Litany - Chapter 10/12
Hi, guys! I’m stressed about the first week of class, so here’s a thing to distract me.
@bombshellsandbluebells lent her stellar editing talents to this piece so thank her for helping me <3
Also on Ao3
We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,
smiling and crying in a way that made me
even more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I
just couldn’t say it out loud.
Actually, you said Love, for you,
is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s
terrifying. No one
will ever want to sleep with you.
Then
“Otan!” Emori shouts, banging her way into the basement, nearly falling down the last two steps, her feet sliding in her too-big boots. “Otan, get your ass out of bed! I hit the jackpot!”
“‘S too early,” Otan grumbles, pulling the moth-eaten blanket over his head. “Why are you so loud?”
“I’m not loud,” Emori says. “You’re hungover.” She pulls out a package of day-old buns and a jar of generic peanut butter. “I got breakfast!”
“Breakfast?” Otan sat up. “Thought we didn’t have money for that.”
Emori shrugs. “Made a deal.”
Otan looks at her mistrustfully, but shuffles out of bed nonetheless, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. She slaps some peanut butter on a roll and takes a big bite, hoping it will soothe the ache in her stomach.
“Don’t forget about me,” Otan grumbles.
Emori give him a cheeky smile. “Couldn’t if I tried,” she mumbles around a mouthful. “Make your own breakfast. And clean up. You smell like alcohol.”
Now
Otan seems to know that Emori is going to leave, even before she says anything.
“I kinda figured,” he says gently, ruffling her hair. “This life isn’t yours anymore, Em. I don’t know if jail did something to you, or if it was that kid, but…” He trails off, stares past her for a long moment. “You belong somewhere else now.”
Tears fill her eyes. She wraps her arms around her torso to keep herself from breaking. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Otan stuffs his hands in his pockets - a boyish, uncomfortable gesture. “I left you first.”
It hangs there. Brother and sister regard one another. Emori wants to hug him, but something in her balks at the idea. She can tell he wants to say something, but he won’t. Neither of them ever do.
She shoulders her backpack. She’s wearing John’s thermal sweatshirt. The fabric chafes against her neck. The sleeve bulges awkwardly over her bad hand. “I’ll call you,” she says softly.
Otan nods. She turns to the door. This feels final, like a door closing, a lock twisting shut and rusting there.
“Try not to forget about me,” Otan says suddenly, an echo of a past life, of a girl she supposes she isn’t anymore.
She smiles, carefully, but she doesn’t look back. “Couldn’t if I tried.”
John is standing outside the apartment building, pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair. It’s shorter now, and he has more facial hair. It’s not a bad look, all things considered. She hopes it means that he’s taking care of himself, even though she knows there’s a high possibility that Raven just sat him down and chopped off his hair with safety scissors.
That’s not a bad idea, she thinks, absently fingering the dry ends of her long hair. Then, John turns to look at her, and she can’t think at all.
“Hey,” he says in a tone trying too hard to be casual. Despite herself, she feels a grin creep over her face. “What?”
“You came,” she says softly. “I didn’t-”
She’s about to say something else, but before she can take a breath, he’s running to her, sweeping one of her arms up over his shoulder and wrapping her in a hug.
“John,” she gasps, burying her face in his shoulder. His arms are tight around her, one around her shoulders and the other around her waist. She can feel him shaking.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs in his ear, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m okay.”
He nods into her shirt, then pulls away to look down at her. “Where’s your jacket?”
She curls her good hand into his sweatshirt that she’s wearing. “This is warm enough.”
He scoffs, shakes his head and starts shrugging off his coat. When he offers it to her, he doesn’t meet her eyes, but she puts it on anyway.
There’s a wall that’s gone up between them, swift and sudden. As quickly as he embraced her, he has shut her out. She fights the urge to do the same, instead choosing to lead him toward the train station, her backpack swishing against the cool nylon of John’s jacket.
They stand on the elevated platform nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. A neon sign hanging from the ceiling announces that their train is 30 minutes away and apt to be delayed because of an incoming storm. There’s a few people milling around, hiding in the shadows, sitting under the overhang, afraid of the promised rain.
A gust of wind blows through, whipping around the platform. Beside her, John stiffens, shivers. His closeness is terrifying; she has to stop herself from leaning into his warmth. His eyes are closed against the cold wind. When he opens them, they’re bright, as if with tears.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice creaking like broken floorboards. “What’s wrong?”
He looks away from her. “Nothing.” He shivers again.
“Do you want your jacket back?” she asks, already preparing to shrug it off.
“I don’t-” he starts to snap, then catches himself. “No.”
