Until The Sky Swallows us I will Love You | Night Seven - The Past

My mind aches at thoughts of the past. It is so, so foggy and so, so unclear to me… but sometimes I see glimpses of what had been before I got lost. Before Michael saved me. Before we were watched. We lived here, in this cabin, before it all. I don’t remember why or how we got here, but it has been home for years. I don’t think Michael was on fire then. He was as dull as I am now, cold and afraid of the world. But I loved him, ever so dearly, and he loved me. We were afraid together, and it made it all so much more bearable when we were by eachother sides.

But then, Michael got braver. He took more chances, tried to find more joy in the mundanities of our little town. He stopped crying with me, and started crying for me. He tried to bring me into his inferno, warm me against the freezing sea air. It didn’t work, of course, I know now that it never would have. I’ve always been far too connected to the sea and the rain to ever become as bright as him, too cold to even start to try. But this was when he started to blaze so bright that it hurt to look in his eyes. He could cast aside all of his horrible, torturous visions of pain and anguish, all for one afternoon at the park, one evening spent watching the sunset and gazing up at the stars.

I never saw any of this, though. I didn’t see the point in seeing any of this. Why leave my ways when they were so imbedded in who I was, so rooted in who I presented myself as? Why try if it was so likely I would fail and end up right back in the fog, staring aimlessly out to the ocean without a thought? Michael has tried so, so hard to make me see what this means. It means I’m giving in, I’m actively letting myself freeze when theres so many ways to melt the ice. But there’s always one thing he doesn’t take into account. Maybe I’m just… okay with that. Maybe it doesn’t bother me.

It wasn’t long before this all began that I found myself at the shoreline. I sat far enough that the ocean couldn’t touch me, but close enough that the spray of the water could sting my eyes. It was a cold, cold day, and it was so foggy that I didn’t even see when Michael ran over to me. He asked me, “Isaac, what the hell are you doing?” And I answered, “I don’t know…” Slowly and precisely I tried to force the words from my throat. It hurt. It really did. The sea air was almost choking. Michael didn’t make me leave. He sat next to me, he held my hand and he tried to see what I could. He stared out to the ocean, and he tried to see into my confused, messy head to figure out what was wrong. And when he looked… “You… really don’t…” He muttered under his breath. “You… don’t know why you’re here…” And when he said that, I felt a sense of understanding I’d never felt before. No one had ever understood, felt the intensity of just doing something because it calls to you, because it screams your name through muffled sobs, because you feel like something will happen if you do. No one, except Michael.

He kept hold of my hand, looking at me with gentle, concerned eyes. They were blue… just like the sea was that day. Bright, deep, ocean blue. “Can you see me…?” He whispered, his voice barely making it over the sound of the crashing waves. “No…” I mumbled back, “But… I feel you… you’re… so warm…” He sighed at that, moving to grip my shoulders from behind, as gentle as he’d always been. I don’t remember how long we sat like this. I could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours. All I remember is the silence between us, the sounds of the waves, of the sand crunching under us, the wind picking up. But I know that, after that strange, timeless experience… I opened my eyes. I saw where I was. I saw my hands shaking. I saw Michael. And I know that I cried, for a long, long time.

Michael drove us home, the windows closed and the heaters up as high as they would go. We didn’t speak, but we didn’t need to. He knew why I had come here, even when I didn’t. But he still hasn’t told me. I think he’s scared of upsetting me. He thinks it’ll be too much for me. Maybe it will. Maybe it’s better I don’t remember that day, aside from hazy images and foggy memories. It probably is. Because I’m not there now, I’m in my cabin, with my dearest Michael. And the sea doesn’t even exist anymore.

 

Authors notes:

1. Reading back, this part definitely seemed like I was trying to infer suicidal ideation for Isaac. I want to make it clear that it isn't. There will be a reason that is unrelated to Isaacs deppresive tendencies, most likely in the form of some supernatural interferance. Still, percieve it however you'd like.
2. Love writing tension between these two. I always want that tension to come from a place of love, though. A lot of it is more worry than anything else most of the time.