Domestic - F Avery

“Does it scare you?” You ask quietly, watching the lightning arc across the dark sky.

“Sometimes,” Avery responds back, her voice hushed with something like reverence as she corrects herself, “Most of the time.”

“We can go inside,” You offer, “Lay down, maybe watch a movie.”

You could tune out the rolling thunder and the cracks of lightning that make her flinch each time they strike, you mean. Remove her from a situation that only seems to cause him distress.

“No, I…” She sighs, leaning closer, “I used to watch storms with my mother and my…”

She swallows the words, staring down at her hands with regret.

“It’s okay to be scared after what you went through.”

“I feel like a failure,” She says, “I’m not even sure why. No one cares if I can’t sit and watch a storm roll through anymore.”

“Pride, maybe?” You smirk slightly, nudging her in the side, “You do have a problem with that.”

She hums, “Oh, do I, now?”

“Very much so,” You say, “It’s alright, though. it suits you most of the time.”

She goes to respond, but another flash of lightning illuminates the sky. You see the reflection in her dark eyes, her face lit up briefly so you can see every detail with her so close. Her freckles, her scar, the way she bites her bottom lip. She gives the sky a firm side eye, as if it might decide to fall down upon you both.

“Let’s go inside,” You bid her again, running a hand down her arm, “There’s no point in this.”

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” She whispers the words like a confession.

“That’ll take time,” You say just as softly, “You almost died, Avery. By all rights you should have; taking that much electricity to the heart should have killed you. It didn’t, though, and you’re here with me. You have time. We have time.”

“We have time,” She repeats, as if she’s trying to convince herself, “We do.”

“We do,” You cup her cheek with your palm, brushing the pad of your thumb along her sharp cheekbone, “We can do this another night. As many nights as we have to until you’re not afraid. It won’t happen all at once, though.”

“No,” She mummers, “It won’t.”

She glances back up at the dark sky before breaking apart from you to stand. She offers a hand, pulling you up with her.

“I think this is good enough for now,” She says, faux nonchalance thick in her voice, “I didn’t have a panic attack so…improvements, I guess.”

“Come on,” You say, tugging her toward the door and back inside the house.

She never sleeps well when it storms out, so you hold her close on the couch and put on a movie. It’s some stupid 90’s comedy, just enough background noise to block out the rolling thunder. She curls into you, and you run your fingers through her thick, dark hair.

There are dirty dishes in the sink, there’s laundry in the dryer, and you still need to vacuum the rugs. You’re happy, though, in this moment. Content. So is Avery, despite the howling storm outside and the fear that runs through her like blood.

You have time and that’s all that matters. Time with each other, time to make her fear fade…and time to make you forget you’ve ever been anything but loved.