Impatience and anger rear their ugly heads in her. “What’s your problem, John?” she asks.
“Nothing!” His eyes are scared, his posture defensive. As thunder rumbles overhead, she realizes that he is afraid of her.
She backs up, standing under the overhang as rain starts to drizzle over them. John follows her, shoving his hands in his pockets so hard she’s surprised a seam doesn’t rip.
“John,” she says again, stepping forward and ducking to meet his eyes. “John, talk to me.”
“You can’t just stay when it works for you,” he says softly. His eyes are still bitter, but there’s sadness behind the blue fire. “You can’t come back and leave whenever you want. You freaked Raven out. Jasper missed you.”
“Oh, sure, this is about Raven and Jasper,” Emori scoffs. There’s a fist closing around her lungs. It’s wringing the life from them slowly but surely. “It couldn’t possibly be about you.”
“Shut up!” John shouts. She flinches back, and two bystanders turn to stare. The rain comes down harder. “You don’t get to blame this on me! You left me!”
“And now you’re punishing me for it?” Emori cries. “You said you understood! You said you wanted me to come home!”
“I didn’t say I’d make it easy,” he growls, taking a hasty step forward so they’re chest-to-chest. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t hate you for it.”
“Tell me to leave, John,” she breathes. Beg me to stay.
He kisses her instead. When they break apart, he makes a sound like a wounded animal. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to have to figure your shit out,” she whispers, her head spinning, her lips still feeling the ghost of his mouth. “I won’t let you talk to me like that again.”
He smirks down at her. “You going to punish me?”
The rain is pouring down now, soaking the pavement and sending wafts of mist under the overhang. Emori sees beads of it shimmering on her glove when she shoves his chest. “Shut up, John.”
He catches her bad hand, holds it close, lifts it to cup his cheek and kiss the wrapped palm. She feels her face fall and her eyes harden. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” John asks, kissing the palm again.
“That.” She tugs her hand free.
“It deserves love too,” he murmurs, reaching for her good hand. Emori doesn’t know what to say to that, so she says nothing. Instead, she takes off John’s jacket and hands it to him. She steps back into the rain, tips her head up to the sky, and lets the cold water sting her face like tears.
“You’re crazy!” John shouts. She tilts her head down to look at him. Her hair plasters to her cheeks. “Emori, get back here!”
“Or what?” She spins in the rain, laughing. Later, she’ll be freezing, shivering and desperate for warmth, but right now, she craves the cold.
I’m going to be okay, she tells herself as the train roars past, its push and pull of wind soaking her even more. This will all be okay.
They both cry on the train on the way home. Emori, from joy, the salt dripping into her mouth, mixing with the rain falling from her hair; John for reasons she doesn’t understand.
“What’s wrong?” she asks him, breathless, her tears giving way to a kind of soft joy.
He wipes his eyes, though there are no tears. He cries like she used to: silent and without a trace. “If you say ‘nothing’,” Emori says, teasing, “I’ll kick you into tomorrow.”
“I don’t know,” he says softly. The train is dark and empty. Rain lashes at the windows. Emori scoots over to be nearer to him. Despite her wet clothes, he leans on her shoulder.
“Love, for you,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “isn’t the usual kind of love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you.”
She frowns. As if of its own accord, her good hand flies up to stroke his hair. “I scare you.” She means it as a question. It sounds more like an accusation.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
She sighs. He stays there, on her shoulder. Her arm starts to go numb. She doesn’t ask him to move.
When they pull into the station outside their college campus - is it still hers, Emori wonders; is any of this still hers? - Raven is there, leaning against the hood of Bellamy’s car, arms crossed, good foot tapping on the ground. Her shadow is harsh in the street lamp above her. At the sight, Emori feels the knot in her stomach tense and tighten.
This is it, she tells herself as she shoulders her bag and shakes John awake. She won’t let me come home. Emails be damned.
Home. She nearly shakes herself, self-corrects. Come back.
“Hey, Reyes,” John says easily, not even flinching when Raven rockets straight past him to wrap Emori in a bruising hug.
“Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again,” Raven murmurs, rubbing Emori’s back with her hand.
Emori fights the urge to rest her forehead on Raven’s shoulder and cry. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and waits for the rejection.
Raven pulls back just slightly and brushes a strand of hair from Emori’s face. “It’s okay. You’re home now. Lexa wanted to go through your stuff for clues, but I drew the line.”
John rolls his eyes. “You were this close to doing it, too.”
Raven shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure she was okay-“ She stops and twirls a lock of Emori’s hair in her fingers. “Wait, why are you wet?”
