hold me really tight (until the stars look big) - I

'Shit,' Tate mutters. 'Shit. Seeing her—fuck, that must've been awful.'

Jael looks down at their hands. Hers fits entirely into his, and it feels good, it feels right. A tear runs down her cheek as she shakes her head again, slowly, just looking. "I'm so jealous," she whispers, and she smiles sadly. "I don't even know how old it would be, now. I have no idea how far I was when I lost it. All I knew that I was pregnant and that I wanted to keep it. And then I couldn't." Her breath hitches. "I don't even know what it would've been. I didn't ask. I couldn't talk, for weeks."

Tate exhales sharply, shaking his head. 'I don't... I don't know what to say.'

Jael doesn't pull away her hand, leaving it to him for them to part away. "You don't have—you don't have to say anything." She looks at him. "I promised myself a while ago that I'd talk about things when I can't help but bothering you or Mica with it." She's silent for a moment. "So that I wouldn't look like a whiney idiot..." She shakes her head, but doesn't move. "I'm sorry."

'You are not a bother,' Tate says pointedly, almost angry, like he can't believe Jael would think of herself as a whiny idiot.

Jael looks down and bites her cheeks. She wipes away the single tear and smiles bitterly. "You're keeping me locked away in a library room. Because I fucked up with Denny. Because I ruined everything. And you still say I'm not a bother." She sounds exhausted.

'I keep you locked up in a library room because if I let you out, you're going to get under my skin and I'm going to trust you and want to touch you and maybe kiss you,' Tate says, words rushing out like he's flooding over. 'I keep you locked up in a library room because this might be Stockholm syndrome and I do not want to kiss you when you have some kind of infatuation going on for me as your kidnapper and not for me as a person, because I do not want to get hurt and I do not want to be the person who touched you while you were mentally unstable.' He breathes raggedly, like he can't focus on anything but the words he is saying, the words he wants to say. 'I keep you locked up in a library room because I'm afraid this might be more than any of us can handle, and I keep you locked up in a library room because the last time I let myself care about you, your crazy ex boyfriend jeopardised the safety of everyone I care about, including you.'

It's only when Jael feels the tickle in her neck she notices her cheeks are wet with tears. She can't find any words to say, just stares at him breathlessly, dark eyes glistening with tears.
She can't find the words to explain to him that it's not Stockholm Syndrome that's going on, that it's nothing like she ever felt before but that it's real and that she knows when something is real.
She can't find any courage to tell him that she loves him for him, that she loves Tate Hale because he's the person he is and is supposed to be and that she would give anything to make the world a better place for him to live in. She wants to tell him that she's worth trusting, that she'd never ever would've even thought about Denny if she could do this all again. She wants to tell him that she might've made the same mistakes, but not that mistake, not ever again.
She reaches out her hand and touches his cheek, fingertips brushing over his stubble, then pulls back as if she burned herself. Her eyes wander off, away from him. "I don't know what to say," she whispers, her voice thick with tears.

Rejection flashes in Tate's eyes, his teeth coming together with a painful sound, jaw set and tight. 'I see,' he says, walls closing up as fast as he made them tumble down. 'I'm sorry.' He doesn't know what he's apologising for, but he stands up. 'I shouldn't have--I shouldn't have told you that.' He leaves.

"No," Jael breathes, realizing he's got it wrong. "No, Tate, wait—" She slips off the bed, wavering on her feet for just seconds. She runs for the door, hand on the door handle. "Don't lock the door, please," she pleads. "Tate, don't walk away. Don't—" She sobs. "God damnit, why can't I just—" She sobs again, starts crying.

Tate stands outside the door and has the key in the lock, ready to turn it, ready to lock it and forget, when he hears it. 'I don't—What else is there to do?'

Jael leans her fist against the door. "I drew you naked, for God's sake! What more do you need to—I stayed—I stayed, Tate. I stayed, and I'm staying, I'm staying." She sinks to her knees and sobs. "I can't do this," she cries. "I hate you, Tate Hale!"

'You're staying because I'm making you stay—because you're jeopardising my entire family, jeopardising Mica, jeopardising her babies if I let you leave!' Tate yells. 'You're staying because I lock you up in a room, and yes, you've drawn me naked. Yes. But I don't know if that's your way of coping, I don't know if you drawing is the same thing as a poet writing a poem about what they saw, or did, or thought. I don't know what it means. I don't know—I don't know you.'

