saw. His eyes fluttered open. He remembered the metal pressure against his insides, against his stomach, his bones, a wound deeper than his flesh and nerves. He swallowed, and the thought died.

Exchange, give and take. That was all. That was… all. That was it, and he didn’t need to worry. He would be fine with that. He didn’t resist, let her push him down. The fabric was soft under his head.

Heather looked down at him, a watcher from above, indecipherable as always, still studying him.

He hesitated. She was waiting. He was supposed to say something, or do something, but his words faltered to a harsh blank.

She did not wait forever. She laid down beside him, nestled close and held him tight. The fabric shifted underneath them. A shiver clawed up his spine, but he remained perfectly still.

Now he could feel her heart beating as well. Hard, heavy beats, as unyielding as wrought metal. Her breath feathered up against his neck. The tang of orange blossoms filled up his lungs like sand and cement, a cloying citrus smell. The television muttered and murmured, but he barely heard it. His face was feeling flushed. He was painfully aware of each and every part of her, the curve of her shoulders, the precise pressure of her arms. The tension coiled with each exhale and inhale, wound up and up in his chest, grew thick in the back of his throat. But Heather was content to just lie there, so he was too.

The sky outside the window shone white-speckled black. Night had already fallen. It was unbearably cold out on the street, Jackie was certain, but he was inside and safe and warm. Not safe, necessarily, not yet, not quite… but he was inside and warm. Two out of three wasn’t so bad. And he wasn’t alone. It made him want to cry.

Heather closed her eyes. He didn’t see this happen, but he felt the butterfly-wing motion of her eyelashes pushing against his skin, grazing him like the spill of her hair.

It was easy to forget that constant heaviness in his chest. It was easy to just give up, give into it for one night. He was wanted here and it was going to be okay.

Their silence stagnated. The stars flickered, dim against the city’s brash lights. He closed his eyes.

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#whump writing #whump #Spiderwebs toyybox #my writing #intimate whumper #carewhumper #💔💔💔#Jackieeee :(

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