John snorts. Emori starts to explain, but is cut off when Raven hugs her again, then ushers her toward the car.
“Tell me later,” she says, fussing just like Otan would, like Bellamy would too, probably. “We need to get you dry.”
John mutters something Emori doesn’t hear. Raven does; she turns around in her seat and smacks him on the leg. John kicks her seat, and Emori retaliates by throwing the tissue box on the floor near her feet at John’s torso.
“I’ll have to tell Bellamy I did end up needing a car tissue box,” Raven says drily, and the three of them speed home.
“Why did you leave?”
Emori jumps at the sound of Octavia’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “Everyone was worried. You had all of this, and you threw it away. Why?”
Emori sighs and kicks her now-empty backpack under the bed. “It’s a long story,” she sighs.
“Is it?” Octavia steps into the room. She and Emori are about the same height, but there’s something about the younger girl that makes her seem that much more imposing. “Because from where I stand, you put yourself ahead of the people that love you enough to want to keep you here.”
Emori takes a careful step forward. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have done the same if it was your brother?” Octavia frowns. “If it was Bellamy?”
“Bellamy wouldn’t have asked me to,” Octavia nearly snarls.
“That’s the point!” Emori shouts. “You have no fucking idea how damn lucky you are! Your brother would do anything for you.” She remembers Bellamy’s tirade in the alley, his furious face inches from her brother’s impassive eyes. “He would never leave you; he would never ask you to forget about the things you want to help him fix his mistakes.”
She’s run out of tears, but her throat feels tight as if she’s about to cry. “You don’t understand,” she says softly, a broken thing. Octavia’s eyes soften incrementally the longer she stands there.
“I’m sure your brother loves you,” Octavia says quietly. She looks chastised, or at least a little guilty. “In his own way.”
“He does.” Emori nods, sniffles a little bit. “But…”
Octavia cocks her head. A frown creases the skin between her eyes. Behind her, Emori sees another person’s shadow, hovering in the hall.
“He didn’t choose me,” Emori says, finally, throat tight. “There was something he wanted more.”
There’s nothing left to say. Octavia leaves the room with a soft sound that Emori doesn’t have the energy to identify.
The shadow in the hall is Bellamy’s. He enters the room quietly, gently. “I told her not to talk to you like that,” he says, apologetically.
Emori shakes her head. The lump in her throat widens. “It’s okay.”
“That was nice,” Bellamy gestures to the room, “what you said about me.”
“It’s true.” Emori’s voice cracks, because what wouldn’t she give for her brother to care just a little bit more and in a little bit of a different way?
“Oh, come here,” Bellamy murmurs, reaching for Emori, hugging her by the shoulders and letting her sniffle, once, into the soft cotton of his shirt. “It’s okay.”
She doesn’t have words for the comfort she needs, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind. She closes her eyes and tentatively hugs him back, her arms around his torso.
“Aww, you didn’t invite me?” Raven leans against the doorframe, grinning slightly. Bellamy reaches his free arm out for Raven, who joins the hug, resting her chin on Emori’s shoulder and placing her hand carefully atop Emori’s bad one.
“You okay?” she murmurs in Emori’s ear. When Emori nods, Raven squeezes her hand. “We’ve got you.”
“Damn right.” Emori can’t see over Raven’s head, but she knows that’s Jasper, and, judging from the footsteps, Monty too. The boys join the group hug, hanging on even when Bellamy staggers forward under Jasper’s exuberant weight.
Emori has to laugh at Bellamy’s soft oof. “I’m fine,” she says softly.
“We know,” Monty says, patting her awkwardly on the head, the only part of her he can reach. “Doesn’t mean we can’t be here for you anyway.”
Emori doesn’t know what to say to that either. She stands there, encased in a knot of her roommates’ love and care, and lets them decide when to let go.
Something has shifted in the house’s atmosphere. It’s as if Emori’s absence, however short, has torn a hole in things that is now mending. Emori isn’t sure how true that is, but she is sure that there have never been this many people in the kitchen at one time.
“Get out!” John shoves Bellamy away from the fridge. “Sit down on the bar stool next to Emori or get the fuck out of my way. Your choice.”
Bellamy retrieves a beer and hastens to the living room, where Octavia, Monty, Jasper and Luna are duking it out over Mario Kart. Emori smiles at John when his back is to her. Lexa lets herself in from the backyard and gives Emori a knowing look.
“You two would be cute together,” Lexa whispers in Emori’s ear. Emori swats her on the arm without thinking about it; Lexa’s surprised laugh carries through the whole house as she goes to answer the door.