Jael's crying dies down as Tate speaks and by the time he's finished, she's completely silent, just breathing in, breathing out. After a moment of silence, she lets out a broken "I'm sorry", after which she stumbles back to her bed, falling face first into the fresh sheets, waiting for the click of the lock, for the loneliness to fall over her again, for Tate to walk away from the door and avoid her again, again.

Mica doesn't rush up to him when she sees him, even though Tate knows she wants to. Even though Tate knows she needs it just as much as he does. The penthouse's walls aren't flimsy, but the yelling was loud enough. He knows she heard everything. When he sits down on the couch, she climbers into his lap like Vicki used to do—still does, even though she's turning seventeen in May and he's nearing the big three-o—and holds him tight, face against his neck as he breathes in and out shakily.
'She deserves more than a killer,' he says, but he doesn't know if he's telling her or telling himself. 'She deserves more than a killer.'

Jael presses her face into the pillow. There are no tears, just a void, just nothingness. Breathing goes steady, but it's storming in her mind, Tate's words echoing in her head.
She loves Tate Hale.
She loves Tate Hale.
She loves Tate Hale.
She's so stupid, so weak, so desperate. She's suffocating.

'I am afraid she's going to fall in love with me, and then realise what she's doing and leave,' Tate says.
Mica nods. 'I am afraid Vinnie will come and get the babies.'
'I am afraid Macy is looking down at me, angry for how much I'm fucking up.'
Years ago, Mica might've had to stop herself to say something to that, but she's twenty-six now and has known him for too long to be tempted. They've been playing this game for ages, ever since they found out neither of them is good at taking comfort through words, but saying their fears out loud still makes it feel like they're lighter, somehow. So they just sit, and say things, and nod, and look. It's something good, something that calms them both down.
'I'm afraid you're going to not want me anymore, after the babies are here.'
I will never let you fend for your own, he wants to say. I will never not want you anymore, with or without kids. You're my best friend, you're my best friend. Instead, he says: 'I'm afraid my mother will die.'

There's sleep. And then there's no breathing, only the taste of blood in her mouth, crimson red sticking to her fingers, screaming. Jael is scared and panicked and then realizes it's her own voice that's piercing through the air and then it's not and there's a knife and pain and Tate's eyes piercing through the stifling mist, his strong grip around her arms and the feeling of falling down, down, down until her head hits the pavement.
She wakes with a start, heart pounding fast, hands shaking. For a moment, there's nothing but white light that's blinding her eyes and she wonders if she's dead, she wonders if Tate did kill her, and then the room comes back and her shoulders drop. Without knowing it her hand travels to her neck. There's no sticky, warm blood, there's no pain, just clear skin and the beating of her heart.
She's not dead.
But it feels like she is.

Tate dreams about Macy, about white-hot rage running through his veins like liquid fire, about Neil, with a clean face, and Neil, with blood running out of his nose, dripping from his chin. She's so clumsy, he says, laughing, eyes sparkling. Probably why I like her so much. Tate hits him, hard, over and over and over and over again, imagines killing him with bare hands. Every time he thinks he's dead, thinks he's killed him, he opens his eyes again, genuine smile on his face. She's so clumsy. Probably why I like her so much.
He doesn't wake up.

Jael paces the room, leaving the sketchbook where it is. Tears are running down her face as she tries to stop shaking. There's no way she can manage to calm down, she can't do this alone. She can't do this.
She places her hand against the door, whispers a quiet "Tate", all she can manage. She needs to get out of this room, this room with these fucked up memories and dreams and the walls she knows every detail of, she needs to breathe.

So clumsy, Neil says. So clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy. She's so clumsy.

Jael puts herself down on the floor, in front of the door, back against the wall, and waits until the door is going to open again. She doesn't even check if it's locked, but she can't remember hearing the click when Tate left.
Kyle once locked her in the bathroom and turned off the electricity so she was all alone in the dark. She can still remember how sore her throat was in the next few days. She told her parents she'd gotten a cold, that she was fine.
Denny once locked her in their bedroom and hid the key while she was sleeping. When she woke up, he'd taunted her, and when she tried to escape she couldn't. He'd told her he'd only let him go if she showed him who she belonged to. When she refused, trying to bring some sense into him, he'd dragged her head against the wall. Denny told her parents she was too sick to get home while she was blacked out for days.
Tate locked her in a room, because she jeopardized his loved ones, and herself, and she's scared because Denny always told her it was for the best, that it was for her own good when he locked her away, when he hurt her, when he taunted her, because he wanted her to learn to become a stronger girl, his little girl.
Now she wants to be Tate's little girl. And she never will be.