“Huh, what do you know?” a young man asks, kicking off his shoes and dropping a bag of potato chips on the counter. “She does have a personality.”
“Leave her alone,” John says, and then proceeds to glare at his back until he plops down on the rug in front of the TV.
“Who is he?” Emori asks, frowning.
“That’s Zeke Shaw.” The name sounds mean in John’s mouth. “I think he’s into Raven.”
“He’s cute.” Emori appraises him. His eyes are earnest and he has the set jaw and close-cut hair of a military man. He looks like he could handle Raven, or at least, make sure she can handle herself. “Objectively.”
“Well, yeah, but…” John sighs. The kitchen timer goes off. “I don’t want her to get hurt. Again.”
The set of his shoulders tell her the same sentiment applies to himself.
“I met Zeke when I came to find you in the city.”
Emori jumps at the sound of John’s voice from the bathroom doorway. She spits some toothpaste in the sink and rinses her toothbrush. “Oh.”
“I saw you watching him,” he clarifies. “Figured you should know he’s not a total stranger.”
“Only a slight stranger, then,” Emori says, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. John doesn’t return it, so she lets it drop and bends over to put away her toothpaste and hide the sadness of her eyes.
He won’t forgive you, she tells herself. Stop trying to earn it.
“Do you regret coming for me?” she asks, voice small, echoing slightly in the bathroom. She remembers holding herself up, arms stiff, mouth bitter, and remembers him tucking her into bed, holding her, lending her his shirt and some of his strength.
Her stomach rolls at the memory. That was where all the horrible things began.
“No,” John whispers, like it’s a bitter confession. “I don’t.” He laughs, sharp. “I probably should. But I don’t.”
She regards him in the mirror. It’s safer that way, a pane of glass separating the two of them, their words and all the things that split them before they even had a chance to come together.
“Can we start over?” John asks, in a rush. That question, and her answer, goes against both of their nature.
“Yes,” she says, and he smiles.
“You know,” Raven begins around a mouthful of food, “you’re pretty good at that.”
Emori looks up from Monty’s laptop. Or, at least, the shell of it. She’s installing a hard drive with more storage, although, from the looks of it, she should probably just build him his own gaming computer. “Oh. Thanks.”
“You should take a computer engineering class,” Raven continues, either undeterred by, or oblivious to, Emori’s standoffish reaction. “You wouldn’t be half bad.”
Emori gestures with her bad hand. “Can’t fix things properly with this.”
Raven raises an eyebrow. “You’re using it fine now.” She shrugs. “I walk funny. People might stare, but it doesn’t stop me. It shouldn’t stop you either.”
Emori blinks. She’d never considered that: that her appearance may not immediately disqualify her from something. After all, it had disqualified her from her mother’s love and from belonging. But maybe…
“Sure,” she says, genuinely. “I’ll look into it.”
Raven grins. “Hell, yeah.”
She does look into it. Fall turns into almost-winter, and she thinks and plans and crams for finals and works long nights to make sure she catches up from her unplanned hiatus. She even goes on a couple dates with John. They turn out better than the first one did; he takes her to the park for a chilly picnic, and they get tipsy and crunch fall leaves in their hands, their conversation evaporating with their breath in the air. He takes her dancing at some lame college event, and she surprises him, and herself, by wearing a dress.
Her favorite date is right before finals season: they stay in his room, and she helps him write out more poems to tape to his walls. There’s something strangely permanent about her writing in his space.
Love, for you, she writes, as careful as she can, is not the usual kind of love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you.
He hangs that above his bed. Later, he kisses her as they lay below it.
The closer it gets to Thanksgiving, the more tense the house gets, thanks to finals and finals-induced stress. Jasper and Monty are at one another’s throats, John cuts back on the drinking to concentrate, but makes everyone miserable because of it, and Emori takes to sleeping in Raven’s room so Raven actually goes to bed at a halfway decent time.
“I like you,” Raven mumbles, half asleep. The clock reads 3:14 p.m. “You’re a good kid.”
Emori laughs drowsily. “I’m older than you.”
“Fuck if I know,” Raven says around a yawn. Emori’s heart warms.
The three-day break for the holiday is a welcome reprieve; even Jasper, an underachiever by his own admission, welcomes the break from studying. John wants to celebrate with a party, but they’re all so wiped out that they spend the day before Thanksgiving napping and watching the worst-rated movies on Netflix.
Emori didn’t even think they were going to celebrate the holiday until John hauls a massive turkey out of the freezer the night before.
“What...the fuck?” Octavia asks, eyes wide. “When did you buy a turkey?”
John shrugs. “You know. Whenever.”
“That’s Not an answer,” Octavia says. “And yes-”
“The capital letters are implied in your tone,” Raven and Lexa say in unison and in monotone. Emori hides a smile. Some things never change.
John bastes and roasts the turkey. Every time he says the turkey is roasting, Raven gets a shit-eating grin on her face that Octavia tries to wipe off by throwing pillows, papers and a magazine at her head. At some point between breakfast and a half-hearted lunch, Harper, Zeke, Luna and Bellamy come over, bearing mashed potatoes, corn casserole, green beans and pumpkin pie, respectively.
“What is that?” Lexa asks, poking Zeke’s glass pan with a finger.
“Corn casserole,” Zeke says, his head inside the fridge.
“Corn what?”
His head pops up almost comically fast. “You don’t know what corn casserole is?!” Lexa shakes her head. “Shame,” Zeke mutters, and spends the next five minutes unsuccessfully attempting to open his beer.
Monty tries to steal John’s steak knives three separate times. The fourth time, he succeeds, and Emori can’t suppress her laughter at John’s howl of rage when he sees his prize knife strapped to the roomba.
“GIVE ME THE KNIFE BACK!” he shouts. “Monty, I’m gonna drop-kick that piece of shit out the front door.”
“Hey!” Jasper picks up the object and cradles it to his chest dramatically. “Don’t insult Stabby.”
“If you call that thing ‘Stabby’ one more time, I’m gonna take you out,” Harper promises, stepping over Jasper and plopping onto the couch next to Monty. Emori wiggles her eyebrows at Raven over Monty’s head when the boy’s cheeks start to flush.
John doesn’t stop fussing over the turkey until Bellamy steals his apron and baster and shoos him out of the kitchen to set the table. He does, in proper form no less, and Emori sneaks behind him and messes up the silverware until John catches her.
“Saboteur,” he calls her, grabbing her around the middle and tickling her sides.
“John, stop!” she says, laughing, squirming away from him and nearly smacking her shoulder on the peninsula. She knocks over one of the bar stools and almost kicks a passing Zeke in the shins. “Seriously!”
John releases her just as the doorbell rings. “How many more people can we fit in this house?” he wonders aloud as Bellamy goes to answer the door.
“How many people can we fit at this table?” Lexa asks, gesturing to the makeshift banquet table that consists of the dining room table, two card tables, a large coffee table with cushions for sitting, and Raven’s desk.
“Hopefully three more,” Bellamy says, leading Echo, Clarke Griffin and Costia into the house. Echo immediately gravitates to Raven and Harper, while Clarke stays close to Bellamy and Costia hovers near John’s elbow as he carves the turkey.
“Can I have a drumstick?” she asks John, who nods. “I can help if you want.”
“That’s Emori’s man, Costia,” Octavia yells over her brother’s shoulder. “You’ve got your own woman!”
“And a fine one I am,” Lexa snarks. Luna swats at her. “What? I’m hot.”
Somehow, Bellamy and John navigate the chaos and get everyone settled at the table. They pause for grace - mostly for Zeke, Raven grumbles - then dig in. Emori stuffs herself on turkey and cranberries - and Zeke’s casserole, which isn’t half bad - and on the laughter and kindness of her friends that fills her to the brim.
“I want to try something,” John says softly, his head resting on her stomach. They’re in her bed, nestled under blankets, watching the first snow of the season from her window.
“Okay,” she murmurs, continuing to card her good fingers through John’s hair. When he lifts his head, her hand falls from the top of his head to the nape of his neck. “Whatever you want.”
He kisses her, soft, and she lets him; she tangles her good fingers in his hair again, but lets out a tiny huff of breath when his tongue swipes over her bottom lip.
“Sorry-” he says, breaking away. “I didn’t-”
“You’re fine!” she’s fast to reassure him. It’s like ripping off a BandAid, she realizes. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
“I said I wanted to try something,” he says, grumpy and cheeky.
She shoves at his shoulder as he moves closer. “Shut up,” she says, but she’s laughing right until the moment their lips connect. This time, he deepens the kiss almost instantly, and she lets him. She loses herself in it, in the soft way he bites at her lower lip, the careful press of his tongue, the gasp he makes when she sighs against his mouth.
“That was nice,” she murmurs when he breaks away, propping himself on his elbow and looking down at her. His hand strokes over her hair. “What was it for?”
He shrugs. Suddenly, he can’t meet her eyes. “What if you leave again?” he says, softly, the guilt in his eyes at that question palpable. “I want to do the things I regret not doing.” He winces. “That’s so fucking cheesy.”
Emori shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, shame and sadness piercing her heart. “It’s not.”
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