'I'm trying to help you,' Tate says, vision of Macy blurring in his mind. 'I'm trying to protect you!'
'From what, Tate?' she cries. 'From what? From your delusions?'
He wakes up.

Jael plays with her fingers, hearing footsteps outside the room, hearing the doorbell. There's a knot in her stomach, she's nervous, she's ready to ask either Tate or Mica if she can eat the pizza in her room, because she doesn't think she'd be able to face them right now.
She wonders if Tate is still going to let her call her mom and dad, she wonders if Tate is ever going to forgive her. She wonders if she's ever going to forgive herself.

Mica fetches the pizzas from the delivery guy, who sends her a smile and a wink before hastily retreating when Tate comes into view.
'He was cute,' she mutters.
'He was a pizza delivery guy,' Tate deadpans.
'It could be like... a second job. He could be an aspiring business man.'
Tate laughs, but it's too loud and dies down quickly.
When they're dividing the pizzas, Mica says: 'You're not going to let her eat it in her room. It's her birthday and she's going to sit at the table and eat with us.'
He rolls his eyes.

The whole day has been a train wreck. There's been happening more than the entire time Jael's been in New York City combined and she's tired. She's messed up.
She scrambles to her feet and walks over to the window, staring outside as the sun slowly starts to disappear behind the buildings. Another day gone. Another messed up day to forget about.

'Dinner time!' Mica announces cheerily when she opens the door, the smell of pizza wafting through the penthouse. She tries not to touch her stomach, and traded her black top for the oversized HALE football shirt that falls loosely around her waist.

Jael turns to her, clasping her hands. "Um—Can I—Can I eat dinner in my room...?" she asks, quietly. The skin around her eyes is red and she looks pale, tired. "I don't think Tate wants me around."

Mica grimaces before pulling her face together again, looking at Jael like she's something that can break, like a needle pierced her pupils and connected them to the girl's hollowed-out cheeks and pale skin with a silken string. 'You can't,' she says, resolutely. 'He wants you around, his head is just too goddamn far up his ass to act upon it. Also, it's your birthday. You're not spending it alone. If you really want to, I can send Tate away after dinner and we can watch a movie.'

Jael drops her shoulders and shakes her head, slowly. She takes a deep breath and says: "It's okay. I don't—I don't mind having him near." She smiles a little, hesitating. "Thank you, though." She looks misplaced. She looks tiny. She looks fragile. "I'll be there in a minute. I need—I don't want—I need the bathroom." She makes a vague gesture towards the bathroom door.

Mica smiles encouragingly, then nods. 'See you in a minute.'

It takes a while, but eventually Jael comes out of the room, having to admit that the pizza smells good and that she's hungry like hell.
Tate is sitting at the dinner table. She only looks at him briefly before dropping to her knees to cuddle Polar, who immediately came to her for kisses. For a moment she looks carefree, a smile crossing her face. The dog pushes his nose in her neck and whines, and she closes her eyes to bury her face into the white cloud of hair. She whispers sweet nothings into his fur while he crawls into the curve of her body. He's almost too heavy for her to hold and she grabs a handful of fur with both of her shaking hands, clenching it in her fists.

Tate stares, feeling intrusive, feeling like an utter dick, but also feeling rejected and breathless, like her saying I don't know what to say so pained punched all the air out of him. She looks happy, and he realises this is what he's taken from her. Happiness. Freedom. Pleasure.
'Don't stare,' Mica chastises, prodding his cheek with her finger.
He averts his eyes.

Jael's head shoots up upon hearing Mica's words, eyes searching for Tate. A warm blush flusters her cheeks. She scratches Polar's ears and gives him a kiss on his wet nose, and he licks hers as a token of his affection towards her and she laughs, a happy laugh. "I love you too, buddy," she murmurs affectionately, brushing her hand from his head to his tail and finally letting him go. His tail is wagging and he looks like he's laughing at her. She chuckles again and pats his head, then scrambles to her feet and takes a seat at the dinner table, across from Tate's—knowing it's not the best choice to sit right across from him, but she doesn't care. She'll show him she's not afraid of him and of what she feels.
Now only if she could believe that, now only if that would be true...

Tate eats his pizza in silence.
'So,' Mica says, clasping her hands together and looking at the two of them expectantly. 'Does anyone want a knife to cut this tension, or are we just going to sit here and stare awkwardly at each other for the rest of the night?'

Jael quickly takes a bite so she doesn't have to say anything. She avoids Tate's gaze with dedication and determination.

Tate turns red, coughing when he fails to swallow a piece of pizza.
Mica sighs. 'Awkward tension it is, then...' she mutters.

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